Page 43 of Sinister

“Then why didn’t you write? Why start something you had no intention of finishing?”

“It wasn’t a game,” he insists. “Why would you think that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve admitted to watching me for months. Then you bring me a forbidden book. Then, somehow, you appear at my window, night after night—and then you stop. What else am I supposed to think?”

He presses his lips together. “It seems . . . my approach may have been wrong.”

“It was,” I say flatly.

His expression tightens. “I didn’t want to frighten you. I was . . . concerned.”

He steps closer, and I stiffen.

“Did I scare you?” he asks gently.

I raise my chin. “You can’t scare me.”

It’s mostly true. I should fear him. But I don’t.

“But you can annoy me,” I add.

He chuckles. “So I’ve annoyed you.”

“Yes. With all your secrets. If you say you care about me, then why keep everything hidden? You’re a professor of demonology⁠—”

He smiles. “At least you’re curious.”

“Tell me who you are,” I cut him off. “Or I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Is that so?” His brow arches. “You’ll never speak to me again?”

His tone is amused, but his eyes are serious, dark and sharp. He steps closer. I back away until my spine meets the alley wall.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of me.”

“You’re too close. Please—keep your distance.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. And because if you claim to care, then prove it. Step back.”

“No,” he replies simply. “I will not step away. And I will not let you shut me out.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“Don’t threaten me again, Petra. Don’t threaten to withhold yourself from me. Not again.”

Laughter bubbles up in my throat. “So you can withhold yourself from me, but I can’t?”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course it is.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says. “I was just⁠—”

“Concerned. I know,” I cut him off. “Then be concerned now. Tell me who you are.”