CHAPTER THREE
REAVER
When I said I had some loose ends to tie up, I wasn’t honest with Asher about what that entailed. And now, standing outside of Kennedy’s apartment, I’m not sure I should let her know I’m leaving. It’s just before seven, and I know this is about when she leaves for her office on Newbury Street.
I may have stayed away for her own good, but like any good stalker, I know her daily routine.
I also don’t want to hide in the shadows, so I sit on her front steps and wait.
I get several sideways glances from people passing by as the streets of Boston come alive.
One woman even crosses the street when she sees me.
I’m not surprised. When people see a man of my size, they tend to fall into two categories—scared or curious.
Most women fall into the first, while most men want to know my workout routine.
At half past eight, I look up at her windows, which are dark, and I don’t see any movement. She should have come out by now. My self-deprecating thoughts start to take over. Maybe she saw me sitting here and decided to head out the back. If I saw me sitting here, I’d probably avoid me as well.
I let out a long sigh as I stand and stretch my legs. I don’t want to leave without explaining everything to Kennedy. She deserves to know why we can’t be together and the danger she’s in merely knowing me.
Staring up at her apartment, I need to know if she’s home. I’m about to use one of my rare angelic powers to flash inside when the door to the building opens, and a woman and child exit. On instinct, the petite woman pulls her child close as she stares at me.
The little girl with her smiles and waves. “You’re pretty,” the child says as she looks at me. Children, with their untainted eyes on life, are almost always able to see the bright, angelic glow around us.
I give the child a wink as I hold out my hand to stop the door from shutting. The mother mumbles something I’m sure she didn’t mean for me to hear as she pulls her child down the stairs.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I make my way up to Kennedy’s second-floor apartment in no time.
There are only two doors, and since I’ve never actually been in her place, I take a moment to orient myself.
What I do know is that her windows face Commonwealth Avenue, so I choose the one in the front of the building.
With a deep inhale, I knock on her door and wait.
After a few minutes, I knock again and wait.
“Kennedy?”
When no one answers, I look around to ensure no one is around before I materialize inside her apartment. It’s a handy angelic trick I’ve retained, although it isn’t good for much beyond a few feet. But for some light B&E, it does the trick.
The moment I’m inside, I know there is no one home. I’m standing on the opposite side of her front door, looking directly into her living room. It’s spacious, with large windows that let in vast amounts of light. But it’s the bottle of wine and two glasses on the small table that have my attention.
Jealousy courses through my veins as I imagine that scrawny doctor enjoying a glass of wine with my girl. A low growl resonates from my chest, and I want to find him and rip him limb for limb with my bare hands.
“Fuck,” I grumble as I move forward into her living space to get a better look around. I know I should leave. She isn’t home, but something compels me forward. Morbid curiosity, maybe.
Is it possible that he’s already moved in?
Without a second thought, I head down the small hall looking for a bedroom. It isn’t hard to find. On one side of the hall, there is a set of glass French doors that leads into what looks like an office, and directly opposite is a bedroom.
Her bedroom has the same large windows as the living area, and the decor is distinctly feminine. I take a moment to imagine her waking up with the morning sun cascading over her body. A body I’ve never actually seen, only imagined.
I inhale deeply and realize that the only scent in the room is her.
Instantly my jealousy from a moment ago dissipates.
“So, he doesn’t live here,” I breathe in again.
“And he’s never been in your bedroom.” This realization puts a wide smile on my face, although it shouldn’t.
I should want her to be happy, and if Dr. Scrawny does it for her, then I should want that for her. But I don’t. I’m selfish that way.
I take a few moments to look around, careful not to disturb anything.
The bed is made and has more decorative pillows than one person could ever need.
I shake my head because I don’t understand the need for useless pillows.
For centuries I slept on the ground during battle, thankful that there wasn’t a rock under my back.
Then I wished for the hard soil when I was chained to a stone wall and all I could do was let my head fall forward to sleep.
I could never have imagined a bed with so many pillows, none of which are used for your head. But even my brother’s bedroom now has copious amounts of useless pillows, all arranged perfectly every morning by Sloane.
Walking over to the windows, I look out.
A green runs the length of Commonwealth Avenue, splitting the street in half.
I’ve spent many a night there watching Kennedy’s apartment, making sure she was safe.
This was the window she would stand and look out of.
I can’t help but wonder what she thought as she gazed out into the night.
So many times, I thought about going to her.
Instead, I stayed in the shadows of the trees and let her be.
Glancing around her bedroom, I try to take in each detail so I can remember everything about her.
A framed picture on her dresser catches my attention.
Picking it up, I look at a brace-faced Kennedy smiling widely with an equally awkward pre-teen Salem.
It’s clearly summer, and they are at the beach, carefree and young.
Salem has also become a great friend to me over the years since we first met. Thankfully, she has Michael always to protect her, not that she ever needed it. She is more powerful than she realizes, and as a turned vampire, she’s dangerous as hell. Not someone even I would want to go up against.
Carefully, I put the photo back where it was and continue my perusal of Kennedy’s home.
My brain and heart are at war over whether I should leave.
I know that rationally, I should go. I don’t belong here, and technically, I am breaking and entering.
Not something I’m proud of, even if the initial reason was to ensure she wasn’t sprawled out dead on the floor.
Maybe that last thought was to rationalize my being here.
I don’t do anything creepy, like rummaging through her drawers. But as I’m about to leave her bedroom, I notice the drawer to her nightstand is open, so I casually make my way over.
There isn’t much in the small drawer—a ChapStick, a well-read book, and a pair of reading glasses.
Out of curiosity, I grab the book and look at the cover.
It’s easy to tell that it’s a romance novel by the half-naked man on the cover.
Its pages are dog-eared and the spine is cracked.
This is clearly a book she has read more than once.
Flipping it open to one of the tabbed pages, I begin to read.
“Spread your legs for me like a good girl. I want to see how wet you are,” Vlad commands. His deep baritone voice and thick Romanian accent have me nearly begging him to pleasure me.
I have no idea what he looks like, only that his voice sends me into a trance-like state, and I willingly hand my body over to him to use for his pleasure.
“What the fuck.”
I flip to another folded page.
Vlad ties my hands behind my back before forcing me to my knees. I know this submissive position well, and I’m happy to serve him. “I’m going to fuck your mouth until you gag on my cock.”
I suppress my eager smile and open my mouth willingly.
Flipping through the pages, it’s clear that she has marked all the sex scenes for easy retrieval to reread quickly.
“You dirty girl,” I say with a smile.
As I move to put it back, a picture falls out from between the pages.
When I pick it up and turn it over, my heart nearly stops beating.
It’s the picture she took of us with her phone the day we met.
She’s smiling wide with her arm around my shoulders, pressing her cheek to mine.
Her bright blue eyes sparkle and practically jump off the photo.
I, on the other hand, look petrified, most likely because I was.
Most women who have ever met me tend to recoil in fear—a natural reaction to my scarred face and gruff exterior.
But Kennedy didn’t. She didn’t care that I was scarred or that I barely fit into the modern world. She only wanted to know me more, and I pushed her away.
Folding the photo, I don’t put it back into the book.
Instead, I shove it into my pocket and quickly return the novel back in the drawer where I found it.
Once again, I try to convince myself that my actions are for her good, not mine.
Anyone trying to get to me could easily find the photo and use her to get to me.
It’s far-fetched…even I know that.
I don’t bother looking through the rest of her place. She’s not here, and if she came home now while I am lurking around inside, I wouldn’t know what to tell her.
As I’m about to leave, I spot a small whiteboard on her refrigerator. It’s blank, and I know I should leave it be. Even walking towards it, I tell myself that leaving her a note is bad. But lately, that seems to be all I have.
Grabbing the marker that dangles from it, I scribble a few words.
You will always be my sunny day and the light that shines in the darkness. R
I stare at the messy writing for a moment, debating on erasing it. What good will it do to let her know I was here? In the end, I leave it. I need her to know that she means something to me, even if we can’t ever be together.
The only Dimmu gate that will take me to the alternate underworld is the one atop The Black Door Club in Las Vegas. I can’t explain why. Frankly, it’s beyond even Michael’s comprehension. It’s one of those things that is just without explanation.
I know I told Ash I won’t leave without letting him know, but after visiting Kennedy’s apartment and not seeing her, there is no reason for me to stay.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, and the sun in Nevada is baking the rooftop as I stand and look down over the strip.
At this time of day, even if Ash weren’t hunkered down, he wouldn’t be able to stop me from leaving.
The direct sunlight would most likely do him in the moment he stepped foot onto the roof.
So, I’m safe for the moment to take in the last views of this place.
I haven’t mentioned to Asher or anyone else that I intend to destroy the gate once I’m on the other side. I only hope that whatever allows me to travel back and forth is destroyed with it.
I’m lost in thought when I hear movement behind me and the gentle click of a door shutting.