Page 50 of Grave Love

Did he take care of all of his victims like this?

“Your pussy needs to be ready for me,” he says, reading my mind. “If you get an infection, we have to wait. And your time is already limited. I want you ready for me.”

Reminding himself. Reminding me we both know where this ends. Somehow, I know there’s another part to what he’s saying. Words we’re both avoiding. The true reason behind this.

“Me too,” I say.

He grits his teeth, then nods toward the shadowed pine trees.

“Come,” he says. “I have something to show you.”

Chapter18

Ren

Blaze stepsover the coffin lid like it’s a tree stump. Like he didn’t bury me alive and force me to beg for my life minutes ago.

My vision blurs as I try to focus on him.

He has something to show me?

“Where are you going?” I ask.

Exhaustion weighs against my shoulders, begging me to rest. Blaze prowls toward the trees, his large frame hunching forward like he’s prepared to duck under the foliage. As if he has the energy to hunt. As if this is normal to him. Maybe it is.

I’m not used to this.

“Please,” I whine. “Can we—”

He stops, then lowers his gaze to me.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

I hold a hand to my chest. The moon is speckled white, the stars peeking around it like tiny eyes peering out from a cave. Blaze is a few feet away now, but I can see his smug expression clearly—his smile spreading like thin strings of kelp clinging to the sand, so confident under the direct sunlight, even when it’s obvious that they will dry out too.

I twitch, and his grin grows wider, playing with our connection. The killer and the voluntary victim. All the words we don’t say, because we both just know.

What do you have to lose?he had asked me, reminding me that I was already on the edge of the precipice. That nothing mattered.

I shouldn’t trust Blaze. Not with my life. Not even with my death.

But I do.

I quickly put on my clothes and shoes, then follow him, our footsteps crunching the fallen leaves. The ground is moist under our feet, dipping with our weight. Branches and reeds scrape against our arms and legs, cracking underneath us, and each step deeper into the woods is darker than the last. My stomach churns; still, I focus on Blaze’s white hair, the only beacon of light in the darkness. He’s my guide, and yet we both know he’snota teacher. He’s a devil, waiting to drag me under. Waiting to collect my soul.

Ten minutes into the woods, Blaze stops next to a live oak tree. He runs his palm across a gnarled branch, recognizing it.

“There,” he says, then points behind a neighboring tree. “I dug it up for you.”

It.

My skin crawls, anticipating what “it” is. I study our surroundings: the oak and pine trees, the soggy leaves on the ground, the dim moon. “It” could be a weapon. “It” could be a coffee tree, a thoughtful gift he knows I’ll like. “It” could be a buried treasure for all I know.

Even with all of those possibilities, one thing is for certain: Blaze could have buried me alive tonight. He could have left me to die in that coffin. Laughed as I took my last breath. Claimed that it was what I said I wanted. There was nothing stopping him.

Except I begged for my life.

And he listened.