Page 8 of Hollow Forest

The new tenant flicked on the kitchen lights. She was awake. That was my fault….

Merda.

I hadn’t meant to do that. It was supposed to be a quick get in, drop off my offering, and leave. But the dark, obsessive need to see her made me ghost to her room. I’d oiled every hinge in the whole damn house before she’d returned from town. So, there shouldn’t have been a sound.

She sensed me.

I leaned against a tree and took deep breaths. Even now, it was tempting to go back there. Instead, I forced myself to take in the Ravellos’ oldest property. Fuck—the cottage needed an update. Nature had practically overtaken the clearing, while the inside was decaying at a slow but certain rate.

Drusilla’s Cottage sat back on the Ravello Estate, which encompassed miles and miles of the New Jersey countryside. The Ravello family was older than the town, which their ancestors named after their patron saint. They were the undisputed kings of this patch of earth, although plenty of dumb fucks tried to argue that claim.

The graves of those idiots were scattered across the estate, unmarked, unhallowed, and forgotten.

The Ravello Family wasn’t one to fuck with. They operated a lucrative, illegal business and honed their legacy as the best assassins for hire. Which meant they protected this home base and training center as well as their secret with blood. And those of us who’d taken the oath knew how to spill it effectively.

A deep breath filled my lungs. I shifted my weight. A restless energy buzzed through my veins. This was Samantha’s second night in town, but I was already hooked. She fascinated me. There was something familiar in her gaze. When she stepped off the bus and looked around San Pietro Cove, I recognized a kindred spirit in her and had to follow her. I needed to know what this intoxicating creature would do next. When I discovered she was renting the cottage, my fascination turned into action. She needed better shelter. Food. Necessities of life. But she chose to remain here. A ghost, haunting the old house rather than seeking out human comfort. There had to be a reason. She fascinated me, and I couldn’t make myself do anything normal. I watched over her as a growing, gnawing obsession took root in my chest.

I wanted to go to her. But I held back. She wasn’t ready to meet me…yet.

The little runaway was safe here. She didn’t know it yet, but her past was never going to come knocking. There were still details missing from the puzzle, like why she felt the need to run after her sister’s car wreck. Those details would have to wait until Sam trusted me enough to open up. Her fingerprints told me that the name she’d been born with wasn’t the one on her current form of ID. It was a good fake, done by a professional. But if she wanted to exist as Samantha Jones, she would need to craft a digital history. That was something we could help her create.

But there was time for that.

The lights flickered off. She was going back to bed. I clenched my fists and locked my knees as the urge to rush forward consumed me.

A deep breath filled my lungs. I shouldn’t go back inside. It was too risky.

But…she was there.

“Fuck it.”

I launched from my hiding place. I had to see her. One more look. Just a peek to assure myself she was okay. That my intrusion hadn’t scared her too badly. This little run-in was supposed to reassure her, so that when I inserted myself into her life, she would know that there was nothing to fear.

Unlocking the back door, I crept inside. The old bones of the cottage shivered in greeting. Puffs of air through rusted vents, groans from the worn wood, and other soft lamentations of the ancient cottage sang out in greeting. This house had a living, breathing heart. But it was the inhabitant who I’d come to watch. The house knew and kept my secret as I slipped upstairs.

Her door was shut.

And locked.

Too fucking cute.

As if anything but the gates of heaven could keep her away from me. Even those, I would tear open to join her. St. Pete was going to have to recheck his book, because when this angel ascended on high, I was going to be right there, stalking her into the afterlife.

I waited ten…twenty…thirty minutes. When no movement sounded on the other side, I picked the lock. The door swung open without a whisper.

There she was, curled up in the fetal position on the floor.

Un-fucking-acceptable.

Crossing my arms, I leaned against the door frame. “Oh, sweet little doe, we’re going to have to find you some new furniture.”

The food wasn’t enough. Nothing short of a palace was good enough for her. But these things had to be done slowly. The first thing was to make sure she was eating properly. With no bank account tied to her alias, she only had cash on hand. Which my snooping had proved wasn’t even pitiful. It was nothing.

A shudder rolled down my spine.

The trouble that made her come here with nothing but a few measly paper dollar bills was going to answer to me. As mad as I was at her past, I kept telling myself that it brought her to me.

And now I had to do better.