Page 8 of Depraved

Not to mention the spike of pure horror when I realized Rand is actually Bones.

I’ve experienced so many adrenaline dumps today that it’s a wonder I’ve been able to stand at all.

Rand picks up the blanket that’s draped over the back of my sofa and arranges it around my shoulders. I shiver despite the reassuring warmth that enfolds me.

The urge to lean into his touch is unnerving.

My body stiffens, and I manage to keep a foot of space between us when he settles down beside me.

I take a moment to study his hands. They don’t so much as tremble in the aftermath of the violent scene at his house.

Before we had sex, he admitted that he’s killed before to survive, just like me.

I thought our shared sin was a bond between us, but now I’m uneasy. How many lives has he taken?

“Please don’t look at me like that,” he begs.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid of me.”

I meet his gaze. “Of course I’m afraid of you. Not because you killed to protect me. Because I have no idea who you really are. I trusted you, and you’ve been lying to me all along.”

His jaw clenches. “I deserve that. I did lie to you. I didn’t intend to, but that doesn’t change what I did.”

My bow knits. “What do you mean, you didn’t intend to?”

He sighs. “After the hunt, you wouldn’t let me take off my mask. You wouldn’t let me show you who I am.”

I glower at him. “So, this is my fault?”

“No,” he says quickly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t want to violate your safe word that night, but I still should’ve found a way to tell you the truth.”

I ease back a few inches. “And what’s the truth? How the hell did you end up working as my professor, Bones?”

I almost ask why he has my name and face tattooed on him, but I fear I already know the answer to that. He’s been harboring intense feelings for me, obviously for years.

And I thought our relationship was just roleplay.

He sucks in a deep breath and then begins his confession. “When we first met in that chat room online. You told me you were studying History at UNC. I looked up your department and found your picture on the university website. The name said Lena Williams, but it was obviously you.”

My stomach dips. “You had no right to do that.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I should’ve been honest with you all these years. We’ve been studying the same subjects. When you told me you’d applied to University of York, I found a position here. I wanted to be with you for real.”

I gape at him. “Why would I even consider dating my professor?”

“Because I’d planned to tell you all of this after the hunt. You were supposed to know I’m Rand Hirst before your first lecture. Your course only lasts a year. I thought we could make it work.”

Fine lines draw deep around his eyes. “You can’t tell me that I’ve meant nothing to you all these years. Don’t say our connection isn’t real.”

I want him so badly. I want the man I’ve come to know over the last few weeks: the gorgeous professor I’ve been falling for because of our shared painful pasts and his stubborn protectiveness.

“This is scaring me,” I admit on a ragged whisper. “You have my name tattooed over your heart. That’s too much for me. I didn’t think of you like that when you were Bones.”

He flinches like my words are a dagger to his heart.

I race to explain, drawn to ease his pain. “You never told me anything about yourself when you were my masked man. But you looked me up. How much did you learn about me online?”