Page 66 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)

I motion for the table, and we sit.

“I came back after an… incident,” I say. “It was a few weeks ago, I had cut up my knees and palms, but Dad wanted me to be safe.”

“It’s why you wanted me to go that day? To get your water bottle?”

I keep my eyes on the table. “Yeah. It felt like someone was messing with me in the fog, you know? I keep getting that sensation of being watched.”

He leans forward. “How often?”

“Like…” I think back to the past week.

How many times have I paused and looked around for no reason?

“Almost every day,” I admit. “But I think I’m paranoid. It’s probably nothing.”

His jaw sets. At least he doesn’t know about my joyride with Eli—he’d probably go mental. The bruises have long since faded from Eli’s jaw, but both of them remember it. I’m sure of that. And if Noah sees Eli again… game over.

Luckily, Noah avoids the party scene. And so do I.

“What’s the plan today?” he asks me.

I smack my forehead. “Oh, no. Dad was supposed to take me to school after I drop my car off at the mechanic.”

He straightens. “I can.”

I blink. “What?”

“Well… Dad might’ve also mentioned that, too.” He shrugs. “He called yesterday, said what I had to do. He said should do, but I knew what he meant. And if I wasn’t so out of shape, I’d run with you.”

I press my lips together. It’s either that or tell him how grateful I am that he’s still here—and no one wants to hear that blubbering. Especially me.

“Okay, um, I’m going to go shower.” I hurry upstairs, taking my coffee with me. I duck into my room for my school uniform, and something catches my attention from the corner of my eye.

Slowly, I pivot toward my bed.

It’s made. Pristinely. Better than I think I’m even capable of doing.

And I can’t get near it.

Someone was in my room.

Mom—not an option. Noah barely makes his own bed, let alone someone else’s. Dad isn’t home.

Don’t scream, don’t scream.

My gaze automatically goes to my closet.

I pat my waist, but I must’ve left the Mace on the kitchen table. All I have is the cup of coffee—I guess I could soak my soon-to-be attacker before they kill me.

Taking a deep breath, I edge toward the closet and grab the door handle. I yank and jump backward, ready to throw my mug, but there’s nothing there except clothes.

I release a shaky breath.

“Paranoid, Riley,” I murmur. I retrieve the clothes I dropped and go to the bathroom.

Once I’m showered and dressed, I avoid my bedroom entirely and head downstairs. Noah is in the living room with a book in his lap, and that draws me up short.

“Reading?” I ask.

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