I don’t know if I want to throw up or hold him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is raw, small. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”
Damien’s hands are still on my arms. His thumb rubs slow circles against my skin, almost absent, like he’s calming me or himself. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but I can see the tremor at the corner of his mouth.
“I wanted to,” he says softly. “A thousand times. Every time you walked past me. Every time you smiled at someone else. Every time you forgot.” His breath catches. “But you looked free. And I was still chained to it. I didn’t want to drag you back.”
I swallow hard. My pulse is loud in my ears. “You dragged me back anyway,” I whisper.
His jaw tenses. “Because he’s not done,” he says. “Because the man who left that rosary isn’t going to stop with gifts.”
A shiver runs through me. “You know who he is,” I say. It’s not a question.
“I don’t have a face yet.” He releases my arms, moves back a step, runs a hand through his hair. His other hand is still clenched in a fist like he’s holding something invisible. “I’ve been waiting for him to surface,” he says. “Watching. Setting traps. But he’s always one move ahead.”
He looks at me again—and there’s something manic behind the softness now, a sharp edge glinting under velvet. “You’re not bait,” he says, almost to himself. “You’re not bait. You’re mine.”
The words hit me like a punch and a caress all at once. I should hate it. I should run. But my body’s already shaking in a way that feels like recognition.
“I’m scared,” I whisper. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.
His gaze softens, but his voice stays lethal. “Good,” he murmurs. “Stay scared of him. Stay close to me. Let me be the monster between you and the dark.”
He moves closer, lowers his voice until it’s almost a growl against my ear. “You have no idea what I’m willing to do to keep him from touching you again.”
A tremor crawls down my spine. My breath shudders. The memory of numbers is still there, counting down in the back of my skull.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
His eyes flick to the black monitor, then back to me. “Whatever it takes,” he says. “I’m going to finish what I started.”
I open my mouth to ask what that means—but the monitor flickers. Not static. Not noise. A single image, crisp and clear:
The chapel. Tonight. Lit by candles that shouldn’t be burning.
Beneath the image, a message:
COME ALONE.
My stomach knots. Damien’s hand slams down on the table hard enough to rattle the monitor. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks.
“He’s calling us back,” he says quietly.
No. Not us.
“Calling you,” I whisper.
His eyes lift to mine—and there’s nothing left of softness now. Only the boy behind the wall, the man with the spider voice, the shadow that’s been waiting in the dark.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he says.
And for the first time since this started, I don’t know if that’s a promise or a threat.
Chapter 12
DAMIEN
Idrive her harder against the wall, the sound of her breath catching in my ear, my palms sliding over her ribs, memorising the tremor in her body the way I used to count cracks in the chapel ceiling. Every inch of her pressed against me is a confession, a pulse, a promise.
