Page 6 of The Stalker (Ashburne Chronicles #2)

To Flee Or Not To Flee

B ianka

The wall is cold at my back, rough stone biting through my sweater as I press my back against it like I can disappear into the church itself. My chest heaves, my breathing sharp and frantic, each inhale cutting like glass.

And he’s there. Griffin. Only it isn’t him. Not completely.

The boy I knew in high school, the one who carried my books, who smiled when I caught his eye across the cafeteria, who made me feel like maybe I mattered ... he isn’t standing here now.

This man is darker. Sharper. His eyes burn like coals, too bright, too wrong, and when he smiles, it’s not just him. It’s something else. Something inside him. Something just beneath the skin.

I saw it. I felt it. The way his voice layered over itself, two tones tangled together. One was Griffin’s. The other... God, I don’t even know.

“Stay away,” I choke out, though the words sound weak even to my own ears.

He steps closer. The shadows bend with him, swallowing the streetlight, cloaking him in darkness until it feels like he’s part of it.

“You don’t mean that.” His voice is low and rough, and it slides through me like smoke, coiling in places it shouldn’t. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut like that will make him vanish. But when I open them, he’s still there.

Closer.

Always closer.

My nails scrape against the stone wall, fingers trembling. My scar burns under my sweater, hotter and hotter, like it knows he touched it, like it’s branded now.

“I’m ruined,” I whisper before I can stop myself. The words spill out, broken and raw. “You should hate me. Everyone else does.”

His expression shifts, sharp and fierce. “Don’t you dare.”

The intensity in his voice makes me flinch, but not from fear. From something else. From the way it sounds like he believes it.

“I see you,” he says, and his hand comes up, fingers brushing my cheek, tracing the ridges of my scar tissue. I want to jerk away, but my body betrays me, leaning into the heat of his touch. “Not the accident. Not your scars. I see you. And I’m never letting you go.”

A sob cracks in my throat. God knows, I want to believe him. I want to sink into that promise, to let him carry the weight I’ve been dragging for the past year. But I can’t. I shouldn’t.

Because he isn’t right. Because something else is inside him.

“I saw it,” I whisper, tears spilling hot down my face. “I saw ... whatever else is inside you. In your eyes.”

For a moment, something flickers in his expression. A shadow. A smile that isn’t his.

And then, his lips curl. “Maybe I needed help. Someone to push me toward what I should’ve done years ago.”

My stomach knots. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he growls, leaning in, pressing closer until his body cages mine against the wall. His breath is hot against my ear. “I’ve always wanted you. Always. And now I’m done waiting.”

My knees tremble. Fear coils tight in my gut, but underneath it, traitorous and hot, is need. The lust I buried a long time ago, after the accident, when I told myself no one could ever look at me the same way again.

But Griffin looks at me like I’m his salvation and his damnation all at once. And it terrifies me because I want it to be true. I want to matter. To him.

“Griffin...” My voice breaks on his name. “Please...”

He presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. His eyes blaze, unnatural fire flickering in the suddenly green orbs. “Don’t beg me to stop. You don’t want me to, and we both know it.”

I should scream. I should fight. I should shove him away and run until my lungs give out. But I don’t. Because deep down, in the darkest corner of myself, I know he’s right.

And that’s the scariest part of all.