Page 9

EIGHT

LUCIUS

I waited until the lights in the house turned off. The car was parked outside, which meant Rosalind was home. That complicated things. I couldn’t risk her recognizing me.

But I had to see my Little Star.

Moving back toward the bike I’d hidden in the bushes at the corner of the road, I rummaged through the storage compartment. I needed something to cover my face. Even if I was willing to risk everything, I wasn’t about to be reckless about it.

My fingers brushed against the crinkled plastic bag. When I pulled it out, I noticed inside was the black gas mask from my class supply list. It was still packaged, the filters untouched. I turned it over in my hands, the twin circular lenses reflecting the smirk at my face.

Perfect.

I closed the leather trunk, tucking the mask under my arm along with the book, then walked into the woods, moving carefully down the hill.

Luckily for me, their house was isolated, and the nearest neighbor was a good ten-minute walk away. No prying eyes. No witnesses.

Reaching the back fence, I scaled it, the book and mask making the climb harder than I had imagined, but my feet hit the ground anyway. The maple tree loomed in the moonlight. Her window faced this side.

Last night, I figured out the best way up. The left side, where the climbing roses grew. Wooden trellises clung to the wall, the vines weaving their way upward. They weren’t meant to hold weight, but they’d do.

I took a breath and jumped.

The boards groaned under my weight, thorns biting into my palms. I gritted my teeth, shifting the book and mask to keep my balance.

“I’m too old for this shit,” I muttered under my breath. Twenty-eight years behind me, and nothing in life had trained me for this. But motivation? That, I had.

I pulled myself onto the rooftop, her window just within reach. Moving slowly, I unlatched it and eased it open, careful not to make a sound.

She was sleeping.

The moon spilled over her like silver dust, illuminating her face, her slightly parted round lips, and the slow rise and fall of her chest. She looked like a star. My Little Star.

I pressed a hand against the window frame and slipped the mask over my face. Then, silently, I stepped inside.

Placing the book gently on her nightstand, my gaze dropped to the floor. There it was. The dry red maple leaf I had left last night. I bent down, lifting it carefully, then placed it atop the book so she would see it first thing when she woke up.

I let my gaze fall on her again.

She clung to her pillow like it held the secrets of her dreams. And God, I wished it was me she held instead, that it was my chest she rested against, listening to the way my heart always betrayed me at the sight of her.

She had no idea what she was doing to me. No idea what she was awakening in me.

One leg had slipped free from the covers, the other tucked between her thighs, holding the blanket close.

I swallowed hard.

I was running out of time.

But for now, just for a moment, I allowed myself to watch.

You like hot and cold, don’t you? So do I, Little Star.

She slept with her socks on, no pants, just black boxers barely visible beneath the oversized white shirt she always wore to bed.

Black is my favorite color, too.

I arched a brow as I stepped closer, my eyes sweeping over her. Her long, ginger hair tangled around her, spilling over her shoulders, pooling onto the pillow, scattered beside her like a wildfire of copper strands.

God, she was beautiful. And I needed that beauty to belong to me.

I crouched beside her bed, my fingers hovering just above her face. If only I could tell her I was here. That I’d be in her shadow for a while now. But I couldn’t ruin it.

Not yet.

I rose to my feet, my attention focusing on the suitcase sitting in the middle of the bedroom. I knelt beside it, sifting through her things, searching for something—anything—I could take with me to the Blackthorn.

I promised myself I would be back for her on weekends, but until then, I needed something to hold her close to my mind.

My fingers brushed against the soft fabric buried beneath a small black purse. Red lace peeked through, hidden away like a secret.

Naughty. Hiding this from me, were you?

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

I pulled the red thong free, rolling the lace between my fingers.A slow exhale left me as I brought it closer, closing my eyes, letting my imagination take over.

I could see her. Dancing in front of me, nothing but this clinging to her body, teasing, tempting—

Fuck.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the image away before it led to something I’d regret. She made me reckless. Insatiable. But I couldn’t bring that madness to her. Not tonight.

Even if I wanted to hear her scream for me again.

God, I loved the way she sounded.

But there was more to life than pleasure. More was at stake than the risk of never seeing her again.

The faint rustle of movement snapped me out of my thoughts. My head jerked toward the bed. She stirred, shifting onto her side, her eyes still closed.

Shit.

I slipped into the closet on the other side of the room, my back leaning against the paneled wood. The closet door was left open enough to watch her. My grip tightened against the lace of her thong as I stuffed it into my back pocket. A souvenir. A reminder.

She was half-asleep when she got up, her feet pattering the floor on the way to the bathroom. The second the door was closed behind her, I was sneaking out of the closet. I glided through the room quietly, making my way to the open window.

She couldn’t see me. Not now.

Without hesitation, I climbed through, landing on the roof below. I didn’t bother closing it. I just kept moving, making my way down, then running.

I ran fast. Faster than I should have.

When I reached the edge of the hill, enough to still see her through the window, I stopped. The light in her room turned on.

A slow smirk curled my lips.

I wasn’t done playing with her. Not yet.

I faded into the shadows under the cover of a nearby tree, watching, waiting. And then she came. She came to the window, half-asleep, moving slowly.

A low rumble of laughter rose within me.

She moved a messy tangle of hair that fell into her eyes, then pulled the rest of her hair above her head and tied it back into a ponytail. She looked around the room. And then, just for a moment, she noticed the nightstand and reached for the book that I had left there.

Confused, she knit her eyebrows together and opened the front page.

She staggered back, gasping for air. Her eyes darted wildly around the room.

Searching.

Wondering if I was still there.

Ah, cute. You miss me.

When she picked up the phone, I knew I had to act fast. The police were now part of our little play. I reached into my jacket, pulled out my phone, and dialed the number that Cass had given me.

The second the phone rang in the palm of her hand, she paused. Just briefly. Then, she slowly brought it to the side of her head.

“Hello?” she whispered.

Fear colored her words.

“Don’t even think about calling the cops,” I murmured. “They’re not playing with us, Little Star.”

Her head snapped up, eyes darting wildly around the room, searching. Her racing heart thudding within her chest, the catch to her breathing.

“Through the window,” I guided, waiting as she turned. “Across the yard. Up the hill.”

She followed my voice, her eyes locking onto me. I smiled beneath my mask.

“Hi,” I waved.

The gas mask was on my face, and my voice was distorted by filters and plastic.

Her hand was trembling as she held the phone more tightly. “W-what do you want?”

“You,” I said simply, tilting my head, watching her.

Her fingers curled around the curtain, a weak attempt to shield herself. “What if you can’t have me?”

“Then I’ll make a way.” I leaned forward just enough for her to see the promise in my stance. “And I always get what I want.”

“It’s simple, Little Star,” I continued. “Play by my rules, and no one gets hurt. Not you. Not your family.”

Her breath hitched. A quiet sob slipped through. “Thank you… for the book.” Her voice cracked. “But you ruined the first page.”

That nearly pulled a laugh from me. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing my lips into a thin line.

“I think the book will survive a few words, Little Star.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” she gasped.

I let the silence hang there. Let her wait. Let her feel it.

Then, finally, I said, “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I heard the sharp inhale, the way the air caught in her throat.

“So I thought,” I said, my voice dropping to a growl, “I’d give you a taste of how that feels.”

The curtain snapped shut, her world sealing away from mine. But I still heard it—the soft creak of her bedroom door, the voice that called her name.

“Freya?”

A silence. Then, a sudden click that the connection had dropped.

A faint smile began to curve my lips.

That’s my good girl.

The game was soon to begin.