Chapter 12
GREY
Ikept to the shadows, silently stalking my prey. The little witch was oblivious to the dangers lurking in the dark.
She left town the morning after our deal, and if she thought that would keep me from finding her, she was wrong. The deal linked us, and the connection would only grow stronger over time.
She strolled through a rundown neighborhood alone, talking in a hushed tone to someone on the phone.
She stopped in front of a house littered with couches and other furniture in the front yard.
The glow from her phone exposed her flushed cheeks as she hung up and threw the device into her purse.
She continued into the yard, took a deep breath, and walked inside.
A few moments ticked by before I followed. Dumb, drunk college students stumbled in and out of the party. One particularly stupid dipshit dumped the contents of his red Solo cup down the front of my sweatshirt.
“Shit, sorry, bro,” the guy said, barely able to open his eyes. He swayed from side to side, steadying himself by placing a hand on my shoulder.
I balled my hands into fists, ready to pummel the idiot. “I suggest you keep your fucking hands to yourself unless you want to lose them.” I pushed past him. I didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with this shit.
The place reeked of bodily fluids, an unpleasant smelling cocktail of cum, sweat, and piss. This house would light up like a fucking Christmas tree if they used a black light in here.
I stopped, leaning against the wall as my gaze landed on Lyra. I watched her from a distance, careful not to let her catch sight of me.
She wore painted on jeans that showed off the curve of her ass, and a short little tank top that put her belly button ring on full display. Her dark espresso-colored hair was down, nearly falling to the small of her back.
I closed my eyes, a desperate attempt to drive away the cravings.
The…wanting.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Had I not learned my lesson to stay far, far away? I guess not, because I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She wore a blank expression as a frat douche talked animatedly, uncaring that his drink was spilling onto the biohazard of a carpet. He mistook her politeness for interest. The asshole must have been fucking blind because I could see the disinterest all over Lyra’s face.
I pushed off the wall, fingers flexed, as he leaned closer. But the blonde girl from the bar the other night appeared out of nowhere, dragging Lyra away from the bastard.
The girls found safety in numbers as the party raged on around them, dancing and laughing in the chaos. But Lyra kept to herself, lost in her own thoughts, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here.
I’d followed her tonight to remind her of one simple truth: she could run, but she couldn’t hide. She’d agreed to the deal, and there would be consequences if she tried to back out.