Page 169 of The Kiss Of Death
Only a disinterested Tara and Yasmine remained seated to listen, while Kay and Cillian reluctantly returned their attention to Sylas.
“They’re wrong. You’re cute,” I insisted as I wrapped my arms around Levi’s neck. “But you have to tell me more about this haunted house. Knowing you, you don’t do things without a plan.”
“I’d be a mediocre Tactician if I didn’t have one.” He brushed a strand of my hair aside and leaned in. “How about I show you instead?”
I beamed. “Yes.”
He locked me with his hard body, his thumb tracing my lips. “But first, I know how much you love promises, and I want to make you one.”
“Let me guess, you’ll always be watching me?”
He let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Yes, even if I had to tear my own eyes out, all I’d see is you. You’re mine. My future wife. Maybe the mother of my children, if you decide one day that I’m not too fucked up for that.”
Within the depths of his tormented eyes, I saw a glimmer of the broken boy I once knew. “That’s your promise?”
“No, this is: you know you’re sentenced to spend this life and all your others with me, right?” His warm breath lingered tantalizingly close to my lips. “But I promise I’ll never cage you, butterfly. You’ll be free to be who you are.” He tilted my head up to him. “I’ll live for you, and I’ll make sure silence will never be painful to you ever again. Your melody will never stop because I’ll always be here to listen.”
Iswung the door of my manor open, revealing my little thief with beautiful rainbow hair.
She was at the most reclusive spot of the entire island, clutching the Cigno Nero to her chest, her eyes bulging. I yearned to recreate the precise instant we met a decade ago when she clung to my soul, etching herself into the very fabric of my being and igniting a glimmer of hope within me—call it nostalgic.
“I’m your—”
“You’re mine.” I interrupted her, cocking my head to the side.
She smiled, her gaze lifting to the spikes of the manor or “the dollhouse,” as Cillian had called it. Everything here was shrouded in darkness—my soul, my choice of decor, the manor itself, even the thorns climbing its facade—but she was a burst of color amid the bleakness.
“You bought the Pantheon founder’s manor,” she said. “It’s been uninhabited for two centuries.”
It had been frozen in time until I burst in like an unsummoned demon, claiming this place as my own.
“I’m not afraid of curses. A tragedy is just a story that is not finished.” I arched a brow, gesturing for her to follow me in the gardens. “Walk with me.”
“You aren’t going to invite me in? You’re so impolite!” She hastened her stride to keep up with me and muttered, “Some things never change.”
A corner of my lips lifted, and I strode toward that unassuming timber barn as a lone black butterfly flitted around us.It’s been a long time.The crashing waves against the cliff roared, and the salty air filled my nostrils.
I swung open the barn door. “You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve opened a cybersecurity firm called Checkmate Security. This is my humble headquarters.”
Goose bumps skittered along her bare arms as she entered the place. The ceiling lights flickered before casting a glow upon my office, where computer screens stood, bathing the space in blue hues. Pins on the board held pictures of the vilest monsters on earth—a collection fit for the darkest nightmares. It resembled a haven for the damned or perhaps the ideal refuge to welcome a corpse, but, well, we all had our aesthetic.
“How? When?” she whispered.
I stalked around the room, circling her. “I may have developed a couple of software during our friendship era to help me cope with my sexual frustration. Your generous donation made me $3.7 million short on my account.” I sneered. “Made that back last month. I’ve also satisfied my need for chaos by assisting secret services with hacking needs through my company.”
She remained still, and I bowed down to her eye level, licking my lips. “I’ll catch the ugliest monsters of this world. Child traffickers, rapists, serial killers, terrorists… I have a whole list. I hope you’re not scared?”
My therapist was delighted about my new choice of career—though concerned about the pleasure I was taking in the prospect of ruining their pitiful lives. But I didn’t want to hide anything of my scarred self from Dalia, even at the price of making her shrink back in terror. She didn’t, though.
Instead, she slapped my shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me anything about it!” She pouted, crossing her arms. Interesting. “Levi, this is amazing but… threatening.”
She was right, and it was only the beginning of myheroicjourney.
“You’re like a dark vigilante, tearing down the monsters. This is like your Batcave or something.” She nibbled on her lips, her gaze drifting toward my main office, full of numerous pictures of her alongside the stereo where I’d be listening to her music on repeat. A blush crept through her cheeks. “I like it. Your own special place.”
She was responsible for making the world prettier while I took care of the ugliness. “It’s all thanks to you.”
