Page 105 of Stalked
She's crying openly now, silent tears mixing with the dirt streaking her skin.
“Fifteen years, wildflower. Fifteen years of loving you from the shadows. Watching you build a life I couldn't touch, with people who couldn't understand.” I press my lips to her forehead, breathing her in. “I'm never going to be normal. Never going to be the man your parents probably dreamed you'd bring home. But I'm the man who's loved you through every version of yourself—the girl who ran, the woman who came back, the one who pretends she doesn't need this as much as I do.”
“Vane—”
“I love you.” Simple. True. “Not despite the fucked up way we fit together, but because of it.”
She reaches up, tracing my jawline with dirt-smudged fingers. “I do love you, Vane.” Her voice breaks on my name. “I think I always have. But this—what I saw tonight—I need to think. I need time to process.”
My chest tightens. Time. Distance. These are the weapons she's used against me before. Fifteen years' worth of time and distance nearly destroyed me.
“Process back in Ravenwood,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “I understand you need space. If you need to go back to your penthouse, that's fine.”
Her lips twist into something between a smile and a grimace. “What, the penthouse you can see into from your windows?”
My jaw clenches. She's not wrong. Every inch of that apartment is visible from mine—by design, of course.
“Just stay somewhere in Ravenwood,” I manage through gritted teeth. “I can't have you away from me, not again.” I don't say what happens if she tries to leave. I don't have to. We both know I'll follow her to the ends of the earth if necessary.
She studies my face for a long moment. I wonder what she sees there—the monster or the man? Or have they become so intertwined that there's no separating them anymore?
“Okay,” she finally says. “I'll stay at the Ravenwood Inn for a few days. Just to clear my head.”
Relief floods through me as we start walking back toward the parking lot. The woods are eerily silent around us, as if nature itself is holding its breath, watching our drama unfold. Her hand brushes against mine as we walk, not quite taking it but not pulling away either.
I've spent fifteen years plotting every detail to bring her back to me. Now that she's by my side, I realize the hard part isn't catching her—it's keeping her without caging her completely. Giving her just enough rope not to hang herself with it.
But not enough to run.
41
LIA
The Ravenwood Inn looks exactly as I remember it from childhood—red brick façade, ivy climbing toward the third floor, brass fixtures that gleam even in the pre-dawn darkness. The night clerk barely glances up when I request a room, sliding a key across the polished oak desk with practiced indifference.
Room 304.
Third floor. Far enough from the ground that Vane can't just climb through a window, though I'm under no illusions that locked doors will keep him out if he decides he's done giving me space.
I drop my overnight bag on the floral bedspread and immediately regret not packing more clothes. Everything in here is too cheerful—rose wallpaper, cream curtains, a painting of sunflowers above the bed. It feels wrong after what I witnessed tonight.
The bathroom mirror shows me exactly what I've become: mascara smudged beneath my eyes, dirt streaked across mycheek, my hair a tangled mess from Vane's fingers and the forest floor. I strip mechanically, turning the shower as hot as it will go.
But even scalding water can't wash away the image burned into my brain.
Vane's hands, covered in another man's blood. The pliers caught the light as he reached for another finger. The smile on his face—not cruel, exactly, but satisfied. Like he was precisely where he belonged.
I scrub harder, watching russet-colored water swirl down the drain. My water. His water. That man's water.
My stomach lurches, and I barely make it to the toilet before I'm dry heaving, nothing left inside me to purge except the truth I can't escape.
I love a monster.
Worse—I've always known what he was. Some part of me recognized it that first day in AP Chemistry, when he looked at me like I was prey he intended to catch. I just chose not to see it clearly until tonight, when the fantasy collided with blood-soaked reality.
I rinse my mouth and force myself to establish some normalcy. Brush teeth. Moisturize face. Braid wet hair. Each mundane action is a small act of control in a life that's spiraled far beyond my carefully laid plans.
The bed is too soft after Vane's firm mattress. The room is too quiet without his breathing beside me. My body already misses him—the weight of his arm across my waist, the possessive way he pulls me closer even in sleep.
