Page 9 of Destined By Dragonblood (Blood Born #2)

The warmth of his presence followed me through the opened doors of the train once it stopped, and I continued to experience arousal yet comfort from his nearness.

I swore he stood inches away, perhaps breathing my scent deeply into his nose, but neither the teenaged kid with a backpack or the thirty-something businessman flanking me indicated interest in the woman sharing space with them.

People sat directly behind me with barely any room between their knees and my legs, and another glance over the three in close proximity showed two wrapped up in their phones, the third with her nose in a book.

I turned back around to face the doors, sighing that I couldn’t see who affected me like this. Perhaps my brain had invented this stalker as a coping mechanism or distraction?—

An exhale ghosted over my nape, and I spun, jostling against the legs of the elderly woman behind me. She glanced up from her cell.

“Sorry,” I murmured, my face heating, before facing forward.

Perhaps a ghost followed me.

An angel?

Demon?

I shook my head at the possible scenarios, my lips pursing.

My traumatic past had directed me toward atheism, and I no longer believed in spirits along with the god and book my parents had used to brainwash me.

Indoctrination was the worst evil, not allowing for critical thinking and personal growth.

Both my mother and father had been part of my abuser’s faithful flock and worked in his church.

When I’d returned from my weekend sleepover at a friend’s house I’d lied about going to, neither believed me when I told them about the assault.

I’d begged to go to the hospital and have a rape kit done to prove I didn’t lie about having my virginity stolen from me, but they’d refused.

Sitting in my physical and emotional pain, I had accepted that I was to blame for what had happened.

Our beloved pastor had been tempted and fallen into sin because I’d flirted with him, enticed him with my budding curves.

Both of my parents had been employed by the church and still were last I’d heard.

Speaking up to anyone else would have brought about dire consequences that probably would have left my family destitute.

I’d chosen to keep my mouth shut since I’d been taught children were meant to be seen and not heard, and I feared hell as a consequence of my supposed disobedience to that leather-bound book.

From that day forward, I’d stayed home as much as possible, sticking to my mother’s side whenever we were at church, even though something inside me insisted she wouldn’t protect me in the way she ought to if needed.

I graduated and escaped to the Christian college my parents had insisted I attend, happy to be eight hours away from home.

Four years of rarely returning to visit, and I received a degree in missions, something I’d never wanted but had agreed to in order to please my parents.

With indoctrination’s claws still in me, it wasn’t until a friend I’d secretly found online had asked me to come visit her in New York—fuck my religious upbringing and college education—that I realized the lies I’d been fed since birth.

I left the Bible Belt behind and began my religious deconstruction while sleeping on my friend’s couch.

Two years and three base-pay jobs later, fate slammed me literally into a rich man, the coffee to-go tray in my hands smashing against his chest and emptying hot liquid down the front of his suit that probably cost more than both of my parents made in a year combined.

Elijah Tolzman had smiled rather than cussed when our gazes locked, and I immediately felt a strange connection to him, as though he was a kindred spirit.

Perhaps I’d known him in another life, but he was like the older brother I always wished had been around to protect me from those in spiritual authority I’d been manipulated into submitting to.

Mr. Tolzman obviously sensed the same, because he had hired me as one of his secretaries, and my new life began.

With twice the salary I’d made anywhere else, I eventually saved a small nest egg and had decent enough credit that allowed me to purchase the condo in Jersey.

I finally had silence and space to just be and explore who I wanted to become.

But the trauma had continued to hold me back until the previous five months when I’d started visiting a BDSM club where I’d met another man I felt a connection with.

While enjoying the warmth of the good eyes still caressing over my nape as the train clacked along toward Jersey, I considered Master Vanni.

His soothing presence never failed to make me wish I was stronger than my fear of touch.

If anyone could help me break down those walls, it would be him.

He had my full trust, and now more than ever, I wanted to move another step forward.

Perhaps I would ask him to push me tomorrow.

Or maybe I would take the initiative and put my hand on his sexy forearm and the veins I’d been dying to trace with a fingertip.

My core pulsed, and I swallowed a sudden rush of saliva. I’d found Master Vanni alluring since day one, but this was the first time desire welled over thoughts of him. Elation rose, fluttering my heartbeat.

Things were going to change.

I would hang onto this physical excitement and the positive feels from my stalker and carry them with me to Master Vanni’s club tomorrow night.

The train slowed for my stop, and I slipped out onto the platform, heading toward home, unaware of the cold.

Good eyes trailed along behind me into the quieter neighborhood, the gaze keeping my skin alive, pulse heightened, and my core just as wet as Master did once he started to hurt me with the most exquisite, stinging pain.

A few glances over my shoulder assured my vision that I walked alone, but I refused to believe the empty sidewalk that my eyes suggested.

I let myself into my condo, hating how the sixth sense shut off once the door locked behind me.

“Until tomorrow,” I murmured, already looking forward to leaving for work in the morning.

While peeling off my coat and sweater, I snuck a peek past my curtained front windows.

Neither glass panes afforded me an eyeful of the man I wanted to see more than the dinner of beef stew I’d put in my slow cooker earlier that morning.

Sighing, I went about my evening routine, settling in for the night.

An hour later, my belly full and dressed in fleece PJs instead of work clothes, I lounged on the couch with my e-reader. At reading about the lead character forgetting to take out the trash, I realized I’d done the same.

“Damnitalltohell,” I muttered, forcing myself to be responsible and get up.

Still grumbling at myself, I gathered every bit of refuse from the condo, emptying my fridge of leftovers too.

I stepped outside, intent on hurrying to the sidewalk where I usually left my weekly bag of trash.

The bad vibe I’d felt earlier hit me full force in the face like a slap, pulling me up short on my stoop. Heart racing, I glanced up and down the street. Too many shadows lurked, offering hiding places for whomever meant me harm.

My skin crawled, my breaths heavy and puffing in white clouds in front of my mouth.

Movement captured my attention, and I whipped my head to the left, the trash bag slipping from my grasp and tumbling down the stairs.

Someone stood near the corner of Walnut and Deerfield Avenue but back enough out of the way that the streetlight didn’t offer me a good look at their face.

They stared my way, keeping me frozen like a deer in headlights.

Hairs rose all over my body, and I squeezed my core’s muscles to keep from peeing myself.

He took a step toward me, and I stumbled backward over the threshold, slamming the door as I went.

A sob ripped from me as I attempted to lock up with shaking hands. A frigid chill settled into my bones, and for the first time in years, I wished I didn’t live alone, that I had a companion to help calm my rising panic.

The lock finally slid into place, and I ran on weak legs from window to window, making sure they were locked, curtains closed, flicking off lights as I went deeper into my condo.

This was real, definitely not a figment of my imagination.

I pushed into my closet, knees drawn up to my chest, my eyes clenched shut while rocking back and forth.

Visions of the past crystalized like jagged ice pelting the inside of my head.

Burning rope wrapped around my wrists and ankles.

Aching throat from having been gagged over and over again with a rigid piece of flesh that had violated my other private areas as well.

I was sore between my thighs and in a hole I hadn’t known until that night could be utilized for anything other than an exit.

My stomach heaved, and I tore from the tiny space, barely making it to the bathroom in time.

Vomit erupted up my esophagus, burning and choking, and I sobbed once finished, flushing the dinner I’d eaten while attempting to distract my mind with what tomorrow held in wait.

Master .

The echo in my head gave me strength and courage to crawl into the living room, my wary gaze flitting from covered window to still-locked door.

Silence rang in my ears, and tears dripped down my face as I fumbled on the coffee table for my cell phone.

He answered after the first ring.

“Help me,” I managed to whisper before breaking down into sobs again.