Nightfall (Devil's Night, #4)

by Penelope Douglas

She tried to pull away, but I couldn’t let go. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in, hugging her as she gasped. Sobs wracked through her as she tensed, but I just held her tight, keeping her standing so she didn’t have to even worry about that right now. I couldn’t stand this. She had to stop crying. Finally, her arms relaxed, and every fight inside of her melted away. She let her cheek fall into my chest, her arms hanging limply at her sides as she leaned into me, letting me hold her.

I almost wanted her to fight. Emory Scott was letting me take her off school grounds during school hours, and she wasn’t even demanding to know where. I didn’t like this dead look on her face. What the fuck was going on?

“Hey, it’s Will. Can you open the doors?” “It’s nine a.m.” he told me. “Just open the theater,” I told him again. “Then you can go back to sleep.” I hung up before he had a chance to argue and looked over at Em, who just stared out the window. She’d stopped crying and just relaxed back into the seat, looking sad but comfortable. I stared out at the road as we headed back into town, unable to help the smile peeking out. Sorry, D. That’s her seat now.

“Thank you would be the correct response,” I said, mid-chew. She gaped at me. “Try it out,” I told her. She closed her mouth, straightening her shoulders, but after a moment she dropped her defiant little chin and mumbled, “Thank you.” Sitting back in her seat, she took her Coke and held it between her legs, and after a few minutes, I offered her some popcorn. She took it, pecking at her handful like a bird. It was a rotten breakfast, but it was better than eating nothing, and I wasn’t sure she’d eaten yet today.

I held out the Twizzlers and Milk Duds, giving her first choice, but when she picked the Milk Duds, I opened the carton and spilled half in my hand before giving her the rest of the box. I gave her a choice to be nice. I didn’t actually want the Twizzlers.

I ate and she ate, and I snuck peeks at her throughout the film, watching her more than the movie. She noticed, because she finally glanced over at me, catching my eyes. “What?” she asked, turning her eyes back to the screen. “You’re not what I expected,” I said. “You like action movies, huh?” “You don’t?” I laughed. She was back to shaming my anti-feminist remarks. Yay for normal. After a moment, she spoke up, her voice soft. “I don’t think about anything else when I’m watching them,” she explained. “They take me away. It’s an escape. I like the survival aspect in some of them, too. Ordinary people becoming extraordinary. Being called to do great things.” She rolled a Milk Dud between her fingers, watching the screen. “Hell hones heroes, you know? I feel it when I watch them.” What did she need to escape, though? I didn’t ask, because that would only put her on guard, and I didn’t want her to run.

Em started laughing, her pearly white teeth gleaming in the biggest smile I’d ever seen on the smartass little shit. I pinched my eyebrows together. “What?” What was she going to make fun of me for now? “Kickboxer,” she said between giggles. “That scene where his teacher gets him drunk in a bar to see if he can fight intoxicated, and he starts dancing. Just the thought reminded me of you there for a minute.” “Why?” She shrugged. “Big guy, super happy, having fun… I don’t know.” She stuck a piece of candy in her mouth. “Just seems like something you would do.”

She licked her lips, the smile falling, but her breathing quickened. We fell quiet again, the surround sound blasting every fight and explosion, but I swore I could only hear my heart beating with her next to me.

The minutes stretched, and I didn’t even know what movie we were watching anymore. “Why do you like me?” she finally asked. I looked over at her, repeating Edward McClanahan’s words, because it was the only way to explain. “We want what we want.”

I looked down at her hands, the yellow box in one and the other clenching her skirt. What would she do if— “Do you still want to hold me?” she suddenly asked me. I shot my eyes up to hers, but she just stared at the seat in front of her. My heart hammered in my chest, and every inch of me warmed. Fuck yes. Leaning over, I put her cup in the holder and dumped her Milk Duds into the popcorn container on the floor, taking her hand and pulling her up. I watched as she came over and lowered slowly into my lap. I slid down in the seat, folding her into my arms as she tucked her head into my neck, neither of us giving a damn about the film anymore. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling of finally having her in my arms, and I had to fist my hands to keep them from roaming, or else she’d probably slap me. But God, she felt good. Like everything was lighter when I held her.

“Don’t tell you I said this,” she whispered in my ear, “but you smell good.” I shook with a laugh, unable to help myself. “Keep being, like pleasant and shit, and I’m going to find it really hard to keep being nice, Em. What are you trying to do?” She shook with a chuckle, but then she slipped a hand around the back of my neck and whispered against my throat. “Remember what you said about nightfall?” Her lips grazed over my skin, feeling me. “You don’t have to be nice. Not until the end of the movie.” The end of the movie. When the lights came up. My dick swelled and hardened, and I threaded my fingers through the back of her hair, fisting it as I nuzzled into her mouth. “Em, Jesus.” She came up, both of us tightening our arms around each other as the heat of her lips fell over mine. “Just until the end of the movie,” she whispered.

“Shit,” I gasped. I dug my fingers into her thighs, the theater spinning around us. Kissing. Only fucking kissing, and I was about to come already. She breathed hard into my neck, and I could feel her heart racing, too. I hated it when things ended up being exactly how you hoped they’d be. I leaned in and kissed her gently, starting slow again and taking my time. She might regret this tomorrow. She was in a weird mood today, and maybe I was an action movie, here to help her escape, but that wouldn’t fly when I finally took her into bed. I wanted inside her head first. Because contrary to whatever she thought, this shit wasn’t ending when the lights came up.

“We want to leave,” he told me, “but we’ll never really be free, Emory.” He looked at me again. “You can take him home, but he can never go back.”

Incredible. Stranded for two days with five men—four of them strangers—and you’d think I would feel some danger. It wasn’t that I didn’t. I just wasn’t unaccustomed to it. It was familiar.

He looked into my eyes, the water falling over both of us as he searched my face. “Why don’t you scream?” You wouldn’t understand. I gathered it was new for him. He preyed, because it got him off, but it ruined all of his plans when he wasn’t the victim’s first rodeo, didn’t it? Because it wasn’t the blood he was after, but the fear. It wasn’t the sex, but the power. His eyes trailed down my neck and slowly down my arm, narrowing. I don’t scream, because…. “Because screaming doesn’t help,” he murmured. “Does it?” My heart thundered in my chest, but I remained frozen, staring up at him as he looked at my body and the bruises in the shapes of fingers wrapped around my upper arm. The scrapes on my legs and the blue and purple on my shoulders. “Because you get tired of being the victim,” he said, like he was thinking out loud, “and it’s easier to just let it happen.” He raised his eyes, meeting mine again, and my throat stretched painfully as his words burrowed into me. He loosened his hold, but I didn’t run. “To just pretend we’re in control of everything happening to us,” he told me. He blinked a few times, his demeanor completely changed, a troubled set to his brow. My chin trembled. “Until you can’t remember who you were before you started lying even to yourself,” he added. “Until you can’t remember ever smiling when it didn’t fucking hurt.” Tears filled my eyes, and I ground my teeth to keep my shit together. Abuse can feel like love. I remembered his words from lit class...

“Will is like that,” he said, his voice softening, somber now. “Isn’t he?” Like a smile that doesn’t hurt. I nodded. “Easy, normal, peaceful…” he told me. “The only thing in my life untouched by anything ugly. Nothing has tainted him. He’s the one thing that’s still beautiful and thinks the world is beautiful and believes people are beautiful and all that shit.” Yeah. But I couldn’t say it out loud, because it was hard enough holding back the sob. “You can’t take him away from me,” Damon told me, stepping back and letting me go. And in that moment, I understood exactly what his problem was. He didn’t dislike me. He resented Will liking me so much. One day of wearing his school tie, because I loved the way he made me feel that I had to have a piece of him with me every moment, was nothing compared to the years Damon had relied on Will to be his little beacon of hope that the world was still a pretty place.

“You know it won’t work anyway,” Damon pointed out. “His family is one of the wealthiest in the country, Emory. His life is so far beyond your understanding, and vice versa. You know you have no place in Will Grayson’s Homecoming picture.” I dropped my eyes, slowly sinking down and picking up my soaked towel, holding it over my body. “I know,” he continued. “Hurts to hear it, but it’s true, and you know it. And what’s more? It’s pointless, because you know how you are. Even I know how you are. The whole school knows. He won’t fit, because you’re committed to being miserable and you’ll just drag him down.” I fisted my hands, w...

“His infatuation will end, so pretend you’re the one in control,” Damon taunted. “Call it for what it is, because it’s sure as shit not love. It’s a crush. Hormones. Instant gratification. Acting out.” No. It wasn’t. Was it? I mean, was he right? Was Will just a scratching post? Would he ever be anything more? I knew he wouldn’t. I could do it with anyone. I could do anything I wanted to. Will wasn’t the only person I could escape with. “You feel it, don’t you?” Damon asked. “That need kids like us feel that Will never will? That need to destroy anything good, because every man for himself, and if you can’t beat ’em, then join ’em.”

He came in and caressed my hair, and my chest ached, like something wanted to tear out of it, and I just wanted the pain to end. Even for a minute. I wanted the control.

He was good. I’d admit that. No wonder he got as much ass as he got, because if all anyone wanted was sex, Damon Torrance was gifted at manipulating someone’s mind. Putting the right glasses over someone’s eyes to make them see the world how he wanted them to see it. God help the woman who ever fell in love with him.

I was tempted. I was tired of myself, and it was alluring—the prospect of not being me for a night. But Will liked Em. I’d rather live in that memory of the movie theater forever than ever make another one with anyone else.

Asshole. “Get out,” I said. He nodded, turning around. “Well, I tried.” And then he looked back at me over his shoulder. “Has Will seen the bruises?” I tensed. “Be prepared for what’s going to happen when he does,” he warned. “And what can happen to him if he goes up against a cop.” He walked out, and I stood there, my shoulders slowly slumping with the weight of his words. Will could never see the bruises.

I backed up, reading all the other spines on the two shelves, heavy with more than just the weight of the hardbacks. I liked to put them on the shelf whenever he gave me one. It pleased him to see me display his gifts, but also…it was like I’d accomplished something. It was like a trophy. When the bruises faded, and I had nothing else to show for what would never fade in my head, I had this. One book for every time I stood back up. Again. And again. And again. He’d bought me other things over the years, presents every time he’d spent his anger and the guilt crept in, and those things were also set about the room. Things I’d leave behind when I left, so that when he came in here, he’d see and remember everything, but I’d be gone.

“Please,” I asked, ignoring his teasing. “You can’t be here.” He rose slowly, never taking his eyes off mine. “Or maybe you have a thing for doomed romances.” I stepped back as he stepped forward. “Just leave,” I told him again. But he kept coming. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered. I shook my head, curling my fingers into fists. “But I’m getting really tired of you looking at me like that,” he said, his expression suddenly serious. “Like I can’t be trusted.” Well, could he? And even if I could trust him to have good intentions with me, I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t want him involved in my life. I was doing him a favor. I loved the theater, and I’d treasure the memory forever. But Damon was right. Yesterday was fun. We were done. “You need to leave,” I said again. His eyes sharpened on me. “And I’m getting really fucking tired of you saying that.” His jaw flexed. “What’s the problem? Yesterday was amazing. Why do you always have to think so much until you’ve twisted something that was good into something bad?”

“I hope we didn’t wake you.” He looked thoughtful. “Your granddaughter was giving me the verbal beating I deserved. I apologize.” My heart pitter-pattered a little, but then my grandma laughed. “Perhaps deserved,” she said. “And perhaps she has my short temper.” I leveled her a look. Settling back down into her bed, she took her mask off the hook, holding it. “It was a long time before I met someone who could take me,” she explained. “That’s the thing about broken people, Guillaume. If we ever give you our heart, then you know that you deserve it.” Tears welled in me, but only for a moment.

“No movies tonight then?” he asked, walking around my room. I shook my head, not meeting his eyes. “And I think,” he continued, moving toward me, “even if you could leave, you wouldn’t anyway.” Taking a step, I moved away from him, both of us circling each other. Again, I shook my head. “Because you’re suspicious of everything good,” he told me. I remained silent, continuing to move away as he moved in. “And it won’t end when you go to college or leave this town, Em. Nothing will change. You still won’t have good things.” I tried to swallow through the lump in my throat, but I couldn’t. “Because you’ll still be you,” he said.

Racing after him, I jogged down the stairs, leapt over the last few steps, and pushed the front door closed again just as he was opening it. “I’m sorry,” I blurted out, gripping his T-shirt at his waist and dipping my forehead into his back. “I’m not…” My voice shook. “I’m just…not a happy person, Will. And you’re right, I never will be.” Tears lodged in my throat, and I blinked long and hard to keep the tears away. I didn’t want to cry in front of him again. He stood there, still, only the beat of his heart pulsing through his body. “I’m not right for you,” I told him. And not because he was rich and popular and I wasn’t, but because he made my life better. I looked forward to him. What did I give him?

“Let me go,” I gritted out, anxious. But he didn’t. Pulling me in, he lifted me into his arms again and looked up into my eyes. “Look at me,” he said. I did, the softness in his voice making me forget my brother and my body for a moment. “I…” He trailed off, struggling for words. “I…like you.” It sounded like “I love you,” and my chin trembled. “I’ve liked you forever,” he said. “If you talk to him, the spell will break and the night will be over because you’re not the same in the sun. You’ll have all kinds of reasons again tomorrow about why I can’t have you. Stay with me tonight. Don’t talk to him. Don’t let anything between us tonight.” Sobs swelled in my chest, and I held his shoulders, wanting to just wrap my arms around him because he was probably right.

I stood there for a minute, sick of the guilt and self-hate. I’d done it again. I was a bitter, condescending coward, and hopefully, he’d move on to someone like him. Happy and bubbly and…fun.

I stared off, watching her as he worked. She was sly. I’d give her that. Spending years getting the shit kicked out of her had taught her how to hide. Emmy moved around the kitchen, back in the black pants she’d arrived in, but wearing one of Rory’s white T-shirts as she fried up meat and added peppers, onions, and cheese. She stole glances over at me every now and then, and I kept my gaze locked on her. A piece of bread here, a wedge of cheese there. Some cheese cloth to wrap it up, as well as an orange and then some more bread. I fought not to smile, admiring how she deflected attention from the hand stealing food, to the hand reaching up to grab a plate or snatch a fork out of a drawer.

“So, did you get it?” I continued, prodding Aydin. “The other thing you asked for?” He finished cutting the stitches and picked up the tweezers, pulling the thread out of my skin. “Yes.” “Then you can get her out,” I stated. “I want her gone.” “You want her safe. She is safe.” I thinned my eyes on him. She wasn’t, and even if she were, she was messing up plans and accelerating my timeline. I didn’t need the distraction. “She thinks I arranged to bring her here,” I told him. “And your pride hurts.” Yes. Right now, she thought I was still obsessed and small-minded, every moment we spent together vivid and tantalizing in my memory. I didn’t want her to know that was true. Ever. I was supposed to be somebody by now. I was supposed to make her regret not wanting me, and this was humiliating. She shouldn’t be here. “I’ll arrange it,” he told me. I looked at him. “When we’re done with her,” he clarified.

Thunder cracked outside, rain pummeling the windows, and I glared at Emmy as everyone sat at the dining room table and dug into their sandwiches. Her presence made everything harder. I was going to kill Michael when I got home. I was going to drench his fancy, fucking suit in his own blood for sending her here.

“What kind of work do you specialize in?” Aydin asked her. “Homes? Skyscrapers?” “Restoration,” she murmured. “Churches, hotels, city buildings…” And then she looked at me. “Gazebos.” I forced a slight smirk, letting her know that I knew that she knew what I did to hers. She may not have deserved it, but… Okay, yeah, she kind of deserved it after she laid waste to my fucking heart. I wanted to break something of hers, too. Fuck it. I was drunk and pissed that night.

Emmy continued, “It’s an annual festival of sorts, but it basically boils down to local rich kids basking in the gloriousness of their privilege.” He laughed. “Yes, I know the type. Too stupid to set the bar higher because they’ve never been challenged.” Her eyes glowed bright, her skin glistening a little. What was going on? “It happens the night before Halloween,” she said, explaining her vast knowledge of something she barely knew anything about, “and it’s common to pull a prank as part of the ritual.” “Did you join in the festivities?” he asked. “Once.” She met my eyes. Once? When? “Didn’t he ever tell you, Will?” she asked me. I narrowed my eyes. Who? And tell me what? She had gone out on Devil’s Night? With who and when? But I sat there, acting like I knew exactly what she meant because I wasn’t fucking asking. She laid her forearms on the table, leaning in. “Did you ever find what I had buried under the gazebo when you burned it down?” she asked. “Or is it still there under the dirt?” I balled my fists. “All the shit you don’t know,” she said. “So clueless. It’s almost comforting how you don’t change.”

“I know someone like that,” I told him. “He couldn’t fight for the life he wanted until he was forced to fight alone. He held on to his friends and to his sister so tightly, he almost killed us, because in that moment, he couldn’t bear to see us leave, and he would’ve rather seen us dead.” Aydin’s gaze faltered, and I knew something was finally cracking in there. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to die here. Alone. “Did you ever forgive him?” he asked, his tone gentle for once. “Family does.” He blinked, something churning in his head. “But he had to submit.” The corner of my mouth quirked. “Family does.” Damon learned. He’d fucked up, but he learned. He’d hurt so many people so badly that he lost everything, but it was only then that he realized his pride was less important than everything he loved.

But I still stared at her as I sat down, leaning back in my chair. “You weren’t that fucking great,” I said. “You were a huge hassle that I indulged in for far too long.” She held my eyes. “I know.” “There were girls who were nicer.” She nodded, her tone softening. “I know.” I ground my thumb against the insides of my fingers. “Friends who were kinder.” “Yeah.” “I haven’t called you,” I pointed out. “I haven’t contacted you in any way in nearly nine years.” She opened her mouth but then closed it, breathing a little shallower. “I don’t care what you went through,” I said. Again, she nodded. “There were people who loved me, and I wasted time on someone who didn’t.” My heart hammered as I dropped my gaze to her neck. Her olive skin glowed with a light layer of sweat. “I understand,” she said. Fucking bitch. My dick swelled and hardened as I got angrier by the second. “You had years to reach out, but you didn’t,” I told her. “Believe me, I had time to become well-aware you didn’t give a shit, and now, neither do I.” I saw the lump in her throat move up and down. “I moved on.” The candle flickered, a draft hitting us from somewhere in the house. “I kissed others, touched their faces like I touched yours, and spent time with them like I never did with you.” You don’t matter. Her jaw flexed, and I gazed at her pretty little throat, my fingers humming with the urge to pin her to this table and eat her out until she screamed. “Years of nights,” I said, and I wasn’t sure if I was s...

She tried to wriggle out of my hold, but I didn’t give a shit if she drew blood or ripped out my throat. I was seeing this through. I had questions. Like why didn’t she tell me what was happening at home? Or why couldn’t she trust me? I was patient. I would’ve understood. I wouldn’t have disappointed her. But not only did she not trust me, she attacked, and I didn’t give a fuck about the why anymore. We all went through shit.

Looking at them, you’d assume Micah was the one in control. He was bigger, taller, more muscular, and he had that whole dark and dangerous vibe. He wasn’t. Rory was the dominant one, and Micah loved every second of it because all he wanted was love. I was like that. Emmy was like Rory. Perfect for me. When she let herself be.

She whimpered, the feel of her tingling up my arm, and I snatched her bottom lip between my teeth, so turned-on and hard at how much I’d missed this. All my friends loved the control. Loved to hold them down and make them beg for it like Rika, Banks, and Winter were their toys. Not me. She dominated me, and I didn’t want it any other way. In the classroom, in the library, in the movie theater, in my truck… Watching her cash in on my ass was better than actual sex. I could be a bad boy, and I needed to be disciplined.

She growled, trying to push me away, but I brought my hand up, rubbing my glistening fingers in her face. And then I crashed down on her mouth, kissing, nibbling, sucking, and tugging her sweet flesh and hearing a moan escape before she tried to push me away again. “I know you know how to take a beating,” I told her, whispering over her lips, “but this isn’t the kind you’re used to.”

I placed my hand on her stomach, feeling her shake and her breaths grow erratic. When she sucked in air, holding it, again and again, I knew she was right there. Aching and boiling with heat, I tore myself away and stood up, sweat cooling my brow. I wanted to bring her there. I didn’t want to ever stop. And the old me wouldn’t have. It took a moment to catch my breath as I stared down at her. She blinked a few times, opening her eyes when she realized I’d stopped. “Wha…” she breathed out. I leaned down, getting in her face. “When you’re ready for me to finish that,” I said. “You come to me.” She dug in her eyebrows, gaping. “My bed is on the third floor.” I rose up, grabbing my jacket. “Come and ask me for it.” And I left, the appendage between my legs trying to tear a hole in my pants as Micah’s laugh followed me up the stairs. Along with the shatter of whatever vase Emmy threw in the drawing room that crashed two seconds later. That was the hardest fucking thing I’d ever had to do. Like harder than prison, detox, and the Doris Day double-feature at the drive-in my mother asked me to take her to when I was seventeen. Combined.

Despite my hatred of this town, I loved this place. It’s history. The allure of its secrets and traditions. The mysteries that survived the years and the architecture. So many nooks and crannies to get lost in, not only with places like the catacombs or the Torrance garden maze that used to be open to the public once a year when I was a kid, but the way every avenue and piece of coastline seemed to have a story. A building out in the world was a building out in the world. Designing something in Thunder Bay wouldn’t just stand on its own. It was being a part of something bigger.

I looked down at my school bag, reaching down and taking the strap. I lifted it up, digging in the pocket and finding that shiny, bronze bauble someone left tied to my tree last night. Pulling it out, I dropped the bag and leaned my elbows on the table, inspecting it. Studying the skeleton key, rusty and worn, I looked again for any markings that might give me a clue as to what it was for, and then I threaded the chain through my fingers, taking a look at the keychain attached. It was some kind of pot. Or incense burner, maybe? I turned it over in my hand, confused. Why would someone give me this and then not tell me what it was for? I didn’t think it was Will who’d left it. He would’ve just given it to me when he saw me last night. And that car parked outside my house… The only other thing I could think of was that this was evidence and someone was planting it on me, but that was reaching. Then I noticed it. The slits on the keychain. In the incense burner. Like vents. This was a thurible. They were used in churches. The cathedral in town had one. A big one that swung like the clapper of a bell. I rolled up my blueprints, stuffed them into my cubby, and grabbed my bag, running out of the classroom.

Then I dropped my gaze, seeing a scrap of paper on the comforter. I walked over and picked it up, the fresh scent of the linens making my nostrils tingle. I read the note, the paper yellowed and nearly falling apart at the creases where it had been folded a thousand times. It’s yours now. Use it well. No one else knows, do not tell. When you’re done, pass it on. The Carfax Room hides us from what we want gone. I read it again, but I still didn’t get it. “The Carfax Room?” I said to myself. The writing was in black cursive, a little faded, and I folded it up, sticking it in my pocket. This was silly. Someone gave me a key to a room, didn’t explain why, and I had no idea if I was the only one who had access to it. I got some of the message. Keep the room a secret, but how did it hide me exactly? And obviously someone else knew about it, because someone gave me the key. And if it was something I passed on to someone else, then the person who gave it to me got it from someone else too, right? Why me?

“Edward McClanahan,” he said, gesturing out the window ahead of us. “They’re moving his body, Em.” I saw the small digger and that the excavation had already begun, but there were no workers with the rain right now. Just a pile of dirt and a blue tarp over the hole. “Family wants him safe and sound inside their new tomb,” he told me. “They’re hoping the town will forget the dead girl, and in all likelihood, it probably will. Out of sight, out of mind.” I clasped my hands in my lap, only half-listening. “Every year, those arrogant little losers make their pilgrimage here like they’re going to fucking church,” he continued, “but next year, it won’t be Edward in the grave. I bought it today. For Grand-Mère.” For my grandmother. Not his. He never gave a shit about her. She wasn’t his. He did what he had to do for appearances, and he bought a woman who wasn’t even dead a used grave. A Catholic grave. Did they even allow that? I wouldn’t. It wasn’t happening.

The rain pummeled the car, drowning out the sounds of his fists and curses as I dug my nails into the seat and the taste of blood filled my mouth. Will’s truck flashed in my memory—the smell and the feel of him next to me. But after a few moments, I couldn’t think of anything. I couldn’t remember anything. No green eyes. No beautiful smile. No warm arms around me. My glasses spilled to the floor and then…something wet dripped into my eye. After a few moments, I couldn’t even remember his face.

“It’s Devil’s Night tomorrow,” he said as we sat at the stoplight near the village on the way home. “The little devils fancy themselves dangerous, but no one is more of a threat than the person willing to do what everyone else won’t.” I cast my eyes to the side, seeing his shotgun in its holder. Sobs lodged in my chest. I could take it. It would all be over. I could sleep at night. “This is my town, Em.” He didn’t look at me, the blessed exhaustion calming his voice now. “It will be someday. This will all seem like a dream compared to the nightmare that awaits everyone who stands in my way.” I could sleep forever. I looked out at the rain, my vision blurry through the tears that wouldn’t stop. I was tired. And sad. And if he didn’t die, I would, and it had to be tonight. My insides screamed. I couldn’t take it anymore. My fingers balled into fists, every muscle in my body tightening, and my legs were moving before I’d even made the decision. Pushing the door open, I leapt out in the rain, hearing him bellow my name and telling me to come back, but I just ran. I was at the edge, and I didn’t want to stop.

I escaped up to the gallery, behind the door, up the steps, and back inside The Carfax Room, locking the door behind me. Safe. Hidden. I walked to the trunks by the windows, found the dress, and pulled it out. Emmy Scott was tired and sad. But Reverie Cross was going to Homecoming.

How did that girl always do this to me? She had me about ready to break and go ask her for it instead. I knew she wouldn’t come to my room last night after I’d left her in the drawing room. I knew that. I just hoped I was wrong. God, I wanted her. I could chalk it up to being without a woman for so long, but no…it was Emory Sophia Scott and how good her smiles felt. All the frowns were worth the trouble for just one smile.

From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, everything about her turned me on and there wasn’t a single way I didn’t dream about fucking her. It was an obsession from the start. But why? She was moody, intolerant, judgmental…and while I knew exactly where her distrust and hard heart came from, she refused to warm toward me after all this time. If she hadn’t by now, she wouldn’t. Loving a guarded girl, I had realized, was a pyrrhic victory. The rare moments of happiness came at too great a cost.