Page 59 of Terror Tuesday

Cupping her cheek, I lean in, and she presses her face against my hold. When I dip my face toward her lips, it’s not a kiss. Only the idea of it… Allowing my mouth to sense hers before brushing a whisper close to her skin.

“But I wantallof you. The parts you bury. The ones you blame. I want the hidden version that’s still raw and bleeding.”

She gasps, but doesn’t move away. In fact, she steps into my gravity until there’s nothing left between us but heat and a held breath. My hands ghost over her shoulders, restraint shaking my fingers. I don’t speak. I just beg the universe to give her to me.

Just above a whisper, she says, “Then give me something real. Something I can trade for the part of me you’re stealing.”

Her gaze lifts, slow and intentional, and when our eyes lock, my heart stutters. Dark lashes tremble, but her stare slices through me like a solemn vow. It’s a moment before I can even gather the strength to respond.

“Bedtime,” I warn softly, slipping my hand into hers and guiding her through the iron gate toward the lake. As much as I want to know everything about this woman, I’m cautious about opening myself up to her completely.

Not yet.

She follows uncertainly but doesn’t resist. “This isweird. Is this your idea of a date?”

“I’m a weird guy.” The words slip out unfiltered—my real voice, not the one wrapped in shadows. She pauses abruptly, her eyes carefully scanning my figure. My blood turns to ice.

“You…remind me of someone.”

My chest tightens.Fuck. “I’m not like anyone.”

She shakes her head, dismissing whatever thought haunted her. “No, you’re certainly not.”

I panic, heart racing. Rapidly, I try to think of something to give her. Anything to distract her from how close she’s getting to me. Nothing seems worthy enough, but I try. And it comes out in a hurry.

“I used to sleep with a stuffed tiger,” I blurt out. “I named him Doom.”

With a loud guffaw, she trips over an upturned rock, and I catch her before she falls. “You did?”

Her laughter is a new song I’ve never heard before. One that immediately makes me nostalgic for a place I want to revisit whenever I’m lonely. I want to hear it again. And again.

Holding one of her elbows, I nod. “That was real.”

“Mine was a stuffed fox. Little plush tail, crooked ear. I told him everything…” She takes a solid step towardOmegahouse and away from me. Hurriedly, I catch up.

“What was his name?”

An answer parts her lips, but she holds it back. “Doesn’t matter.” She grimaces slightly, a brief shadow passing over her expression, as if the memory is tender—or perhaps painful—in a way she’s not ready to admit.

The ache that pulses in my chest from not knowing this crucial detail about her life is haunting. One day, I pray she’ll tell me. It wasn’t in her diaries…and I yearn to learn it. Does she know my family’s crest is a fox?

We were meant to be.

Perhaps soon, instead of reading stolen fragments, she’ll tell me out loud what that man did to her. And when she does, I’ll listen.

And help set her free.

I should shut the fuck up. Stay in the shadows. That’s what works. It’ssafe.

But the second this goddess, who I should fear more than crave, looks at me—really looks at me—I unravel. All restraint gone, my plan shattered, and the part of me that knows better… Lost.

I’ve spent years as a ghost. Watching and waiting. Never speaking more than I had to. And now I can’t stop. Talking just to hear her respond. Just to keep her gaze locked on mine. To listen to what she has to say.

It’s dangerous and so fucking stupid. But her voice aimed right atmefeels like a hit off something pure and poisonous. I’m addicted to her, a junkie for every word unfurling from her lips.

“Thank you for that,” I say.

“For what?”