I take a deep breath and drop under the water, spiraling around so I’m facing my peninsula. The cops’ll find my boat and oars, but they won’t find any traces ofme. They might find hairs or flakes of skin or fingerprints, sure, but it won’t lead them to me. I’m not human. I’m untraceable, like all of my kind.
So the boat can be a sacrifice. I don’t believe in God or the devil, not anymore, but something gave me the strength to kiss Chloe there in her room, her big frightened eyes gazing up at me. And something, just for a few brief seconds, told her to kiss back.
So the boat will be a sacrifice to that, whatever it is. It’ll lead them to my territory, but that’s okay. I can act fast. Clear everything out of my cabin that gives even the faintest suggestion that I exist. I’ve done it before.
I glide through the water, sliding up only to catch a few gulps of air before ducking back under. And as I slip deep into the darkness, I leave Chloe behind me, shrouded in the light.
12
CHLOE
Isit frozen on my bed, listening to Theo’s heavy footsteps as he thumps down the stairs. My body is drawn tight between terror and something dangerously close to arousal. A sign of my own sick desires, the ones I’ve always tried to keep buried.
My first movement is to tentatively lick my lips, like I might find some lingering taste of him. My first kiss in what? Two years? The dating apps are a fucking nightmare, and I learned early on that most guys are not worth the trouble, especially with my tastes. My vibrator, a good-sized dildo, and my collection of questionable porn have been more than adequate in keeping me happy.
Until this absolute madman, this murdered-boy-turned-Hunter, fucking unraveled me.
Downstairs, the back door clicks shut. I wonder if he really left or if this is some ruse, that he’ll hide in a closet or one of the unnecessary bathrooms until I’ve let my guard down so he can jump out at me to finish the job.
I never should have told him I know what he is.
I stand up, still feeling numb. Grab my phone from off the bedside table. Turn on the bedroom light. It’s brighter than I’m expecting.
I swipe my phone open and stare down at the keypad. A normal person would call 911. But then the cops will come out here, and everyone on the street will see, including Oliver. And it’s not like Theo hurt me. He just?—
Kissed me.
Looked at me like he wanted to consume me.
Made my clit inflame because there’s something deeply wrong with my sense of desire.
So instead, I pull up Penelope’s number, my skin clammy with fear. She answers on the second ring.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is slurred a little, like she was asleep. But Penelope sleeps like a grizzled assassin from a fantasy novel. With one eye open.
“I don’t know.” I walk over to the bedroom window and peer out at the lake from around the curtain. I don’t see much beyond some glimmers of light on the water and my own reflection in the glass. “Something weird just happened.”
“Talk to me.” Penelope already sounds awake. “And seriously. Are you okay?”
“I think so.” I pull away from the window and pace across the carpet in my bare feet, my heart still pounding. “There was a man here. He—” I don’t know how to say it, this thing Penelope told me I was better off forgetting. “I think he might be—there’s this ghost story around here, right? That this boy died and then came back and?—”
“Chloe.” Penelope’s voice is strong and firm and motherly. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. If this man is still in the house, saygood night.”
I let out a faintly hysterical laugh. “He’s not in the house,” I say. “Or I mean, he’s not holding me hostage or anything. What I’m trying to say is—” I say the next part as fast as I can, like pulling off a Bandaid. “Ithinkhemightbelikeyoursister.”
The phone crackles in my ear, and I stop my pacing a few steps away from the doorway. He left it hanging open when he fled.
“Why do you say that?” Penelope finally asks, more calmly than I expect.
I take a deep breath, tightening my fingers around my phone.
“Chloe,” Penelope says sharply. “I’m not fucking around. This is serious. What did he say to you?”
“He said he wasn’t going to hurt me,” I say quickly. “But that he’s killed people?—”
Penelope sucks in her breath.
“And that he’s eighty years old.”
