Willing (The Un #1)

12. Chloe

Twelve

Chloe

Sending up prayers of thanks to God, Saint Benedict, and every other saint I can think of, I try to gather my wits.

The throbbing in my thigh is so strong it pounds up and down my leg and I know my monster is getting closer, but now that I’m inside my house, I’m safe.

He can’t come in unless I invite him.

And nothing at this point would compel me to do that.

Nothing .

Fortifying myself with that knowledge, I push away from the door and stumble into the living room.

There, right where I left it on the floor, is my bag.

Scooping up my bag, I dig out my phone.

I check to see if I have any messages first—I don’t—then dial Father McCall.

The phone rings and rings before going to voicemail.

Growing irritated that he’s not answering and still hasn’t checked in after I tried to call him this morning, I hang up and redial his number.

Again, the line rings and rings and goes to voicemail.

Fighting the urge to scream in frustration, I hang up and try one more time to get through.

When the line pushes me to voicemail this time, I shout my codeword, “Franciscan delicacy!” and hang up.

Hopefully that will get me an answer, and if not… I don’t know what I’ll do.

Too tired to pace in worry, I clutch my phone, willing it to ring.

But there’s only silence.

A silence that grows more menacing the harder my mark pulses up and down my leg.

He has to be close… he’s probably on my street.

Swallowing back a whimper of despair, I move deeper into the house until I’m up against the wall of the bathroom. Trying my best to put as much space as possible between us.

Phone still gripped in my hand, I give up on Father McCall calling me back. There will be no help from the Order until I can reach him.

He’s my only contact.

Besides Isaac.

Oh God, why didn’t I think of Isaac?

Fingers scrambling to quickly dial Isaac’s number, I fumble with my phone and nearly drop it.

The line rings twice and Isaac answers the second I sense the monster at my door.

“Chloe? What’s wrong?” Isaac’s gruff, sleepy voice fills my ear at the same second a strong jolt of intense need courses through me.

“Oh God,” I moan and sway on my feet.

“Chloe?” Isaac says in alarm, sounding more awake.

“He’s here,” I manage to whisper.

As if he can hear me, there’s a soft knock on my door. “Chloe, my love, I’m here. Invite me in.”

A minute ago, I thought nothing could compel me to invite him in…

But now that he’s right outside, on the other side of the door, I realize I was a fool for thinking that.

How easily I forgot the effect he had on me when we were face to face.

“Are you sure? Are you sure it’s him ?” Isaac asks quickly.

“Yes,” I groan, struggling against the overpowering desire to open the door.

The overpowering desire to throw my body at his body.

“Okay,” Isaac says a little breathlessly, like he’s busy moving around, doing something. “I want you to remember your training. Do you remember your training?”

My shadow stalker knocks louder on the door, but his voice is still soft and sweet. “Chloe, my angel, I’m right here. Come to me.”

“I… I don’t know…” I mumble, too distracted by the sudden needy ache between my thighs to really focus on what he’s asking.

I hear Isaac take a deep, calming breath, and wish I could do the same. “Alright, listen to me carefully. I want you to go into the nearest bathroom and turn the faucet on. You can do that, right?”

Becoming impatient, the monster knocks so loud he rattles the doorframe. “Chloe.”

Jolting at the loud bang, my brain finally processes what Isaac asked me.

Eager to put more distance between us, I open the bathroom door and quickly slip inside.

There’s only a fraction of relief with another door between us, but I’ll take a fraction over nothing.

“Chloe, are you there? Are you turning on the faucet?” Isaac asks, and I realize I never answered him.

“Yes,” I pant.

Walking over to the sink, I turn the handle until water barely drips into the bowl.

“Good,” Isaac says.

And I’ve probably spent too much time with Nikolaos tonight because my mind automatically finishes with—girl.

“Now I want you to stay in the bathroom until I get there,” Isaac says gently, as if he’s talking to a child. “Can you do that?”

The monster bangs against the door again and I find myself blurting out, “You’re coming to help me?”

“I’m on my way,” Isaac says, and through the line I hear a car door shutting.

I sob into the phone, “Thank you.”

The line goes quiet for a heartbeat, then Isaac says, “He can’t come in unless you invite him, remember that. Whatever you do, stay inside and don’t invite him in.”

“I won’t,” I say, but I fear I might be lying.

The pull, the tug, to go to the front door is incredibly strong, and I’m not sure I can endure it for hours, much less minutes.

“Swear to me,” Isaac demands. “Swear on your eternal soul you won’t invite him in.”

Isaac’s tone is suddenly so forceful I wonder if he too is trying to compel me. But he’s not a vampire, and even if he was it wouldn’t work.

Shaking that thought away, I let the gravity of what he’s asking sink in then agree.

“I swear,” I say, knowing if I break my word God will punish me.

Isaac lets out a breath in relief. “I’ll be there soon, but I need to hang up and make another call. If anything changes, call me right away.”

Biting back the words begging him to stay on the line with me, I force myself to say, “Okay.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Isaac promises. “Stay safe for me.”

Isaac is on his way right now to help me. He’s the only person in the world willing to help me.

But I can’t help but feel abandoned when he disconnects.

Something big and hard thumps against my front door followed by a squelching noise.

Then his voice is in my head.

Answer the door, Chloe .

I know you can hear me.

Let me in .

Swaying on my feet, I have to grip the side of the sink to stay upright. Fear and temptation warring inside me.

Oh god, he’s in my head…

He’s inside me.

Whispering a broken prayer, I beg Saint Benedict to protect me from the evil on my doorstep.

Outside, the monster continues to thump something hard against my door. Each thump terrorizing my already raw nerves.

“Chloe,” he says out loud with a low thrum in his voice. A thrum that causes my nipples to tighten and my core to clench on emptiness. “Open the door, let me come in.”

I want to. Oh God, how I want to…

But I swore I wouldn’t.

I swore on the cost of my soul.

Knees weakening, about to give out, I push away from the sink and stumble over to the bathtub.

I’m so out of it, I’m deliriously hoping somehow this little bit of distance will make it easier to endure his nearness.

Climbing into the tub, I sit down, pull my knees up to my chest, and yank the curtain shut.

“Open the door, Chloe,” he snarls in frustration.

The snarl should frighten me, but it does the exact opposite. Heat floods through me making me feel hot and feverish.

Squeezing my knees together, I notice my thighs are slicked with wetness.

Restarting the prayer of protection, I beg God and Saint Benedict to protect me from my own wanton, traitorous body.

“Hear me,” he murmurs soft and low. “Hear my words. I know you can hear me this way. My strengths, my gifts flow through our connection when we’re this close. Did the Order tell you that? Did they warn you of this temptation ?”

No , I want to scream at him, but press my lips together and slap my hands over my ears instead.

No one warned me what it would be like to be near him. No one warned me that it would be a lust-filled, excruciating torture.

I’d give anything, anything , to relieve a little of this throb. This damn throb that won’t stop pounding through my veins.

“You hear me,” he continues in soft, soothing tones. “You hear me, and you hear the heartbeat of the gift I’ve brought to you.”

My mouth waters almost instantly at the reminder of the heartbeat outside my door. I was tuning it out, but now that he’s purposely drawn my attention it thunders in my ears.

Swallowing, I pray louder, trying to drown out the unwanted noise.

“Open. The. Door.” he demands, punctuating each word with a slam against the brick wall.

Pressing my hands harder against my ears, I shake my head back and forth.

I can’t.

No matter how badly I want to… I won’t.

“I’ve waited twenty years, Chloe,” he says with another loud slam.

Shuddering at the sound of a bone snapping, I drop my forehead to the top of my knees.

The sound should be repulsive… But something about it causes a jolt of excitement to shoot down my spine, straight to my needy core.

“Open. The. Door!” he shouts.

“No,” I whisper more to myself than him.

“Open the door,” he rasps a moment later like he’s growing weaker.

The fact that he seems to be close to giving up should fill me with relief, but for some reason it only hurts more.

“You can’t come in unless I invite you,” I whisper.

No matter how much my stupid pussy wants you to.

“Chloe, open this door!” he pleads. “I can’t protect you if you keep me out here all day!”

The thought of him leaving… of maybe never seeing him again fills me with so much distress it starts to piss me off.

“No,” I whisper and burst into angry tears. “Never.”

“Chloe,” he growls, and every muscle in my stomach clenches hard. The need, the want to experience that growl vibrating in my ear is so intense it hurts . “It took twenty years to track you down to this city, to this home. I have your scent. No matter where you go, I will find you.”

I hear the truth in his words and feel even more angry despair.

Is this it? Is my life over now? If I can’t run from him or escape him… what do I do?

“Don’t leave here until I come back after nightfall,” he demands.

Why? So he can torture me more?

“Fuck off,” I growl, hoping with all of my heart that he’ll do just that.

Once I sense him moving away, though, I cry harder.

Both relieved that he’s leaving and hating that he’s abandoning me like everyone else.