Sweet Surrender (King's Trace Antiheroes, #1)

by Sav R. Miller

“There are darknesses in life, and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.” BRAM STOKER, DRACULA

“Sometimes, regret’s the only emotion worth a damn.”

Even though this party is casual, he stands there in a three-piece suit—all black, the way I imagine his soul.

He’s tall, maybe half a foot taller than me, smiling down like the cat that caught the canary. A predator circling his prey.

Everything he does seems to happen in slow motion, and it’s captivating as if he calculates each move and consequence ahead of time. The logic of a killer.

Nothing good can come from having your choices taken away.

Caroline, sweetie. You don’t do stuff like this. Why won’t you let someone in for once?” Because it hurts that I have to give someone an opening. That no one has ever cared enough to barge in and force the truth from me. Because you turn your head and let it all happen.

But temptation wins out, and I spin on my heels, meeting Elia’s steely gaze. It wracks over my form, darkening exponentially, and a slow, simmering grin spreads across his glorious face, brightening his features like lightning striking through a storm cloud. Sliding his arm around my waist, he nods down at my mother. His all-black suit makes him look even more terrifying than usual, like a fallen angel,

He’s electric, fast and splintering, and I can feel myself being drawn in despite my reservations, a conductor begging to be shocked. My idiot heart should know to run for cover.

Her eyes open, and she stares up at me from hooded lashes, daring me to take her. Taste her. Eat her alive. So I do.

I’m not actually looking for a savior. Just some revenge.

“Who the hell ingrained in your head that the stuff that happened to you doesn’t matter, Caroline? Tell me right now, and I’ll go bash their goddamn skull in.” He slides off the chair, onto his knees on the floor, and crawls over to where I’m sitting. His eyes are glassy, reminding me that he’s wasted, but that doesn’t stop my breath from catching in my throat at having him so near. “If it still hurts, it matters.”

She’s caring and considerate. Warm and soft, all the things I can’t imagine ever being, and it makes me want to walk inside, scoop her into my arms, and never let her go.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Caroline.” I scoff, feeling shaky. “I’ve heard that before.” “Baby, the difference here is that I actually mean it.” “You hurt me just by being nice to me.”

Fuck me; I want to love her. I think I might already.

“When does it stop hurting?” I murmur into his suit, letting a few tears fall. Why do I feel so deflated? He runs a hand over my hair, cradling my head. “It doesn’t. We just learn to cover the bad stuff with better memories.” Pushing hair from my face, he gazes into my eyes, his creasing at the corners. “And you and I are gonna make the best goddamn memories.”

I pull against his hold when we pass my father, stopping in my tracks. He tilts his head up slightly, a menacing grin on his face. Even though there’s still an ache flaring deep in my chest at his vile spirit, at the chasm between us, there’s a certain pride in not stooping to his level—in proving my worth to myself. Proving that I’m better. Still, when he winks at me, I can’t stop my reaction; my tongue writhes in my mouth, saliva pooling on the tip, and I purse my lips, projecting it right at him. The wad of spit lands on his mouth, and a look of pure rage washes over him. He struggles against his binds, unable to wipe his face, and I grin as Elia drags me outside to where Benito waits.

That killing someone changes you; it mars your soul in a way you can’t ever erase.