13. Hades
Hades
Wilder looks at me when I walk inside the shitty cabin.
“What’s that?” He points at the bag from The Crooked Spine in my hand.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
As I’m shrugging out of my leather jacket, he snatches it and runs into the kitchen.
“Asshole.”
His grin spreads when he looks inside. “Holy shit.”
“Wilder.”
“You're actually going to read a book?”
He pulls it out and stares at the cover. Then at me.
I don’t say a word.
A laugh bursts from him. “This might be the best day of my life.”
“Your standards are low.”
“My brother bought a romance novel.”
“I bought a book.”
“A romance novel.”
“Still a book.”
“Does it have fucking in it?”
I stare at him.
He smirks. “I'm just asking.”
“Find something to do.”
“I am.” He gestures between the book and me. “This.”
I snatch it out of his hand and walk toward my bedroom.
His voice follows me. “Do you want me to light a candle?”
“Fuck off.”
“Wine?”
I slam the bedroom door.
“Maybe some rose petals?”
“Shut up, fucker.”
His laughter carries through the cabin.
I drop onto the air mattress and immediately scowl. Damn thing’s already going flat.
Fuck it. I’ll blow it back up later.
I open the book and begin reading.
For the first few pages, I'm convinced Presley has terrible taste.
Then something changes.
The heroine realizes she's being watched.
I slow down.
Read another page.
Then another.
The heroine knows it's wrong. Knows she should be afraid.
And she is afraid.
But underneath the fear is something else.
Excitement.
Not because she wants to be hurt.
Because someone wants her enough to learn her habits. Her schedule. The things she likes.
Someone notices the details everyone else overlooks.
I stop reading.
Presley's face fills my mind.
Maybe don't fall in love with the first terrifyingly hot stranger who walks through the door.
My thumb rests against the edge of the page.
She recommended this book.
Out of an entire fucking wall of romance novels, I blindly grabbed this one. And Presley said she read it.
That she recommended it.
I look down at the words again.
The heroine knows someone is watching her.
Presley doesn't.
At least, not yet.
I think about the way Presley looked when she was staring out the window of her house.
She was scared. Her body stilled.
But was there something more underneath?
And what happens when she knows it was me lurking in the woods and around her house?
Will that change things?
Will she still close the curtains? Lock the doors?
Or would some small part of her like knowing I want her enough to keep coming back?
I close the book.
Jesus Christ.
I shouldn't be using a fucking romance novel to justify what I'm doing.
What I’m about to do tonight.
Presley likes it because it’s a fantasy.
She doesn’t know it’s her reality.
There's a difference.
I stare at the book.
My gaze shifts toward the window.
Daylight is already fading outside.
Presley is probably curled beneath the blanket on her couch in that big house in the woods. Maybe reading. Or watching television.
I stand and head to the living room.
Luckily, Wilder took my truck and went into town for a coffee. Said he was going stir crazy.
At least he’s not here to witness me leaving. Again.
I grab my jacket and shove my arms into the sleeves.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
Stay here. Before you’re in too deep.
Deep down, I know it’s too late.
I’m already in too deep.
I pick up my flashlight and walk out the door, locking it behind me.
Knowing something is wrong has never been particularly effective at stopping me.
I tell myself I won’t stay long.
That I just want a glimpse of her.
Just one, to satisfy this urge.
I already know that’s bullshit.
It’s become a habit. A craving taking root.
Something that’s getting harder to control.
And I’ve always been in control.
Until now.
I shrug the thought off and follow the trail through the woods, ending up behind the same tree I've stood behind every other time I've come here.
Wilder would have something to say. He’d probably accuse me of lurking behind a tree like a serial killer.
Which I am.
Except I only kill those who deserve it.
I lean against the trunk and look toward the Victorian.
It's still light enough to see the Halloween decorations covering the porch. The ghosts sway in the breeze. Including the one I straightened.
Movement catches my attention.
Presley flips a light on, then heads toward the back door.
Everything inside me sharpens at the sight of her.
I make my way around the property.
By the time I can see the back of the house, Presley is standing on the porch in front of the back door.
Penny stands inside, watching her.
Presley gives the rug a good shake. Dust and a few leaves scatter into the air.
Penny takes one step forward.
Presley points at her. “Stay.”
The little dog freezes with one paw raised.
My mouth twitches.
“Good girl.”
Penny lowers her paw.
Presley tosses the old one aside, then reaches for the rolled one she brought outside.
She gives it a shake. The rug unrolls. Orange pumpkins cover a black background, with little white ghosts floating between them.
I stare at it.
It's fucking hideous.
Presley apparently disagrees.
She beams. “I know I didn’t need it.”
Penny's tail wags.
“But I saw it through the window of that craft store we passed on the way home and I couldn’t resist.”
She lowers the rug to the porch. “I mean, look at it.”
I am. Still hideous.
Presley smooths her hands over it. “I really like it.”
Something tightens in my chest.
I file those four words away with everything else I've learned about her.
She likes Halloween.
Horror movies.
Romance novels about men who stalk women.
Apparently ugly fucking rugs.
And coffee.
Although I still need to figure out exactly how she takes it.
Penny ventures onto the porch and immediately sniffs the new rug.
“No peeing on it.”
Penny looks at her.
“I paid twenty-eight dollars for that.”
I almost laugh.
Presley points at the rug. “Twenty-eight dollars, Penny. For a doormat. That's ridiculous.” She pauses, her tone softening. “But worth it.”
Penny walks in a circle and sits in the middle of it.
“Really?”
Her tail thumps.
“You have the entire house.”
Another thump.
“And you choose my new rug.”
Penny lies down.
A laugh escapes Presley. I hear it clearly from where I'm standing.
I could listen to that laugh all night.
Presley crouches and scratches Penny's ears. “You're lucky you're cute.”
She stands and picks up the old rug.
She looks around... and then her gaze drifts toward the woods.
I don't move.
Her smile slowly disappears.
Her shoulders stiffen as her attention settles on the trees. Not exactly where I’m standing, but close enough.
She feels me. I know she does.
The knowledge sends a dark thrill through me.
Her eyes search the woods.
I stay where I am, even though part of me wants to step forward. Let her see me. See what happens when she realizes the man from the bookstore is standing behind her house.
But I don't.
Not yet.
Penny looks toward the woods, too.
“Come on, girl.” Presley's voice has lost some of its playfulness.
Penny follows Presley as she tosses the old rug in the garbage can, then heads inside.
The door shuts behind them.
Presley disappears deeper into the house, but my attention remains on the door. Something about the sound bothers me.
My eyes narrow.
Did that fucking door latch?
For a moment, I consider walking across the yard and checking.
But it’s too risky.
Not when she’s awake, and it’s still early.
I watch from my usual spot as her bedroom light clicks on. She moves around the room, her mouth moving like she’s talking to Penny on the bed.
When she changes into her pajamas, I feel that irresistible urge to go to her. To let her know I’m watching.
I barely resist.
My jaw clenches. My dick is so hard inside my jeans just from catching a glimpse of her perfect ass.
She lies down in bed, reading a book. I have a desperate urge to know which one it is.
When she finally turns the light out, my hands are shaking.
I slowly creep around the house, heading for the back door.
The Halloween rug is the first thing I see, the dusk-to-dawn light illuminating it. Orange pumpkins and little white ghosts stare up at me from the black background.
Still fucking hideous.
But she likes it.
For some reason, that makes me like it a little more.
I step onto the porch and look at the door.
It’s not completely closed.
My hand closes around the knob.
It begins to open.
My jaw clenches. I knew I didn’t hear the latch earlier.
Presley closed the door, but she never pushed on it to make sure it shut.
Anyone could walk in here and find her sleeping upstairs.
The fact that I’m currently proving that point isn’t lost on me.
But I’m not going to hurt her.
I push it open far enough to step inside the dark kitchen.
I close the door carefully behind me, pressing until I hear the quiet click of the latch.
My eyes adjust to the darkness.
The house feels different from inside. Bigger. Quieter. More intimate.
It smells like her. That same soft sweetness I noticed at the bookstore lingers beneath coffee, cinnamon, and woodsmoke from the fireplace.
I stand completely still and listen to the faint sounds of the old house settling and the ticking of a clock somewhere nearby.
I move farther into the kitchen.
Moonlight filters through the windows, giving me enough light to see without using my flashlight.
A mug sits beside the sink.
There’s a bag of Halloween candy on the counter.
A little construction-paper ghost is stuck to the refrigerator.
I move closer.
It’s obviously handmade. The edges aren’t even.
I wonder if Presley made it. Or if someone made it for her. The realization irritates me.
My gaze moves around the room.
I've watched her through the windows, but that's nothing compared to standing here.
These are the things she sees every day. Touches. Uses.
The little pieces that make up her life.
I want to know every one of them.
A framed picture sits above the sink. I move closer to it.
Presley stands beside an older woman, both of them laughing at something outside the frame.
I pick it up.
Presley's younger in the picture. An older woman has an arm wrapped around her.
I don't know who she is, but I wonder if it’s her mother. Or maybe a grandmother.
I recognize the way Presley is looking at her. Her smile is wide and bright, full of happiness.
I put the picture exactly where I found it.
A faint sound comes from somewhere behind me.
I turn instantly.
Tiny nails click against the hardwood floor, then stop.
Penny stands in the doorway.
We stare at each other.
Shit.
Her ears lift.
For one second, I expect her to bark and wake Presley.
Instead, her tail wags.
I slowly crouch. “Hey, Penny.”
Her tail starts wagging faster.
“You're a terrible guard dog.”
She walks toward me.
“Seriously. We need to work on this.”
Penny reaches me and sniffs my hand before pushing her head beneath it.
I scratch behind her ears. “Your mom is going to be pissed if you get me caught.”
Mom. The word comes naturally.
Penny leans harder into my hand.
I glance toward the stairs. “You're supposed to protect her.”
Her tail wags.
“Not help the guy who broke into her house.”
Technically, I didn't break into anything. I walked through an unsecured door.
That distinction probably wouldn't mean much to Presley.
When I stop rubbing her ears, Penny turns and trots toward the stairs.
I stand, following behind her.
She reaches the bottom step, then looks over her shoulder at me before she starts climbing.
That little shit is leading me right to Presley.
Penny waits for me at the top.
A smirk curls my lips as I slowly climb, avoiding the places where the old wood looks most likely to creak.
The hallway is dark.
But I don't need Penny to show me where Presley's bedroom is.
I already know.
Penny trots toward the partially open door and disappears through it.
Anticipation fills me. My pulse pounds harder with every step. Not because I'm afraid she'll catch me.
Because she's on the other side.
I reach the doorway and stop.
Moonlight spills across the bed. Presley is asleep on her side, one hand tucked beneath her pillow. Her dark hair is spread across it, catching the moonlight.
Penny jumps onto the bed.
Presley makes a quiet whimper and shifts beneath the blankets.
My entire body stills.
Penny circles twice before curling against her.
Presley's arm moves automatically, settling around the little dog.
Something tightens inside my chest.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
So peaceful with her face relaxed from sleep, long lashes resting on her cheekbones, lips parted slightly.
I can’t tear my eyes away from her.
I wonder what Presley would do if she opened her eyes right now.
Scream, probably. Maybe throw something.
Definitely never recommend another fucking romance novel to me.
I stand there, hands clenched into fists, memorizing the way the moonlight falls across her face.
I wait until I’m sure she’s still asleep, then soundlessly move closer.
My fingers flex at my side.
You shouldn’t touch her.
I already know I’m going to.
I reach toward her, then gently glide my fingertips across her face.
She’s soft. Warm. Real.
My breath catches.
I’ve imagined touching her since the bookstore.
Reality is worse.
Because now I know what she feels like.
And in that moment, I know that seeing her through a window will never feel the same again.
It’ll never be enough.
Finally, I force myself to back away until I reach the doorway.
I take one long, lingering look before I turn and creep down the stairs, through the darkened house, and into the kitchen.
I pull open the back door and step onto the porch. I close the door behind me until I hear the click. I test it once, twisting the knob, to make sure it caught.
Good. She’s safe now.
But not from me.
My gaze drops to the ridiculous Halloween rug beneath my boots.
Twenty-eight dollars.
I shake my head.
Then I walk back to the trail and disappear into the woods.
White vapor comes from my lips as I move. It’s much colder in Hollow Creek than where I used to live.
I shove my hands in my pockets, lost in thought as I head toward the shitty cabin I share with Wilder.
I thought getting closer to her would satisfy whatever the hell this craving is.
It didn't.
It made it worse.
Now I know what Presley looks like when she sleeps. And I want to see her that way again.
Tomorrow night.
And the night after that.
Every fucking night.