“I don’t need this right now,” she whispers again, but I bet her vision’s getting blotted.
She turns around, her palms landing on the table as she drops her head, eyes closed. My gaze is focused on her lips, so plush, repeating instructions over and over. She’s trying to picture a beautiful field ... or a sunset.
But it’s not working, is it?
My hands tighten around the steel I’m holding as I watch her chest rise and fall faster. Fuck, I’m almost aroused, enjoying her falling apart. Because there’s nothing more intimate than watching her crumble.
It’s as if she knows what I desire most—her end.
My heart beats faster and faster, following the pace of her chest before her head springs up, eyes popping open. She’s desperate for anything to help stop what’s coming.
I feel like I’m drowning in her fear. I can almost taste it.
Until she locks on an anchor. She’s staring at her fish tank. At that fucking goldfish she named Ruth Bader. Her face softens.
My eyes narrow.Dammit. You were so close.
I know what you’re thinking. It’s about the day. The one when he got you that fish. Guess what, Evie? You’re not the only one who remembers the story. I close my eyes, letting it wash over me.
Chase holds out a bag with a bright orange goldfish. The way he acts is boyish and charming, which shouldn’t be his brand, and still, he tries it on effortlessly.
“His name is Knievie. Like Evel Knievel, but Evie—”
“Yeah,” Evie snarks, “I got it.”
“Who the hell gives someone a fish?” She chuckles and licks her lips, the panic subsiding. “You’re lucky I am an excellent fish mom. God only knows what would’ve happened if I gave you to your father.”
My blood cools as I stand in place with my eyes locked on her.
You don’t deserve that comfort. It’s boring. You’re better than that.
Steps click down the hall directly past me before a person peeks her head into Evie’s office.
“Hey, Evie. He wants you now.”
“Gotcha,” Evie says back, grabbing her walkie-talkie.
Byhethe woman means the director. I still don’t move. Not even when she looks away from Evie and speaks directly to me.
“I told Raul that if we had extra lights, they should be on set.”
I nod as Evie joins her in the doorway, still adding stuff in her pockets.
“Erin, please tell me he doesn’t want to try and blow something up on last-minute notice or have me make yet another prosthetic that has nothing to do with vampires.”
“It’s worse—he’s rewritten the script. We now have werewolves. Let me ask you: Can you make a crossbow that also shoots silver bullets?”
“And to think there was a time when I really wanted to live out my dreams. Now I’m thinking between home and work, I should just make a time machine and go back to the beginning, because clearly all the wrong choices have been made.”
They laugh, finally walking by, but I can’t help myself. I extend my pinkie, letting it brush her hand. I want to savor the feel of her flesh before I rip it off her bones.
“Sorry,” she offers, half turning her head over her shoulder, never really laying eyes on me.
I say nothing because all I can think isYou will bebefore I count her steps, knowing how many it takes before she’s gone.
. . . three, four, five, six, seven . . . gone.
I brush my hoodie off with a measured breath as I prop the light stand up, abandoning what I’d stolen as I take steps toward her door. I touch the handle slowly, as if it might burn me.
