The moment he passes, the stone against my chest seems to vibrate with energy as it absorbs the years of the little boy’s life lost to a tragic accident.
My teeth clench so hard I worry they might crack, but I can’t let myself fall apart yet. I need to be alone, where no one can see or hear me break down.
I leave the room in a daze, suppressing every emotion I possibly can, and manage to find my way outside to the car. My body functions on autopilot as I put the keys in the ignition and pull out of the parking lot and onto the road, managing to get to the highway through the blur of silent tears.
I drive in silence, numb, but there’s a thread inside me threatening to snap at any second. Somehow, I manage to make it back to the cabin, and I steel myself to prepare for the possibility of confronting the evil, loathsome man inside.
Ambrose is in his usual spot, sitting in the armchair in the living room with a book in hand. When I shut the door behind me and hang the car keys on the ring beside the door, his eyes flick up. I pull the necklace off and drop it into a zipper pocket of my purse. Right now, it feels less like a piece of jewelry or a supernatural artifact and more like a noose. Ambrose’s gaze burns into my skin the entire time.
I ignore it, turning my back to him to head into the kitchen. I need some water after all the tears I’ve shed. My head is already starting to pound, and it’ll be even worse tomorrow if I don’t hydrate at least a little.
And because he seems intent on not allowing me even one moment of peace, Ambrose appears in the doorway as I’m chugging a glass of lukewarm water
“Rough day?” he asks. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking or if he’s mocking me, though knowing him, the latter. I ignore him while I sip my water, then return to the sink to refill my glass.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I mutter. Ireallydon’t want to deal with him right now.
He quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Wouldn’t I?”
How can he be so fucking casual about all of this? Even now, I’m certain he’s holding back a smirk, like this is some game to him instead of people’slives.
“No, you wouldn’t,” I answer through clenched teeth.
“Why?”
“Some of us don’t enjoy watching people die.”Watchingchildrendie,I think,but I don’t say that part aloud. The less ammunition he has against me, the better.
“And what makes you think I enjoy it?” He crosses his arms over his chest with infuriating calmness, and something snaps inside me. The despair and sorrow turn to white-hot rage.
“Because you’re a fucking monster!” I shout, slamming my now-empty glass onto the counter. It doesn’t shatter, even though I fully expect it to.
He stalks toward me, covering the space between us in a few long strides. My stomach drops as fear constricts my chest. I don’t even notice his hand reaching toward the countertop until he slides a butcher knife from the knife block in stride, all while imposing upon my space and forcing me backward until my back hits the wall.
The knife glints, catching the light as he raises it with inhuman speed. The blade is against my throat before I can register what’s happening.
I hold my breath, terrified to move. In our conversations over the last week, I had become complacent and almost forgotten what he was—a cold-blooded killer. A stalker. Inhuman.
“Careful, girl. Thismonstercan still take your life without a second thought,” he sneers. He’s so close I can smell the dark, woodsy scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body as he towers over me. His dark eyes reflect his fury, like fire burning in the black pits of hell, the true nature of his evil hiding behind that charismatic facade.
I deflate. “Then do it. If this is all some elaborate scheme to torture me, then just slit my fucking throat and put me out of my misery.”
Emotion flickers across his expression for a fraction of a second. I’d almost think it was regret if I didn’t know who or what he is. But he takes a step backward, lowering the knife to his side.
We stand in silence, staring at each other for too long as the weight of whatever just happened presses down on us. His mask falls back into place, calm and cool, but something heavier lingers in his eyes.
Finally, he says, “You should probably eat something.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I brush past him and stomp upstairs, slamming my door behind me before bursting into sobs that wrack my body and breaking down entirely.
CHAPTER 11
AMBROSE
September
I never meant to break her. At least, not entirely. Not like this. Intimidate her? Sure. She needs to be aware of my power, needs to be somewhat fearful of me, needs to know she can’t run.
