Echoes (Dance With My Demons, #2)

by Steph Macca

I can't help but wonder what my viewers think of me too. I feel like a circus animal, chained and put out for show. Come one, come all. Hear the echoes of my hauntings.

But the truth is I'm haunted by misery. The ghosts of my past hold on to me, pulling me down.

Theo.

I'd have been long gone if it wasn't for Theo… and Grey. Fuck, even to a small extent, Damon too.

Oh, please try me. Please, please… push me over the edge. I'm begging you.

That would have meant leaving you…

"What are you afraid of?" "Everything," she whispers, defeated. "Fucking everything."

I don't care about anything else, as long as she's with me.

She's squeezing me like she's holding on for dear life, and I'm fucking here for it.

I won't let them break me.

Fuck you, Demon Boy.

I want to slam into her with such force that we defy the laws of physics and become one person. It seems fitting anyway, since she already has my heart. She might as well take my body and soul too. At least then I'd find some type of peace.

I hate sharing—ever since I was little.

I'm fucking possessive. I'm dangerous. I'll fucking kill for what's mine. And that extends to her.

I shouldn't care. But I do. It's fucking annoying.

I'm going to chase you, Grey. I'm not letting you go that easily.

I'd kill just to make you smile."

Normal people get confessions of love. I get confessions of murder.

"You're fucking mine, Avery," he growls into my mouth. "This lifetime and the next one too."

"This is what you do to me," I breathe out, growling as her finger presses into my flesh harder. "You tear me apart from the inside out in the best fucking ways possible. You make me kill for you, you make me want to die for you. I'll burn this whole place down to ashes and paint you with them like the muse you are."

"You might think I'm the villain, Avery. And you'd be correct. But that's because we're made to be. There's nothing wrong with that."

He's dangerous, unpredictable. But guess what? So the fuck am I. I'm worse, actually. Because I have something to lose, something I just got back. And I have to be amicable with this fucker right here.

She's happy. And I did that.

"You're possessive too," I shoot back. "Leaving fingers on my bed." He shrugs. "I gave you a flower. Girls like that shit." "Oh, that's the part you are focusing on," I scold playfully. "Here's the finger of your enemy… it's in a rose though." "I'm nothing if not unique," he smiles.

"You don't need fixing, little killer," Grey murmurs, brushing some hair off her shoulder. "Your little deranged self is perfect."

"I expected more from you, Damon. Something more savory or spicy—like eggs benedict or the souls of your enemies. Pancakes, really?"

He's perfect too. They are both perfect.

Our little killer.