Were you here?
I’m always with you, Adam. In one way or another.
That should be creepy. That should feel like stalking, like an invasion of privacy. Instead, it makes me feel seen. Protected. Like someone actually cares about what happens to me, cares enough to pay attention.
I stare at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. What am I supposed to say to that? What do I even want to happen? I don’t know. I genuinely don’t know.
I don’t reply. I just shove my phone back into my pocket and try to focus on work, on wiping down the espresso machine, on anything other than the way my heart is racing at the thought of seeing him again.
I take a deep breath. My heart might be racing, but that’s due to the anticipation of finishing this once and for all. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else.
Because I do have claws. I can stand up to people. And when I see him again, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Stand up to him. Tell him to leave me alone.
And I’m not going to regret it at all.
Chapter 7
Letting Him In
I’mmakingpasta.Nothingfancy, just spaghetti with jarred sauce, but it’s something to do with my hands. Something normal and mundane after a day that felt anything but.
The kitchen is small and cramped, barely big enough for one person. The ancient gas hob flickers alarmingly, and the extractor fan sounds like a dying helicopter. But it’s mine. For now, anyway.
I stir the sauce and think about today. About standing up to that customer. About the way it felt to say no and mean it. About the applause and Felix’s delighted cackling and the look on that man’s face.
I felt powerful. In control.
And I’m going to hold on to that feeling. I’m going to keep the wards up and keep Hex at a distance and keep my life from spiralling into complete chaos.
The temperature drops.
I freeze, wooden spoon halfway to my mouth. My breath mists in the air. The lights flicker once, twice.
Oh no.
Shadows pool in the corner of my kitchen, gathering and twisting. They’re sluggish, struggling to form properly. The edges keep dissipating like smoke caught in a breeze.
There is only a tiny gap between the salt line running along the floorboards and the wall, barely an inch of space. Hex is trying to squeeze himself into it, compressing his shadowy form into that narrow sliver. It looks desperate. Pathetic, even. Nothing like the powerful creature who lounged on my sofa with such arrogant confidence.
Hex materialises slowly. Too slowly. He’s even less solid than last night, his form flickering violently. I can see straight through him to the faded wallpaper behind. His red eyes are dimmer, like dying embers rather than burning coals.
But when he speaks, his voice still has that gravelly purr. “Hello, My Love.”
I turn back to my pasta, determinedly stirring. “Go away.”
“Now, is that any way to greet someone?” He moves closer, or tries to. His movements are jerky, uncoordinated. “I came all this way to see you.”
“I didn’t invite you.” I keep my eyes on the saucepan, watching the bubbles rise and pop.
Hex laughs, but it sounds strained. Tired. “Still pretending you don’t want this? After today? After you discovered how good it feels to use those claws?”
Heat floods my face. “That was different.”
“Was it?” He’s closer now, it feels as if he is looming right behind me. I can feel the chill radiating from him even through the heat of the stove. “You stood up for yourself. Felt powerful. Imagine how much better you could feel if you let me in.”
“I’m not letting you in.” I say it firmly, trying to convince myself as much as him.
