I shook my head to dispel the thought, which was a mistake. Hunger and fatigue made it feel as though my brain had come loose inside my skull, pins and needles cascading down my spine and into the tips of my extremities.
“Ambrose?”
The voice stopped me dead.
Blaise stood in the doorway of one of the adjoining rooms, hair tousled, dressed down in sweatpants and a plain tee. His expression hovered somewhere between disbelief and panic as his golden eyes met mine.
And then—before my better judgment could intervene—I crossed the room and pulled him into my arms.
The moment stretched, wrong in all the ways I hadn’t prepared for. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. For him topress into the embrace? For him to give me a friendly pat on the back and crack a joke?
Instead, he went rigid, his chest unmoving as if he refused to breathe in the scent of me.
I felt the slight tilt of his head against my shoulder as his gaze fixed on something behind me. Suddenly, the front door slammed shut with enough force to rattle the walls, followed by the sounds of half a dozen locks clicking into place.
“No, no, no!” Blaise called out, and I instantly released him, stumbling backward and only just managing to steady myself on the console table without knocking any of the dead animals to the floor.
His eyes were wide, darting between me, the front door, and, absurdly, the creepy doll beside my elbow. He dragged a hand through his hair, teeth clenched as though holding himself together by sheer will alone.
“I—you—” His brows, slightly hairier than usual, drew together. Finally, he said, “What are you doing here, Ambrose?”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
My thoughts scattered, my attention snagging on the way his gaze kept flicking to the doll.
Finally, I managed, “My job went south, and—”
Blaise’s eyes snapped back to the doll with a look of warning.
“—I think you might be—”
He took a step toward the table, finger lifting as though he were about to scold it.
I broke off, irritation slipping through despite myself. “Hells, Blaise. Why do you keep looking at the damned doll?”
“Because it’s the one who locked the damned door.”
I barely registered the absurdity of his words, because I’d finally noticed what was in the room he’d emerged from.
Steeped in shadow and flickering candlelight, blankets and cushions were arranged on the couch. A laptop sat open, paused on the opening credits of the first episode ofHexes at Noon.
My chest tightened.
I remembered the first night I’d ever spent in his apartment. After making sure he was fed, and cleaning the house together, the pair of us settled on the couch to watchHexes at Noon. He’d fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder.
It was the moment I’d truly fallen for him.
But this—thiswasn’t for me.
He hadn’t known I was coming.
This was all for Caitlyn.
And I needed to get out of here. Because, as it turned out, I didn’t have the strength for this—not now. Maybe not ever. I’d have to... I didn’t know. Write the warning down and nail it to the front door? Buy a burner phone and text it to him?
All I knew with certainty was that I had to do anything that got me out of this damned house.
The house, it seemed, had other ideas.
