“After you eat, we’ll go to your apartment and get your things.”
“So bossy.” I smile slightly to take the sting out of my words. “Do you always get everything you want?”
“So far.” He brushes his fingers down my thigh. “But that was only after decades of having nothing.”
Maybe he really could understand me. “Specter isn’t your real name, I take it.”
His lips curl into an almost-smile and he nods once.
“You’re not telling me your actual name?”
“That version of me doesn’t exist anymore. Specter is what’s left.”
Yeah, I think he could.
“Is Cashmere your real name?”
“Touché.” I probably have to tell him my real name if I want this backstory about my stalker to make any sense. Fuck. I rarely say it aloud anymore. It’s like my own secret comfort—a tiny connection to the life I had before everything went wrong.
“When you’re ready,” Specter says. “I’m listening.”
I nod, swallowing down the lump of emotions in my throat. “Later.”
“I’ll be here.”
Despite the unpleasantness of it, I pull on my mangled leggings and sweater from last night. It’s too cold out for me to wear Specter’s oversized shorts, so I’ll endure. My hair is a mess too without my blow-dryer and round brush, and I can’t believe I’m going to allow myself to be seen in public looking like this.
I wet my hands and drag them through my hair to tame it a bit, but there’s no fixing it. It’s not like anyone who sees me will notice my hair after they see this glaring bruise on my face anyway. Ugh. My lips are dry without my bedtime lip oil and my skin is tight from showering without my moisturizer.
I blow out a breath to soothe my discomfort. Specter might have saved my life last night. I can deal with some minor inconveniences.
When I exit the bathroom, he’s standing in front of the windows with his phone to his ear. He’s dressed how I normally see him, in tight black pants that hug his thick thighs tucked into heavy boots and a black turtleneck, his hair slicked back.
He turns to face me, his face a blank mask, but his lips quirk up just slightly when he sees me.
“Yeah, of course,” he says into the phone. “Shouldn’t be long.” He nods, his eyes still trained on me. “Thanks, man. See you soon.”
He ends the call and shoves the phone into his back pocket.His eyes take me in, lingering on the bruise and the bloody tear in my leggings over my scraped knee. I don’t even remember that part.
“Ready?” he asks.
As a nervous shiver moves down my spine, I blow out a breath. “I think so.”
“Hey.” He walks toward me. “You aren’t alone. I’m bringing Wraith too. He’ll keep watch while we’re inside.”
“Why is he called Wraith?”
“You don’t want to know.”
I nod, following him to the door. “Do any of you have regular names? Like…” I shrug. “Grumpy or Sleepy or?—”
“We aren’t the seven dwarfs.”
“So no, then?”
He huffs a slight laugh. “Most of our names are somewhat intimidating and generally relate to our… our style, if you will.”
“So, Specter, it’s just another word for ghost, right?”
