“How good of you, darling, to already be in my favourite position,” Lawrence said.
“Oh, god,” Shaun breathed. Kit could sense movement, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Lawrence.
“Everyone’s here,” Lawrence said, shifting his gaze to Shaun. “It’s a bit like one of those reunion shows, isn’t it?”
“That makes sense why you’ve appeared, then,” DJ said. “Those episodes are pretty terrible. They usually bring back a pointless cast member.” There was no real heat in the quip, but it provided a sufficient distraction for Kit to push himself unsteadily upright. He glanced at where the ghosts had last stood, but saw no sign of them.
“But you don’t watch television,” Shaun said slowly to Lawrence, his confusion not overriding the note of fear in his voice.
Lawrence sighed. “Haunting you meant there was little to do but mill around over your shoulder and watch whatever sitcom you had on. I think I lost most of my IQ.”
“You haunted Shaun?” DJ asked, incredulous.
“He killed me, remember? He’s the one I came back for.”
“Then why did you decide to haunt me instead?” Kit asked unsteadily. Lawrence had always wanted Shaun more. It had been evident when he grew complacent about keeping Kit under lock and key, too busy stalking his new obsession.
The way Lawrence’s eyes trailed over Kit then, however, made him feel dirty. “Christopher, all those dark thoughts of yours made it far too easy for me to siphon your energy. I read every single one in an instant. All those times you bit a stranger and hated yourself for it. Or when you’d flinch at your own reflection. And those occasions where you considered ending it all.” Lawrence raised a mocking brow. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t. You left the perfect space for me to fill instead.”
“So, I just happened to be the easier option,” Kit said, more to himself than the others. He fisted his hands at his sides, impotent rage building inside of him.
Lawrence’s dark laugh was his only response.
“Shaun, DJ,” Rake said evenly, coming and standing tall beside Kit. “Go find the safe. We’ll deal with this.”
“This,” Lawrence said, gesturing to himself, “isn’t something to be dealt with. I’m calling the shots here.”
Rake scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shaun, Deej, go.”
“But—” DJ started.
“That’s an order, sweetheart.”
DJ glared at Rake, mutiny in his dark eyes.
“Nobody take a step,” Lawrence warned. He held the poker to his own neck, the curved spike snagging on his skin and cutting into the flesh. “Or I’ll slit his throat right here.”
Kit jerked forward, though stopped in his tracks when the scent of Quin’s blood hit the air.
Rake spoke up. “Head upstairs,” he said again. “Get what we need.”
“Will you both be okay?” Shaun asked.
“We’ve got this,” Kit said. He hoped he sounded convincing.
Lawrence made a noise of frustration as Shaun and DJ slipped from the room. “Now, why did you make them do that? I’m going to have to do something drastic.”
“You’ll do nothing,” Rake said, taking a step forward, moving in front of Kit. “Because you want Quin’s body. Damaging him will only damage yourself.”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes at Rake. “Are you willing to take that risk?”
Before Kit could protest that it wasn’t Rake’s call to make, Rake bared his fangs at Lawrence. “Yes. I am. You know that I’m stronger than you. Give it up.”
Lawrence sighed, the poker dangling limp in his grip. “I regret the night I left you alive.”
The sounds of Shaun and DJ tearing apart the upstairs bedroom were thunderous in the stillness of the manor. Every bang had Kit flinching, expecting the crash of the floor giving way under them. He glanced out the window. They had a while until sunrise, but they’d need to be out of the manor well beforethen. The idea of them all being stuck there, vulnerable in sleep, made Kit’s skin prickle with unease.
“We are still at an impasse,” Lawrence said, swinging the poker around in a jaunty movement. All he needed to complete the image of an old-school pantomime villain was a moustache to twirl.
