Page 25 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

Kiera

T he sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows is too harsh, the vibrant colors cutting across my conservative black dress. But the offensive rays don’t reach all the way into the room, creating darkened corners that add to the somber atmosphere of the chapel’s viewing room.

Fucking mornings.

I don’t like mornings; I don’t like people, and I especially dislike morning people.

Where the hell do they find their endless energy?

It’s weird and frankly creeps me out. Which is what I told Wild this morning when he texted me way too early.

He’s upped his game to creepy stalker. And I’m here for it.

I stand before the coffin, staring at the corpse resting in the center, irritated at Tini for making me get up early to run today’s viewing in her place.

A presence fills the room, cutting through my miasma. A dark, menacing presence that sends an imperceptible shudder down my spine. I maintain my nonchalant demeanor, careful not to alert whoever is lurking. My gaze darts around the room, straining to pierce the lingering gloom.

A shadow in the corner has an indecipherable fullness that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

I forget how to breathe when my past steps out of the shadow.

I haven’t forgotten how to move, but I refuse to back down from the menacing male approaching.

The air thickens with unspoken tension as his footsteps, slow, deliberate, and weirdly silent, bring us face to face.

Blade.

The name alone sends a jolt of sharp bitterness through me.

“Kiera.”

His voice is deeper than I remember, rougher around the edges, like gravel grinding against stone.

I’m too surprised to respond as he watches me, his eyes tracing the lines of my face, the way my shoulders draw up tight. He’s closer now, his heat surrounding me.

Is he doing the same thing I am?

Cataloging the changes, the toll time has taken on us, wondering if there are unseen scars hidden in our most secret places.

This moment, something I’d given up hoping for long ago, feels impossibly surreal. Blade looks… not older, but more mature, hardened. A grown ass man compared to the young boy I once loved.

His face carries hard lines, and a scar above his left eyebrow. It’s been long enough since I’ve laid eyes on him that the wound healed and faded to a faint silvery line. Blade’s usually buzzed dark hair has grown out, and he’s styled it into a high fade, as if he’s become more refined.

His eyes, though—they’re still the same, that piercing green that always seemed to see right through me. But now, they carry a weight that wasn’t there before, shadows that tell stories I’ll never hear.

He stares at me, silently assessing the lines around my eyes, the way my hair is longer, more stylish, the weight of eight years of waiting and wondering etched into my skin. The changes in my face don’t reveal the depth of the pain to my heart and soul, though.

“You’ve changed,” he says, his voice low, almost reverent.

“So have you.” I grin, but it’s the kind that makes people nervous, the kind that shows too many teeth.

“Nice scar,” I giggle, a high, almost manic sound that surprises us both.

But I go with it, twirling a lock of hair around my finger to hide my shaking hands.

“I hope it didn’t hurt. Much.” It’s funny, really, how seeing the years etched into his face makes something inside me twist in this deliciously painful way.

It’s like recognizing a ghost, all familiar shadows and sharp edges, but one just a little too real.

“Am I dreaming?” I wonder out loud, my voice laced with a sing-song edge.

“Or is this one of those nightmares where the monster under the bed suddenly wants to play nice?”

We’re just staring at each other, like two gunslingers waiting for the other to draw first. The tension snaps, and so do I.

“Why the hell are you here?”

The words shoot out, sharp and jagged, like broken glass. I tilt my head, daring him to give me a reason—any reason to unleash the storm brewing inside.

“You left me no choice, Kiera.”

His eyes flash with that dangerous spark I remember all too well. I wish like hell it wasn’t still so alluring.

Ooh, he’s still got fire in him. News flash, so do I. I’m not a scared little girl anymore.

“No choice, huh?” I mock, stepping closer, my voice dripping with honeyed poison. “You always had a choice, Blade. You chose to run. To hide. You chose to leave me with all the fun bits—like picking up the pieces of the mess you left behind.”

His jaw tightens, and a flicker of something raw, something vulnerable passes through his eyes. He’s become a talented actor. Like me. How cute.

“I didn’t…” He sighs and grabs the bridge of his nose. “You think it was that simple?” He growls, his voice trying to sound all serious and wounded, but I’m not buying into his bullshit. Not anymore. Never again. I worked too hard to survive his abandonment. “You fucking chea?—”

“Don’t!” I snap, my grin turning sharp as a knife. “Don’t you dare start playing the victim in your own twisted game. You left me, Blade. You left me to put the puzzle back together; and guess what? Some pieces are still missing.”

“And you think I didn’t break too?” His voice cracks like a whip, and somehow there’s a phantom sting in my soul. “You think I didn’t feel every damn second of those years?”

“Then where were you, huh?” My voice becomes high-pitched, unwanted tears of laughter and overwhelming rage shimmering in my eyes.

“Where the hell were you when I needed someone to fix me? I thought you were my savior, but it turns out you’re a deserter.

A fuckin coward who went AWOL on our marriage. ”

I slap him across his treacherous face, making contact as he reaches up a hand to stop me. His grip is tight on my wrist. I leave behind a bright red handprint and know for damn sure it stings.

Bastard!

His other hand curls into a fist, which trembles with his effort to maintain control. Poor Blade, always trying so hard to keep it together.

“You think I didn’t try? You think I didn’t?—”

“Try?” I burst into laughter, wild and unhinged.

“Oh, husband, trying is for quitters. You left me waiting, day after day, thinking maybe, just maybe, you’d come back through that door.

But you didn’t, did you? Why did you even pretend I mattered to just walk out on me? Just to play some sick, twisted game?”

“I didn’t have a choice, Kiera!” He roars, his anger reverberating off the walls. “I thought I was doing the right thing! And we’re not even going to mention what you did?”

“The right thing?” I echo, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “For whom, you? Because it sure as hell wasn’t for me.”

The last thing he said hits me and I’m gobsmacked.

What the fuck did I do?

We’re mere inches apart, chests heaving with our ragged, desperate gasps.

The air between us is suffocating, heavy with the venom of our words.

And then, as if the fury fueling me is snuffed out by some unseen force, it all drains away, leaving behind a hollow, crushing emptiness that gnaws at my very core.

Screaming at him can’t begin to convey the swirling emotions painfully clawing beneath my skin, peeling open the wounds on my soul.

I don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s me—but suddenly, we’re crashing together, our mouths colliding in a savage, bruising kiss. It’s a brutal clash of teeth and tongues, a futile attempt to drown the despair clawing at our insides.

His hands twist into my hair, yanking me closer. I claw at his shirt, desperate to feel something, anything, besides the relentless agony devouring me from within. My chest heaves with the need for air, taking in citrus, leather and smoke. And I know I’ll never forget my husband’s unfamiliar scent.