Dropping the pill case into my bag, I check to make sure Orion is no longer watching. An empty silence haunts the university in the night hours, the dark a physical entity lurking in the corners.
Another gust of wind spurs me out of the colonnade, and I wrap my arms around my midsection as the medicine slowly works through my veins.
Dim streetlamps line the uneven sidewalk, guiding me away from the campus grounds. The distant crash of waves chases me like a taunt, conjuring the sensation of frigid waves rocking my body, and the calm blue-green waters of his eyes that held me steady.
I’ve interviewed some of the most charming and charismatic offenders. I’ve studied the expert manipulations of psychopaths. But after our encounter tonight, Orion is the first to leave me shaken.
The phantom feel of his arms around my body lingers like a brand. I can still hear the heavy beat of his heart pounding through me like a drum, still feel the pulse of it strong against my cheek as he carried me to safety.
Sheltered from danger by the arms of danger himself.
After watching him this past month, I was prepared for the mind games, but not for his emotional intelligence. Orion mirrors better than any psychopath I’ve studied. The way he tailored his personality to mine, to my fear, knowing just how to put me at ease.
The diverting, flirty winks and smirks, fully aware of his sex appeal. He uses this to his advantage. From anyone else, the unfiltered thoughts would be crude and off-putting.
He’s too quick a study, an apex predator, easing into banter effortlessly, making me feel a connection with him.
I can’t touch you.
The gravelly timbre of his voice invades my mind, brushing through my body like the heat of his breath over my neck. The way he used those four simple words to disarm me.
Yet as I’ve seen the result of his violence firsthand, I know I don’t need to feel the press of his skin for him to hurt me.
Resting my palm to the valley of my chest, I center my breathing and allow my steps to slow. My fear tonight wasn’t a complete deception—I was a good swimmer once—but my vulnerability had to be real.
I can’t simply play the victim. I have to bare my throat to the predator, let him sink his teeth into my jugular and taste my fear.
There’s power in surrender, in helplessly looking up at the predator, anticipating the bite, letting them believe they have control. Waiting for their fangs to sink deep?—
Then they get that first bitter taste of poison.
My veins are primed with it.
As the wind rustles the skeletal branches of the trees, the shadows cast over the town grow deeper, appearing more sinister. Even if I’m used to moving through the world alone, have long since stopped fearing the isolation, the dark still stirs an instinctive dread.
It’s where monsters roam. You don’t see them coming until they’re close enough to wound.
I know Orion could have easily let me drown, or snapped my neck. Appealing to a killer’s protective nature is as tricky as it is risky. But for a highly intelligent offender, protective is synonymous with possessive. Orion is territorial by nature, and he’s territorial over Stonehurst.
A tragic death at his university would shine a giant spotlight on his habitat, bringing unwanted attention from authorities. The hunter won’t risk an investigation. Not when he’s this close to completing his ritual.
It’s his pattern: Shorehaven. Solar eclipse. And the victim…
I glance around at the quiet town, wondering where his victim is right now. What they’re wanted for, what dark deed they’re guilty of. Eleven of the twelve celestial constellations have been claimed, leaving only Gemini—the final sign on his chart.
By the time I reach my unit, my hands are numb, my lungs burn from the cold, and I shakily push the key into the deadbolt, practically falling past the threshold.
The only source of light comes from the soft glow of the kitchen appliances. I quickly turn on the lamp, illuminating the space to chase back the dark.
Kicking off my shoes, I wrap myself in a plush blanket on the loveseat, trying to eliminate the chattering of my teeth, unsure if it’s from the cold still seeping into my bones or nerves.
“Dammit.” I clutch my phone tight, drumming up the courage to make the call I’ve been dreading since I first took on this assignment.
With a resigned breath, I set my phone timer, then punch in his personal number, my free hand pressed firmly to my chest. I’m using an app to prevent my number from being traced. If there’s no answer after three rings, I have to end the call.
“Who is this?”
Throat tight, I force a swallow. It’s been too long since I’ve heard Darby’s voice. “I’m here. I’m with him.”
