Lynx tenses like I did touch him, and he’s recoiling into himself. Which makes no sense when he said those same words to me without batting an eye.
Something registers at the back of my mind. “Do you prefer being called Lincoln?”
His eyes meet mine, and the creatures of the night seem to quiet as his deep voice reverberates between the trees. “By you? Lynx is fine.”
Anything I could say catches in my throat. His words are a promise and a secret wrapped in one, a hint toward something I’m not privy to. I want to pry, and I want to bask in his attention a moment longer because he sounds… tender.
Which can’t be right because his brows are furrowed like he’s angry. I don’t understand him, and I’m not sure whether that makes me intrigued or irritated. I want him to tell things to me straight, but I haven’t exactly been sunshine and rainbows either, and I don’t want to mess up this tentative truce by demanding an explanation.
I know what it looks like to not be welcomed, and he’s throwing out very mixed messages about whether or not he still hates me.
I’m too busy glaring at his profile to notice the path. I shift my weight onto my extended foot and nearly fall into a hole. A strong hand wraps around my bicep and tugs me back before I can meet my demise again.
“Careful.”
I gasp, eyes swinging up to his as he holds me inches from his chest.
But he doesn’t let go. He stares at me as his hand flexes around my arm, warring with emotions that I won’t dare try to identify.
We keep breathing the same air, standing close enough that in a single step, his lips could be on mine, and there wouldn’t be any malice or venom in it like all the other times we’ve come near each other.
I think I might die all over again when his gaze falls to my mouth. I can barely see him through the darkness, but I can see that. Maybe it’s wrong of me to want him to lean forward,or maybe I’m so starved for intimacy, I’ll take whatever scraps a demon is willing to give. But I want him to do it. Want him to show me I’m welcome. That there is something going on between us that goes deeper than the surface. That I don’t repel him.
But at the same time, I don’t want him to come nearer after what he’s done—and knowing he’ll leave me behind the first chance he gets. The voice at the back of my mind is telling me that this is only because he’s bored. It’s not about me—can’t be.
It’s what my mother would tell me.
That line of thinking doesn’t get to go any further because Lynx suddenly pulls me behind him, and in a blink, moonlight catches on his horns and a tail whips out, raised in warning as a threatening growl trembles through the night.
Fear drops my internal temperature to near frozen conditions—what if it’s the monster Lynx is searching for? My body stills, unsure whether to fight or take flight.
I grasp his shirt and peer around Lynx just as he snarls, “Fuck off.”
I blink against the darkness, trying to make out the shape of the yellow-eyed beast prowling forward between the trees.
“Tidus?” I ask, feeling my muscles unwind with the two syllables.
He tips his head to the side and drops something from his mouth. I let go of Lynx to inch closer and inspect his chew toy.
It’s a fucking foot. Mauled to oblivion so I can’t make heads or tails about who it once belonged to.
Anger slices up my spine. Has the fuckhead not done enough damage? “Jesus Christ, you?—”
The hellhound perks up and lifts his snout in the direction of the manor, but neither Lynx nor I react to our fucked-up situation fast enough. There’s the telltale sound of a car door slamming shut, and then Tidus is thundering toward the house.
And the fear comes barreling back.
Images of dismembered cops and my parents waltzing through the front door flash through my mind.
Lynx and I curse and break into a sprint after the little shit, uselessly screaming his name. He neither listens, nor slows down. I run faster than I did all the times the demon chased me down, fueled by adrenaline, terror, and spite.
We hear the screaming before we break past the line of trees. The bloodcurdling sound raises the hairs on the back of my neck. It doesn’t stop. It’s a symphony of carnage, harmonized with feral growls and metal tearing.
I push harder, willing my legs to move faster until my legs burn.
Lynx is too far ahead for me to see him, but when I round the corner, I find him in front of the manor, wrestling Tidus in the middle of a bunch of people that look closer to death than life. I stumble, but I don’t stop.
A van sits at the edge of the driveway beside what looks like filming equipment. Plastered in white and red on the black metal are three words:Grim’s Paranormal Investigators.
