Chapter 8
Salem
“Figured you’d be here,” Heresy said. He straightened up, kicking the stand on his bike.
“How did you hear?”
“Now that Riptide’s with your sister Brat, we hear all the juicy gossip. Against our will, mind you. You really going through with this?”
I scoffed. “None of your business, Slayer.”
He gave me that look, the one that always made me want to slap him or… well, do other things. “You’re staying the night in the farmhouse, aren’t you?” His eyes darkened as he looked at the house behind me. “I don’t like it.”
I snorted, annoyed. “Since when do you care what I do, Slayer? I don’t need you babysitting me.”
I crossed my arms. “It’s a dare, isn’t it? I don’t back down.”
His deep voice rumbled as he pushed off his bike and strode toward me. “You doing this because of some dare?”
“What of it?” I snapped. “Don’t tell me you believe in ghost stories.”
“I don’t,” he said, that brooding look on his face. “But I know how dangerous that place can be. Structurally, that is.”
“Oh, what are you, a carpenter or something.” Dude was trying to be my savior. “You like Jesus?”
“My dad was, not Jesus, he built houses. I picked up a few things. Storm’s coming, too. I’m not letting you go up there alone.”
I laughed, but it came out more annoyed than anything. “I don’t need a hero, Heresy. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”
“Yeah, I know you can,” he said, stepping closer until he was practically looming over me. “But I’m still keeping watch.”
The idea of him hovering around while I tried to prove myself to the girls pissed me off, but something in his eyes told me I wasn’t going to win this argument. Heresy wasn’t the type to back down, and maybe… just maybe, having him around wasn’t the worst thing. But I wasn’t about to admit that.
“Look, I don't buy into curses or ghosts, but I believe in my gut. And that place? It’s off. You know it too. I can see it in your eyes tonight, just like the other night. At the party.”
I sighed, frustrated, but something in what he said made me pause. Although I hated to admit it, there was comfort in the idea of someone watching my back—even if it was him.
But I gave him a skeptical look, still holding my ground. “You don't believe in curses, but you're warning me off? Sounds like you’re the one who’s scared.”
He came closer, his vibe intense. “I’m not scared, but I don’t want to see you get hurt. Let me keep watch. I won’t bother you, just… in case.”
“I’m supposed to be all alone,” I complained.
“Don’t worry, I don’t tell my brothers everything. I’ll be long gone before your sisters show up in the morning.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “But keep your distance. I don’t need you ruining this for me.”
Heresy gave a slow nod, his dark gaze never leaving mine. “Deal.”
“Okay,” I said, waving him off. “Do whatever the hell you want, but don’t get in my way.”
He simpered. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Fuck, my eyes flitted over him. Damn, he was wearing a shirt, a black t-shirt with manufactured tears under his cut so I didn’t get a glimpse of his chest this time. But I had fond memories. He wore black jeans with rips as well with big chunky boots. With his piercings and chains, there was enough metal to make him look dangerous.
The wind had started to pick up, and I could already see the dark clouds rolling in. Perfect. A haunted house, a storm, and a hot biker lurking in the shadows. Heresy’s hair blew back, giving him a regal air. This biker was dangerously delicious.
I turned toward the farmhouse, squaring my shoulders. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I wasn’t backing down now. This was my test, my initiation, and come hell or high water—or a fucking curse—I’d make it through. With or without my sexy shadow.
This was shaping up to be one hell of a night. Heresy followed but kept his word, staying back as I made my way through the front door. The inside was just as creepy as the outside—maybe creepier than last time since all the Halloween decorations had been cleared out. But the dust-covered furniture, peeling wallpaper, and a smell like mold and something rotting was still present.
“Home sweet home,” I muttered, setting my pack down and pulling out a flashlight.
The wind howled through the broken windows, making the whole place creak and groan like it was alive. I set up camp in the front room, laying out my sleeping bag on the floor and lighting a few candles to push back the darkness. It wasn’t much, but it would do until I could get a cleanse going. Banish the negative energy.
Heresy lurked in the corner. He hadn’t packed anything. I shrugged and tried to settle in. Staying to watch me was his choice, and I wasn’t about to offer him space in my sleeping bag.
Almost immediately, the storm hit hard, rain pelting the roof and thunder rumbling in the distance. I attempted to get grounded, get prepared for the ritual, but there was this... feeling. Like the walls were closing in on me. Like something was watching.
I fumbled with the bowl and the salt, spilling the white and black candles, I was trying to set up with my name and my sigil. The candles rolled away on the uneven floor while I was thinking if I should add another candle and write Heresy’s name. I didn’t know his real name. Then I couldn’t find my bunch of rosemary.
I kept telling myself it was just the wind, just my imagination, but every time the floor creaked or something shifted in the dark, I couldn’t help but look around. Was it the house? Or was it something more?
That’s when I heard it—footsteps. Not Heresy’s. These were lighter, quicker, like someone was walking just outside the room. I grabbed my knife, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Heresy?” I called out, my voice sounding a little more panicked than I’d like to admit.
No answer.
Fuck.
I stood up, my flashlight cutting through the darkness, and stepped out into the hall. The wind howled louder, and the whole place seemed to shudder. I turned, ready to bolt, when I saw him—Heresy, standing in the doorway, soaked from the rain.
Time seemed to slow down, or fly by, I couldn’t tell. When had Heresy stepped out of the room? I felt like I was having the worst migraine. Something had put my brain in a fog.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Fuck you,” I shot back, lowering my knife.
“I was outside keeping watch,” he said, stepping inside. “Until the storm got too bad. You’re stuck with me now.”
I scoffed, but inside, I was kind of glad he was here. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m kicking your ass.”
Heresy chuckled, shaking the rain from his hair. “You’d have to catch me first.”
I snorted, turning back toward my sleeping bag, but the wind slammed the front door shut with a bang, and the whole house seemed to shiver.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, my heart racing again. Heresy was already by the door, pulling at the handle.
“It’s stuck,” he said, yanking harder.
“Great,” I groaned. “Now we’re trapped in a haunted house during a storm. This just keeps getting better.”
Heresy glanced at me, a strange look on his face. “Guess we’re alone all night.”
“Guess so,” I muttered. It was going to be a long fucking night.
“I’ll build a fire,” he said, surprising the hell out of me. “Might not be safe. We might end up burning the whole place down.”
It was a good idea, since I wasn’t sure the house had a roof, and it had not only gotten unseasonably chilly, but it had become un-geographically cold. Florida never felt this frigid. Another chill ran through me as I realized it had to be a disturbed spirit causing my shivers.
Heresy crouched down in front of the old stone fireplace, his long, dark hair falling over his face as he worked. His hands, strong and covered in silver rings, moved with surprising precision as he stacked the scrap wooden floorboards, his painted black nails looking so odd against them. He didn’t say a word, just kept his focus on building the fire, striking matches until the flame caught and flickered to life.
The firelight danced across his tattooed arms, casting shadows on the ink of wolves and skeletons, and the mystical woman wrapped in roses that marked his skin. It was if he wasn’t just some biker. There was something methodical, almost hypnotic, about the way he did this—like he’d done it a thousand times before. I had the weirdest déjà vu. Like I’ve watched this man build a fire for a millennia. The snap and crackle of the fire filled the silence, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
For a guy who usually thrived in the biker life, on the road, Heresy sure looked at peace in the middle of this storm, in this creepy, dilapidated place. The fire grew stronger, its warmth slowly filling the room, but my attention was on him, on the way his muscles moved as he leaned back on his heels, watching the flames like he was waiting for something—like the fire held more answers than either of us could find in the dark.
Soon, I was pulling my sleeping bag closer to the fire. Closer to him.
As the storm raged on outside, I couldn’t let go of the feeling that we weren’t alone. But Heresy’s silent steady presence kept me grounded as I attempted a cleanse, even if I hated to admit it. Every time I caught his eye, I felt that same stupid flutter in my chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him.
With the storm howling and the farmhouse creaking, I realized one thing, I wasn’t just fighting the ghosts in this place. I was fighting my attraction to this Slayer.