“Tessa.”Hannah leans forward.“He tipsyoutwenty dollars.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I busy myself refilling the napkin dispensers.“Drop it, Hannah.”
“I’m just saying, the man’s into you.And you’re into him.I see the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching.”
“Hannah—”
“I know, I know.He’s dangerous.He’s in an MC.He’s probably done terrible things.”She shrugs.“But Blade’s in an MC too, and I’m in love with him, so is Grace.Although she likes Vex more.Maybe we’re all just attracted to terrible life choices.”
Despite everything, I laugh.“You think?”
“Absolutely.”She takes a sip of coffee.“But seriously, Tessa.You look like hell.Are you sure you’re okay?”
The concern in her voice makes my throat tight.I want to tell her.Want to show her the burns on my hands, tell her about the symbol that won’t wash away, about the feeling that something’s been watching me.But the words stick.
Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real.And I’m not ready for that.
“I’m fine,” I say again.“Just tired.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can press, the bell chimes and a group of truckers come in for lunch.I escape into the familiar rhythm of work, taking orders, delivering food, keeping my smile bright and my hands busy.
But my palms ache where I touched the symbol.And every time I glance at the window, I swear I see shadows moving wrong.
By the time I closeup at nine, exhaustion has settled into my bones.My hands throb.My head pounds.All I want is a hot shower and my bed.
The walk home should be peaceful.The snow is falling softly, Main Street is quiet, and the streetlights cast warm pools of light on the sidewalk.But something’s off.That same wrongness from last night and a sense of being watched.
I walk faster.
The first streetlight flickers when I’m two blocks from home.
“Not again,” I whisper.
The second light goes out completely.
My heart starts to race, adrenaline flooding my system.I break into a jog, my breath pluming in the cold air.Behind me, I hear it, footsteps that aren’t mine.Heavy.Deliberate.Getting closer.
I run.
The fog rolls in from nowhere, thick and unnatural, swallowing the street behind me.Inside it, I hear sounds that make my skin crawl.Cracking branches.The groan of ice under pressure.A hiss that’s not quite animal, not quite human.
My house is just ahead.I can see my porch light burning.Almost there.Almost—
Something hits me from behind.
Not a body.Not exactly.It’s cold—so cold it steals the breath from my lungs.Claws of ice rake across my shoulder, tearing through my coat, my sweater, my skin.The pain is blinding, freezing and burning all at once.
Stumbling, I catch myself on a fence post, and run the last few yards.My hands shake so badly I can barely get the key in the lock.Behind me, I hear that hiss again, closer now, and smell something wrong, like ozone and old ice and decay.
The key turns.The door swings open.I throw myself inside and slam it shut, throwing the deadbolt and the chain.
For a long moment, I just stand there, my back pressed against the door, my heart hammering so hard I think it might burst.My shoulder throbs with each pulse of blood, and when I touch it, my hand comes away dark.
Blood.I’m bleeding.
I stumble to the bathroom, turn on all the lights, and peel off my coat and sweater with shaking hands.The wounds on my shoulder are savage—four parallel gashes that look like claw marks, except the edges are rimmed with frost.
“What the fuck,” I whisper.“What theactualfuck.”
