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FIFTY

AMETHYST

Disbelief crashes through my system at the sight of a man I thought was dead. Xero emerges from the cupboard under the stairs, his face startlingly familiar but without the piercings. Imposing, muscular, and platinum blonde, with cheekbones as sharp as his piercing blue eyes.

My heart flutters with hope, which swells with a burst of joy. He looks like an angel, a vision I’ve longed for in my darkest moments.

The man pinning me to the table spanks my ass, but I’m too numb from the shock of seeing Xero to flinch. Xero stalks into the kitchen with the grace of a predator, raises the ax, and swings the flat of it into an onlooker’s skull.

With a pained roar, the man crumples to the kitchen tiles, drawing the attention of the other three.

As the rapist’s weight releases my upper body, I jerk backward to elbow him, but he’s already charging at Xero.

All three men advance on him, and I scramble on the kitchen floor for the knife they forced out of my hand. My fight-or-flight kicks me in the gut, urging me to move.

Xero is alive.

But he’s surrounded.

I need to stay behind to even the odds .

Darting around the men, I grab the fallen knife and search for a way to help Xero. One of the attackers stumbles in my direction and I stab him in the back. The blade lodges in his ribs, making him whirl around. Before he can throw a punch, a figure charges at me from nowhere.

It’s Mr. Lawson, and he’s pissed. His round glasses dangle off the side of his face, their lenses smashed. His bony features twist into a rictus of rage.

Shock punches me in the gut, and I stagger backward.

“Amethyst Crowley,” my abuser roars over the sound of the fight.

Then he lurches.

Common sense says I’m hallucinating, but my hind brain sends a surge of cold terror that seizes control, rooting me to the spot.

A fist hits my temple, sending an explosion of pain that has me flying toward the door. For a split second, I think it belongs to Mr. Lawson, but then the man I stabbed reaches for my throat.

Xero knocks him to the side and bellows, “Run!”

I scramble to my feet, adrenaline powering my steps. Before I know it, my body is already halfway down the unlit backyard and heading toward the trees.

My heart thrashes, consumed with a mix of hope and guilt. Xero is alive. The one person in this entire world who made me feel profound love is back in my life, yet I left him alone with a bunch of predators.

How the hell can I abandon him? How can I leave the only man who ever made me feel cherished and seen?

Regret churns in my gut. I can’t fail him. Not again. I need to turn back. Xero would never leave me to fend for myself. But what if my presence puts us both in more danger?

I glance over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s happening through the kitchen window.

Mr. Lawson barrels out through the back door on a collision course directly for me.

Terror grips my chest, but guilt gnaws at me harder. I run back toward Xero, but Jake materializes, looking decomposed. With a scream, I pick up speed and continue through the evergreens bordering my backyard and enter the cemetery. Xero saved me, and now I’m running away like a coward.

At this time of the night, the only illumination should come from the moon or a gravedigger’s flashlight. But as I sprint through the tall mausoleums I spot a faint light in the distance from the windows of the new rectory.

I can get Xero some help. Maybe Father Thomas?—

Change of plan. He’d call the police and where would that leave Xero?

Maybe I should go back with a shovel.

My mind is so frantic that it takes a second to notice a man strolling toward me on the walkway. I skid to a halt, swallowing a scream. He’s tall, with the same build as Sparrow.

I dart into a side path to sneak past. Heavy footsteps rush from behind. I whirl around and lock gazes with Wilder. Not wanting to wrestle with a potential ghost, I take a sharp turn.

Blood roars between my ears, muffling the sounds of our footfalls. Sweat prickles my skin, my lungs burn, and my muscles scream for mercy. They’re trying to wear me out, break my spirit. Stop me from claiming the man I love. I slow to conserve energy, but they herd me like sheepdogs away from my house.

Away from Xero.

Moonlight gleams off tombstones as another figure shimmers into existence—Mr. Lawson. Again. Even though I know it’s a hallucination, I avoid him by turning left.

Oh.

Up ahead is the memorial statue I ordered for Xero, paid for by the fan club. It’s a cloaked reaper standing beside a large scroll, holding a scythe. At his back are a pair of wings that stretch down to the monument’s base.

Memories rush back at once. This is where I dragged Jake’s body. At the time, I was blinded by shock, the near-death experience, and the ghost. It didn’t register that I used Xero’s grave. Part of me knew he’d be buried here after the execution, but I was running on pure instinct.

Shit.

“The president finally pays me a visit,” says a deep voice .

I whirl around, finding only the quartet of dead men who herded me to Xero’s grave.

“What do you want?” I ask.

The phantoms step aside, revealing Xero. Only this time, he’s the Grim Reaper from my nightmares. Imposing, as usual, wearing that infernal black cloak.

I blink over and over, wondering if this is another layer of hallucinations. Because how could he have escaped those men?

“You desecrated my grave,” he says.

My heart spasms, not knowing whether to clench out of relief or fear. Seeing him alive is overwhelming, even if his voice shakes with fury.

“But you weren’t even dead,” I reply through rapid breaths.

“That’s not the point,” he snarls.

I walk backward, over the dirt, until my ass hits the edge of the statue. Part of me wants to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. The other part wants to scream at him for letting me think he was dead.

He advances on me, the same grim specter that stalked me through the graveyard and nearly drove me insane.

“Amethyst Crowley,” he says in the same tone of voice he used to sentence Dick Johnson to death. “I find you guilty of treachery.”

“But you already punished me,” I reply, my voice trembling. “Please, Xero. I already explained why I wasn’t at the chaplain.”

“Where were you going tonight? I expected you to wait.”

My gaze darts to the rectory, which is barely a hundred feet away. If I scream, Reverend Tom?—

No. If I scream, Xero will kill him. He already warned me what would happen if I flirted with another man. Besides, I don’t want to fight. I want to make things right.

“Answer my question,” he growls.

“I was seeing things” I say, already knowing how stupid it sounds. “Sorry,” I rasp. “I wasn’t thinking. I panicked?—“

“And your first instinct was to run to the rectory?”

I flinch at the accusation. Before I can choose my words, I snap, “Well, you lied.”

He closes the distance between us, towering over me, his hood making him all the more imposing. Grabbing my neck, he snarls, “How?”

I splutter, my eyes widening, my vision trying to adjust to what’s inside the hood. It’s hard to tell if he’s masked or covering his face with black paint, but I can’t see the whites of his eyes.

Raising a hand, I reach for his cheek. Part of me thinks I’m still hallucinating. The other part yearns to touch him just so I know he’s real.

He shakes me so hard my teeth rattle. Right. I accused him of being a liar and he wants details.

“I mourned your death,” I say, my eyes brimming with tears. “You made me think you were a ghost. I even tried to put your spirit to rest.”

“I never told you I was dead.”

My mouth opens and closes. I dial my mind back to the text messages he sent and remember one string of conversation. “But I asked if you were alive, and you said?—”

“’How is that possible when you ripped out my heart?’” he replies. “You jilted me when I needed you the most.”

The guilt I felt about Xero’s final hours being steeped in misery evaporates in a surge of frustration. He told me he didn’t survive his execution. That’s a downright lie.

“I explained a hundred times why I was late for our wedding, yet you still won’t give me grace. How long were you planning on making my life miserable?”

“As long as it takes for you to realize that you’re mine,” he snarls.

“Circumstances have changed.”

My fingers close around his wrist. The flesh beneath his black gloves is warm, melting away some of my anger. He really is alive, but that doesn’t mean I need to fall at his feet. My heart aches with the love I still feel for him, but the anger of his deception burns just as fiercely.

Can’t he cut me some slack? I just escaped getting killed.

“I don’t date liars.” I try shoving him off, but it’s like moving a mausoleum.

“You pledged yourself to me, in this lifetime and the next.”

I pull out of his grip, ignoring the part of me that still longs for our connection. “That’s before I knew you were the type of man to impersonate a vengeful ghost.”

His bitter laugh makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s the kind of maniacal sound you only hear in horror movies when the girl is trapped in an asylum.

“You want forgiveness?”

I stiffen, wondering if it was a mistake to call his bluff.

“I’ll give you a chance to earn it,” he says. “You can even have a head start. If you can make it back to the house before I catch you, I’ll give you anything you want, including your freedom.”

My stomach drops, and my breath shallows. What is he saying? I didn’t ask him to leave. Not wanting to provoke him further, I square my shoulders.

“And if I lose?” I whisper.

He leans in, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Then I seal our union by fucking you over my grave.”