Page 15 of Lovely Violent Things

Like he’s been given a gift, Kallum smiles down at me with practiced, weaponized smolder that shallows my breath. “Oh, I more than appreciate your sacrifice, Dr. St. James.”

Liquid heat pours into my veins, and my thighs clench at the empty ache in my core. A flash of memory surfaces—my wrists bound; my thighs wrapped around his thrusting hips—and I can feel Kallum so deep inside me, I have to take a step back to breathe.

My emotions and weaknesses are human. I’m a flawed design. I can’t shut off the torrent of emotions he unleashed inside me in a matter of hours. I gave Kallum a piece of me that I’d never given anyone else…and now, I can’t simply forget, no matter how badly I wish I had the power to do so.

Unlike the soulless demon standing before me, I’m not an unfeeling monster.

Regardless of the confusion waging an internal war, my mind is stronger than my metaphorical heart. It always wins out. Kallum knows this—he evenbelievesthis—the power of mind over matter, the philosophy of The Will to Power. It’s why the last words he uttered to me were spat with venom.

“There’s no way I’m ever letting you go. We are the duality.”

He wants me to give in to some illogical, immaterial passion. Which he’ll manipulate, utilizing every head game in his arsenal to cloud my reason.

A heavy bout of mental exhaustion claims me already, and we’ve barely started this dance.

When a crime-scene analyst approaches Alister, the agent steps aside to speak with him in private, and suddenly the negative space between us is charged with everything last said and unsaid.

Kallum steps closer, leaving the other agent farther behind. I purposely loosen my grip on the strap, allowing a tingling sensation to bite into my fingertips as feeling returns.

This is exactly how it feels to be Kallum’s object of obsession. First the numbing balm, then the pain.

The bandage around his left hand is stained with fresh blood. As if he knows the effect his proximity has on me, Kallum grins, leisurely rolling up the cuffs of his black dress shirt to put the bandage in my direct view.

I tear my eyes away and catch sight of the scripted tattoos which decorate the areas between the sigils and archaic designs inked into his skin.

“You’re in pain,” he says, his voice softening as his gaze tracks my body, momentarily landing on the bruises along my neck.

I’m not sure if he’s referring to the attack I sustained from the dead suspect, or our frenzied love making—but I don’t want him probing any of my wounds.

“Halen—?”

“I’m fine,” I say, cutting him off. I look at the scripted words tattooed on his skin, shifting my thoughts to a safer topic, like the verse I’ve read countless times on his arm. “There would be no harmony without high and low notes…”

He glances down at his forearm before returning his attention to me. “Heraclitus’s oppositional process oferisanddike.”

I hold his gaze, unwavering. “Strife and justice. Or is it strife and harmony? What does the philosophy expert believe?”

A flash of amusement lights his features. His tongue travels over his bottom lip, as if tasting me in the air, a snake scenting its prey. “Impressive. I’m surprised you’ve had time to memorize my tattoos to research.” He tosses an unconcerned look at the crime scene. “Then again, you never could keep your eyes off me.”

A flare of indignation blisters my face. I mentally sidestep his baiting remark. “I just find it ironic you have a quote by a philosopher known as The Obscure. It’s rather…I don’t know… Fitting?”

“Initially, he was called The Riddler,” he corrects before taking a purposeful step forward to crowd the thin space between us with his consuming, towering presence. “There’s no irony here, little Halen. I’ve never once beenobscurewith you. I’ve always been honest, offered you the truth. Ask me anything. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give you.”

Beneath the heavy press of his implied offer, one thing screams inside my head.

The knife.

With his severe eyes focused on me in challenge, I want to demand what he did with the carving knife after Landry’s attack. Did he take it with him when he left the ritual ground? Is it the weapon that was used to sever the victim’s head?

“I know how to find them. You know I can find them.”

These words Kallum said to me before he disappeared into the high reeds, leaving me to clean up the mess at the ritual crime scene. His claim he could locate the missing victims.

For hours, Kallum was out of my sight—out of everyone’s sight. The ankle monitor left behind at the hotel. He had just under three hours to locate a victim, set the scene, and get back to the hotel.

Thinking about it in terms of anyone else, it’s not possible. There wasn’t enough time. The walk alone would’ve taken Kallum over forty-five minutes to reach the hotel.

But we’re not talking about anyone else—this is Kallum Locke. The man who had an agenda from the moment he first approached me at the university crime scene. The man who knew his end game before I ever sat down across from him at the Briar visitation table.

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