Page 4 of Bonepetal
She lunges for me again, but I catch her, my arm trembling, drenched in blood, wrapping around her waist one last time to hold her back.
“Live for both of us,” I rasp, voice raw. “Please, bonepetal,”
Her knees buckle.
Tears flood her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she shakes her head over and over, whispering my name like a prayer with no god to catch it. But she listens.
She always listens when it matters most.
She stares at me like she knows this is the last time, and then she runs.
Into the trees. Into the dark. Into the world I gave my soul for.
I die watching her vanish into the forest, long black hair tangled in the wind, white lace torn and trailing behind her like a ghost.
No regrets.
No fear.
Only her.
The devil steps through the smoke, all bone-crowned silence and ancient gravity, and reaches for me like I was always his, and I let him take me.
Because she lives, and that’s all that ever mattered.
CHAPTER 1
SALEM
October 29th - Morning
Iwake up tangled in sheets that don’t smell like mine. Warmth clings to my skin, heavy and stale, mixed with his cologne—rich, woody, the kind that’s supposed to smell expensive but just makes me think of whiskey breath and bad decisions. The room’s too warm, the air thick with the ghost of last night’s sweat and sex.
Nathan’s bed.
Right.
The memory hits like a shot to the gut, and I let my eyes drift open slow, pretending for half a second that I don’t know where I am. There’s the dark headboard, the expensive silk pillowcase under my cheek, and his shadow on the other side of the mattress. His breathing is deep and even, like the devil gets to sleep peacefully after swallowing a soul.
My soul.
Or at least my dignity.
I shift, the sheet slipping down enough to remind me I’m naked underneath. My thighs are sore—no surprise there. Istretch just enough to feel the ache bloom before tucking my legs back in. Not because I’m shy. Just because I’m not ready to see him yet.
I slide out of bed like I’m trying to escape a crime scene—quiet, deliberate, no sudden movements. My feet hit the cold hardwood, and the temperature drop sends goosebumps racing up my bare legs. The sheet trails after me, clutched in one fist like it’s the only piece of armor I’ve got left.
Nathan doesn’t stir. Typical. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm over his head, tattoos curling up his ribs like they’re trying to climb into his chest. His mouth is parted just enough to show the edge of a smirk he was probably born with. The kind that makes girls ruin their lives.
I should throw something at him.
A pillow. A lamp. Myself.
Instead, I just stand there, watching him breathe.
God, he looks good like this—softened by sleep, jaw shadowed with stubble, lashes unfairly long for someone who’s made me cry twice in the past week. The problem is, I know what that face looks like awake. And smiling. And between my thighs.
“Stop staring,” I mutter under my breath, more to myself than to him.
