Page 52

FIFTY-TWO

AMETHYST

I stare up into the dark abyss of Xero’s hood, my heart hammering so violently that it threatens to break free. He towers over me, his chest rising and falling with even breaths.

Clouds of condensation escape his mask. How could I have missed this obvious sign of life?

The moon emerges from behind the clouds and reflects on his hooded cloak, turning its edges silver. Up close, it’s actually a long leather coat with a hood. He wears a mask of some sort that clings tightly to the contours of his angular face. Instead of those cold blue eyes I’ve come to love, he wears lenses with black sclera.

My breath quickens. The weight of my predicament crushes my chest. Xero isn’t just alive and hiding out in my house. He’s here because I failed.

The elation of his survival fades, leaving a growing pit of dread. All those murders and maimings I thought were the acts of a vengeful ghost were the mayhem of a killer who’s been preparing his next victim.

Now, he thinks I’m his prey.

And he wants to play a game.

If I lose, I’ll never fix what I’ve destroyed.

My mind whirrs for a solution. Can I make it back to the house before Xero? Impossible. He’s a foot taller than me and built like a titan. I wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Why would I agree to play a game I’m going to lose?” I ask.

“I’m giving you a head start,” he replies with a throaty chuckle that makes my skin tingle. It’s the same sensual laugh I used to hear each morning on the phone when he’d call me from the prison blind spot. I shove off the nostalgia, and the tears it brings, and focus on the threat.

“Why would I trust a single thing you say?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Xero exhales through the mask, the sound making me shiver. “Fine words for the woman who strung me along for months to get a book deal.”

My lips part with a protest, but he raises a gloved finger. Painted on its surface are bones. No wonder I thought he was the Grim Reaper in the dark.

“You’re going to accuse me of using our relationship to get published,” I yell, my face growing hot with shame. “If anyone’s to blame for that, it’s you and your letters. You kept talking about my book, and people wanted it to be about you. Everyone kept reaching out, demanding excerpts, and I wrote it because that’s what people wanted.”

He doesn’t even flinch at the accusation.

“You have a count of ten to run,” he snarls. “When I catch you, everything that happens next will be with your enthusiastic consent.”

Panic punches me in the stomach, knocking me backward. “Wait. What if I don’t want to run?”

“One,” he growls.

Before he even finishes enunciating the next word, I’m bolting through the graveyard, away from the rectory, away from the only man who might be able to protect me from Xero.

Who am I trying to kid? Reverend Tom might look buff, but a man of the cloth is no match for a crazed killer.

I sprint toward the mausoleums, my feet pounding on the grass. Wind whips past my ears and through the loose strands of my hair. I glance over my shoulder to see if he’s cheating, but he stands with his back to the Grim Reaper memorial, looking like it’s come to life.

Fuck. He’s so majestic. Like a death god sent to earth to reap the wicked. Shivers skitter down my spine and my core floods with sensation. I shouldn’t look too deeply into my body’s reaction. It’s just an inappropriate fear response.

“Two,” he says, his voice as cold as my impending death.

My stomach drops. I pick up my pace, losing all traces of fatigue. I don’t want to be Xero’s chew toy, but there’s a sick part of me that gets excited at the thought of finally getting fucked.

Jake jumps out from behind a tall headstone and stands in my path. He crouches low with his arms spread wide, looking like he wants to scoop me up in his arms. Again.

Screw this.

No figment of my imagination will stop me from earning my forgiveness.

With a scream, I charge at the hallucination, which skitters backward, looking like he doesn’t want to be touched. Fury powers my steps and I barrel forward, daring him to get in my way.

He ducks behind a headstone and vanishes out of sight. If Xero hadn’t just counted three, I would laugh, but I focus on getting away.

The spot I purchased from the cemetery using the fan club’s donations is a five-minute walk from my backyard. I can’t believe I once thought I’d visit his grave every day after the execution, lay flowers on the base of the Grim Reaper, and cry for our love that would endure the ages.

All romantic notions crumble to dust when he bellows, “Four.”

Shit.

I dart between two elegant mausoleums and take the fastest route to the trees bordering my backyard. Mr. Lawson jumps out from behind an onyx tomb and raises his arms the way he did when he plummeted off the edge of the roof garden. I charge through the specter and keep it moving.

Silence stretches across the cemetery, broken only by the pounding of my heart. Blood roars through my ears, urging me to run faster, harder, to keep going even if something ruptures.

My thighs ache. My lungs burn. Sweat pours freely down my brow. There’s no time to wipe my eyes. Not when forgiveness is so close. Not when this mad dog is nipping at my heels, eager to take a bite.

My surroundings fade into blurs of black and white and gray, illuminated by the light of the moon. I lose track of time, of place, of everything but the approach of heavy footsteps.

When the hell did Xero get to ten?

I dart to the left, hoping to lose him in a small path stretching between two mausoleums, but a tall dark figure awaits straight ahead. Alarm grips my throat, making my breath catch. Is that Xero or another hallucination?

He’s too skinny. Not nearly as imposing, and he isn’t wearing a cloak. I sprint toward Sparrow and wait for him to disappear in a puff of smoke.

The tall figure shrinks back behind a tomb as though not wanting me to realize he’s a figment of my imagination. Joke’s on him, because no hallucination can compare with the real threat of Xero.

I burst onto the broad walkway that leads to the copse of trees. Xero’s heavy footsteps have quieted, sounding like he’s taken a wrong turn. Triumph flares in my chest, but I won’t crow with victory until I’m safely behind the kitchen door.

When I run beneath the thick canopy of a eucalyptus tree, my heart soars. Safety is a minute away. Thirty seconds, tops. But then something moves in my periphery.

Up ahead, another tall figure steps out from behind a tree. Another stupid hallucination, trying to get in my way.

Oh, no you don’t.

Lowering my head, I charge forward, not wanting my steps to falter.

And I crash into a wall of unmoving muscle.

Strong arms wrap around my back and lift me off the ground. My stomach lurches, and I scream.

“Eager little thing,” Xero says, his words choked with emotion. “You ran into my arms. Were you trying to get me on my back, little ghost? If you want to fuck me like a cowgirl, then you’ll have to beg.”

“Wait,” I ask through panting breaths. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“I knew your destination,” he replies as he carries me back out of the trees and back into the cemetery.

“Xero, let go of me.”

He pauses. “Ah, yes. Primal makes you horny. You want the sensation of being hunted, not trapped.”

Then the sadistic motherfucker sets me on my feet.

I stare up at him, my eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“You have my permission to run back to the grave.”

“No.” I step backward, my gaze darting to the trees.

“As you wish.” He reaches for my shoulder, but I skitter out of range.

Xero steps forward with a low growl that hits me straight between the legs. I turn around and bolt.

This time, there’s no head start. I glance over my shoulder to find him advancing toward me at a steady stride. His legs are so long that he doesn’t even need to break a sweat.

With a scream, I run down the walkway, passing mausoleums and the occasional figure in black. My ears fill with Xero’s excited breaths. He thinks this is foreplay, but I’m running for my life.

The new rectory looms ahead, and it feels like I’m stuck in an endless loop of failing to escape. Xero hovers so close, his fingers brush the curls off the back of my neck. Every fine hair on my body stands alert and a scream rips from my throat.

His low chuckle goes straight to my clit. “You’re so excitable. I wonder how you will break?”

“Fuck off,” I scream.

“That’s the plan.”

A whimper catches in my throat. What the hell am I doing, allowing this fiend to run me ragged? Why am I playing a game I can never win? My terror is so acute that the shadowy figures appearing and disappearing around the graveyard evaporate into dust. Why would my mind conjure up phantoms when there’s a demon dogging my steps ?

I reach the edge of the cemetery, and my feet carry me toward the path leading to the rectory.

“No,” he growls and tackles me onto the lawn.

I land face-first on the turf, my hands barely breaking my fall. When I shriek, blades of grass slip between my lips. Spitting them out, I roll to the side, trying to dislodge the heavy weight on my back, but Xero’s erection digs into my thigh.

Damn.

It’s as long and thick as the dildo, but burning with the heat of his arousal. Part of me wants to reach between our bodies to confirm it’s real, but I shake off that thought.

Using a dildo made from the mold of a murderer is one thing. Getting pummeled into the dirt by said killer is another. Hate sex with the man I love is a special level of depravity.

“Get off me.”

I elbow him in the ribs, but he only responds with a soft grunt. Using his momentary surprise as leverage, I crawl out from under his larger body.

Xero grabs my hip, but I scramble to my knees, making sure to kick him in the face on the way up.

“Fuck.” He reels back with a hand hovering over his nose.

“That’s right.” I rise to my feet, kick him in the temple, and run.

A large hand closes around my ankle and yanks me back to the ground. With a scream, I break my fall with my forearms. Pushing down on my palms, I dig my feet into the soil, but Xero launches his body over mine, laying his chest on my back.

“Got you.”

“No.” I try crawling out from beneath him, but he wraps an arm around my waist and pins me down with his superior weight.

“Is this what you want, little ghost?” He presses his thick cock between my ass cheeks. “For me to pound into you good and hard so it hurts?”

“You’re a murderer,” I scream. “I hate you.”

He stiffens. I wish I could see the shock on his face, but everything’s covered in that stupid mask. Instead, he growls in my ear. “What does that make you? ”

“Let go of me.” I thrash in his grip. “I only ever kill in self-defense.”

He laughs, the sound bitter. “You’re a vengeful little viper, and you’re mine.”

His large hand closes around the back of my neck, and he drags us both to our feet. I punch backward, but he absorbs the blows without so much as flinching.

“Where are we going?” I shriek, part of me hoping Reverend Tom will hear and call the police.

“You know where,” he snarls and marches me through the graveyard toward the Grim Reaper statue.

I inhale, my nostrils filling with the scent of flowers. When I take a closer look at the statue, its base is covered with bouquets. Another thing I didn’t notice before?

“You didn’t visit my place of rest once,” he snarls. “Didn’t lay a single flower.”

He’s right. I collected the funds, bought the plot, ordered the memorial, and sent the payment. But I missed the email from the firm that told me it had been installed. Somehow, during the mayhem of murders, medication, and midnight molestings, I missed his funeral.

“Xero—”

“No more excuses.” He throws me onto the freshly tilled dirt.

“Wait!”

“It’s time to seal our union.”