Page 240 of Satan's Spawn

I shrug. “Because I’m so pale and my hair is so light.”

He makes a face to say the reason is sensible. “It’s not why I call you that anymore. The name kinda grew on me.”

It grew on me too.

But I’m not sure anymore.

“I don’t want you calling me that if it has to do with her.”

He grips my wrist, squeezing so hard it makes me flinch. “I told you…that name has a different meaning to me now.”

A sense of resolve washes over me when Crayton brings my wrist to his lips for a kiss. “I’m listening…” I blink at him, biting the corner of my lip when the tip of his tongue traces a line up a vein.

“It signifies how you crept inside me and never left. Like a ghost does when they’re attached to a former home.” His lips replace his tongue, dotting kisses down my arm until he reaches the knuckles. “Except in this case we can’t get rid of each other.”

His gorgeous blue eyes peer up at me through thick lashes, making a small genuine smile pull at my lips. “So we haunt each other then?”

“I mean, yeah. I know I can’t stay the fuck away from you.”

I huff. “Neither can I.”

Crayton reaches over and brushes a thumb across the strands of hair by my face. “I guess you’re stuck with me, Little Ghost.”

Crayton does the same to the hair on the other side of my cheek, revealing the scars on his forearm I’ve been wanting to ask about, but never had the courage to.

No better time than when he’s not plotting violence.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

I run a finger along the letters, and Crayton winces, but it doesn’t seem like physical pain.

“It’s a reminder.”

“Of what?”

A pregnant pause fills the air between us before he says,

“That I’m still human.”

My eyes squeeze closed, his words sending a sharp sting to my heart.

“Crayton, you don’t need to hurt yourself to know you’re human.”

“Now you sound like my shrink.”

He has a shrink?

“Used to,” he responds, which is when I realize I’ve asked the question out loud. “Gave up on that shit a while ago. All he wanted to do was put me on med—” Crayton stops himself, and it’s obvious why.

Sensitive subject.

“Medicine isn’t for everyone, I get it. But sometimes it’s necessary.”

He doesn’t respond to that statement, which isn’t surprising. “I don’t do it a lot anymore, just when shit gets heavy in my head.”

“Promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I can’t.”