20. Hades
Hades
She closed the curtains.
I stare at them from beneath the trees.
My pulse still hasn’t slowed. Neither has my breathing.
I should leave.
Presley knows someone is watching her now.
There’s no explaining me away as an animal moving through the woods.
No blaming shadows. The wind. Tree branches. An overactive imagination.
She saw me. Really saw me.
And she was fucking terrified.
A slow smile pulls at my mouth beneath the mask.
Jesus Christ.
I liked it.
More than liked it.
The moment she saw me, her entire body froze.
Then she screamed.
Even from where I stood, I saw the panic in her movements.
The way she grabbed Penny.
The way she backed away from the window.
The way she closed her eyes as though opening them again would somehow make me disappear.
But she kept looking.
That’s the part that gets me.
She could’ve run.
Could’ve dropped to the floor.
Could’ve closed the curtains immediately.
Instead, Presley just stared at me like she needed to make sure I was real.
As though she needed to know if I was there.
Something dark inside me fucking thrives on that.
I reach up and pull the mask off.
Cold air hits my damp skin.
I look down at the distorted white face in my hand.
Maybe I should be disturbed by how much I enjoyed frightening her.
I’m not.
I’ve done worse things than scare a woman.
Much worse.
There’s a dead man several states away who could testify to that if Wilder and I hadn’t made sure he never spoke again.
Presley is different, though.
I don’t want to hurt her.
I want her safe. Protected.
I want anyone who even thinks about touching her to understand exactly how bad that decision would be.
But afraid of me?
That’s different.
I like knowing I’m the reason her pulse races.
I like knowing she’ll look toward these woods tomorrow.
That she’ll wonder whether I’m there.
Whether I’m watching.
Whether I can see her.
I want her afraid of the masked man. Curious about him.
Eventually, I want her anticipating him.
Waiting for him.
Looking for me before I even appear.
My gaze returns to her dark bedroom window. The curtains remain closed. For now.
“We’ll see how long that lasts.” The words disappear into the cold night.
I should go home.
Instead, I stay.
Because tonight wasn’t only about the mask.
Hours ago, Presley ran to me. Hades.
I hadn't planned on going inside The Crooked Spine.
I'd gone there because I wanted to see her.
The lights were still on when I reached the back of the building. I told myself I'd make sure she was there. That I'd leave without letting her see me.
Then I found the back door unlocked.
I should've walked away.
Instead, I slipped inside.
Presley was somewhere near the front of the store, moving between the shelves. I stayed out of sight, listening to her talk to herself while I followed from one aisle to another.
She heard me a few times.
Stopped.
Listened.
Once, she even asked if someone was there.
I nearly answered.
Then I heard the storage-room door slam.
A few seconds later, she started yelling.
Every thought about staying hidden disappeared.
By the time I reached the door, she was pounding against it and begging someone to let her out.
I yanked it open.
And she didn’t hesitate before throwing herself into my arms.
The man she thinks she met at The Crooked Spine.
The one she ate lunch with.
The man she smiled at and teased and admitted—without really admitting—that she’s attracted to me.
Her stalker.
I can still feel her.
Her fingers clutching my shirt.
Her face buried against my chest.
Her body trembling while I held her.
I gave her three words. I’ve got you.
And Presley believed them.
She relaxed against me.
Trusted me.
Then tonight I put on a mask and became the reason she felt afraid.
The contradiction should bother me.
It doesn’t.
I want both.
I want to be the thing that makes her heart race.
And the man she runs to when she’s scared.
I want her fear.
Her trust.
Her laughter.
Her secrets.
Her body.
Every fucking piece of her.
My fingers tighten around the mask.
I barely know her.
It should matter, but it doesn’t.
I know enough to want her.
And by the time I’m finished, I’ll know everything.
A light appears behind the curtains.
My attention sharpens.
Presley’s shadow moves around the bedroom. I hate that I can’t see her.
But damn, it was a sight when she came downstairs carrying a tennis racket.
I almost laughed.
Five feet of stubborn woman and a dachshund prepared to take on a masked man twice her size.
I fucking like them.
She left the lamp on in the living room and in her bedroom.
Checked the locks on the doors and windows.
Tried to lock her bedroom door.
It doesn't lock.
I already knew that.
It makes me smile.
I wonder if she’s sleeping.
Probably not.
She’s probably holding Penny and clutching her phone, debating whether to call someone.
My jaw tightens. Who would you call, Presley?
Gracie?
The friend she talks to on the phone?
The police?
The answer shouldn’t matter, but it does.
Because I want it to be me.
I want my name to be the one that enters her head when she’s scared.
For my voice to be the one she wants to hear.
For my arms to be the place she seeks comfort.
The irony almost makes me laugh.
I’m standing in the woods wearing the mask that terrified her, wondering whether she wishes Hades were there to protect her.
From me.
“That’s fucked up.”
Even for me.
I shove the mask beneath my jacket and finally turn toward the trail.
I take several steps, then stop and look back.
The curtains remain closed.
I smile.
Sleep well, Presley.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Whether you see me or not.
Wilder is asleep when I get back.
For once, I’m grateful.
I don’t feel like answering questions.
I toss the mask onto the table. It lands face-up. Empty black eyes stare at the ceiling.
My gaze moves to the romance novel sitting nearby.
Presley recommended a book about a woman fascinated by the man stalking her.
Tonight, I gave Presley her own masked man.
She’s afraid of him. I know that much.
What I don’t know is whether fear is all she feels.
Not yet.
I grab the book and head toward my room.
Before I reach the hallway, I look back at the mask.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out.