Page 12 of The Beast

I’m about to tell the driver to stop and let this apparently confused passenger out, but that’s when we glide past one of the garage’s interior lamps, and the light erases the shadows from the passenger’s face.

For one disorienting moment, I don’t process what I’m seeing. I can tell that he’s tall, with a moustache and beard, along with broad shoulders and a familiar, commanding presence that I don’t need to see because I can feel it.

That’s when I recognize him—the man in the bespoke suit from the party. “Who—” I begin, and that’s when he tilts his head, and I finally get a good look at his face.

His eyes.

My hand flies to my mouth in both delight and terror as I look into the eyes of a dead man.

A dangerous man.

Gabriel.

And yet not.

The Gabe I love was intense. Dangerous in a way that thrilled me instead of frightening me. His smile was rare, but when it came, it was like watching lightning crack across a dark sky—sudden and wild and impossible to look away from. And his eyes—those pale blue eyes that always reminded me of storms rolling in over the ocean. Those eyes always softened when they landed on me. Like I was something precious. Something worth protecting.

They’re not soft now.

Nothing about him is soft. All that has been stripped away. He’s leaner now, his face carved into sharp angles and cold planes. A scar I’ve never seen before runs along his cheek, partially hidden by the full beard. His hair is longer, and right now it’s pulled back from a face that holds no warmth at all.

Instead, those beautiful eyes are looking at me like I’m the enemy.

“Gabe.” His name comes out broken. A whisper. A prayer. “Oh my god. Gabe.”

I reach for him without thinking, just as I have so many times in my dreams.

But unlike my dreams, he doesn’t reach back. Instead, he catches my wrist before I can touch his face, his grip so tight it’s almost painful.

“Don’t.”

One word, as cold as a blade. I yank my hand back, then cradle it against my chest like he’s burned me.

I swallow, then whisper, “What happened to you?”

“Don’t you dare play that game with me, you little bitch.”

The word stings like a slap, and I recoil, trying to disappear into the leather seats. To get away from the accusation in his voice.

A wave of nausea crests over me, and I have to fight not to vomit. To not let him—whoever the hell he is now—win.

When I’m certain I can keep the bile down, I try again, as if I’m going to somehow find the magical combination of words that bring my Gabriel back to me. “Please,” I say, hating that my voice is close to a whimper, but not able to manage any more force. “I’ve missed you so much. Please, please tell me why you’re acting like this.”

His eyes narrow. “Missed me? Next, you’re going to say that you loved me.”

“I did,” I whisper. “I do,” I add, then cry out and recoil when he cups my chin and yanks me to him.

“Don’t you fucking lie.” His voice is hard and rough and low, and I see hate in his eyes before he pushes me away. “I’ve had enough of your lies to last a lifetime.”

I hear myself whimper, and tears are streaming freely now. I curl into a ball again and sob silently against my knees, my shoulders shaking. I don’t know everything that’s in his head—hell, I don’t know anything. Nothing except that he truly believes I had something to do with leaving him for dead.

How?

How could he possibly think that?

For a moment, I consider jumping from the car at the next traffic light, but I can’t convince myself that’s a good idea, especially when we’re heading into a dicey neighborhood and not toward Grimm Tower.

More importantly, I need answers. And to get them, I have to stay the course.