Page 8 of Kill for a Kiss

Rage coils low in my stomach, burning and sick. It pisses me off more than seeing these two screw. More than the fucking orchestra screwing up “The Swan”, my favorite piece. One of the violinists drags a sixteenth-note late. A flaw I can’t unhear.

But nothing grates harder than this. The girl in front of me isn’t breathless because of me. She isn’t trembling because ofme. Damon—fuckingDamon—is the one stealing the breath from her lungs without even trying. When it should be me. Onlyme.

My hands hover inches from her. One at her hip. One at her shoulder. I could touch her now. Feel her. Claim her. She’s mine, after all. Mine to deal with. Mine to take. Mine to keep. If I can’t kill her because she’s a woman…then I’llhideher. Take her away. Keep her somewhere no one will ever find her. Because she’s mine now.

Yes. That’s exactly it. The second the thought roots itself in my head, my body moves. My hand clamps over her mouth. My other arm hooks around her middle, pinning her flush against me.

She stiffens, shocked, but it’s too late. I’ve trapped her. Arms pinned. Mouth sealed. She muffles a noise against my gloved palm, squirming awkwardly, but no one notices. Not with the music swelling. Not with Damon and Kayla tangled up in each other.Behind these vines, it’s only me and her.

I stare down at her, savoring it. Her hands paw helplessly at my sleeves, her eyes closed. I tip my head down, so close now.

I lift her chin with two fingers, my thumb brushing her lower lip. She freezes under my touch, but her eyes flutter open. She doesn’t even make a sound anymore. She’sperfect.

The built-in distortion of my mask deepens my voice when I murmur, “Keep your eyes on me.”

She obeys instantly. Her gaze moves up to mine, wide and startled at first, and then she juststares. And fuck, now that I see those eyes—so blue, so open—it’sbreathtaking.

Everything about her is. Her delicate cheekbones my fingers touch. Her soft mouth under my thumb. Her cute chin my pinky grazes. I drink in every detail like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. My grip loosens slightly, purely out of awe. Because the force of her beauty’s slammed the breath out of me.

I can’t breathe evenly. I can’t think straight. My spine shivers, the tremor spreading down my arms, my legs, until I almost stumble.What has she done to me?

For a long moment, I don’t move. I just keep holding her while the world around us blurs into nothing. Her pulse flutters wildly against my fingers, a fragile rhythm I could snuff out without effort. But I don’t want to hurt her. I want her to stay still. I want her to staymine.I want her to look at me the way she did back there, terrified, transfixed, and unknowingly giving herself to me.

Her lips part on a shaky exhale against my palm. My eyes devour the sight of the soft flutter of her lashes. The way her breath trembles in her throat. The way her cerulean eyes catch the dying light, glistening like gems the color of the sea.

And then, like a goddamn miracle, she relaxes in my arms. Not entirely. And I know it’s not because of trust. But her melting against me, even this little, is enough. Enough to make that tight wire in my chest clench tighter, twist deeper, and threaten to break that scorched ash of my heart inside me free.

She relaxes by the second. Her eyes looking less and less disturbed, but more hollow. I’ll take it.

I feel a smile crawl behind my mask. My voice comes out deeper than I mean it to, distorted by the mask, and roughened by the raw hunger burning through me. “Good girl.”

Her pupils dilate the moment the words hit her. I see it. Ifeelit. She wants me too, doesn’t she?

Maybe she doesn’t know it yet. Maybe she never will. But it doesn’t matter. Because as I drag her back into the dark with me—away from the lights, the music, the safety—I know one thing for certain. She’s going to learn exactly what kind of monster wears this mask.

***

She’s quiet in my arms now. That pleases me.

But she’s trembling. That pleases me even more.

She isn’t struggling, not really. Only the occasional sharp inhale, and the tiniest jolt when my grip tightens. It’s not that she’s given up. No, I’d recognize that look in an instant. It’s something else. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. That makes two of us.

I haul her through my graveyard, my pace steady, never once glancing back at where we left the newlyweds. Let them have their moment. I have mine in my arms.

She’s still shaking when we reach the farthest rows, the part of the vineyard no one dares step into. The earth is disturbed here, patches of soil uneven from fresh burial, the scent of iron lingering beneath the sickeningly sweet stench of crushed grapes.

Three bodies lie in their open graves, waiting for me tofinish the job. I wasn’t expecting an interruption. I certainly wasn’t expectingher. Then I study her as she sees them. With a harsh blink, another sharp inhale rips from her throat. She goes rigid in my arms, muscles seizing. And then shefights. Her body twists, thrashing against me, desperate and wild. She claws at my sleeve, legs kicking, trying to plant her feet into the ground and force me to let go.

It’s adorable how she thinks that’ll work. My grip tightens, arms locking around her, and I hiss out a breath against her ear, feeling the way she freezes at the sensation, blinking in confusion.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I say.

She blinks some more, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, but stays still.

“Good girl.”

I take another step, and she stirs again but doesn’t misbehave.