Page 110 of When Darkness Calls

At myself for not being open with her the second I realized I was beginning to feel something more.

At Cade for putting me in this position with watching over her, seeing all the sides of her, and demanding that I—we—cannot tell her the fucking truth.

Every day I wonder if it’s even worth it anymore. This stupid battle that never ends. For every abuser, rapist, pedophile, drug dealer— evil— we get rid of, three more take their place.

We’ve tried so hard to make things better. Cade started the security company. Keegan became a doctor. Alex is a fireman and has taught dozens of self-defense classes. Nick is at the school, working on his professorship and trying to set up a counseling program on campus for the students and the community.

What the fuck do I do?

Take pictures, sometimes write articles for the paper, especially when I know that it could help us shine some light on the things that seem to get pushed under the rug, even if I have to be really careful and only allude to the truth. Any time I’ve tried to write a complete expose on the decay of Shadow Grove the editor won’t allow it to be printed because I don’t have any “real” evidence, it’s all “small town gossip”.

My contributions to helping the town are insignificant compared to what the guys do. The only thing I’ve been good for is keeping tabs on suspected shitbags, but that’s only really helpful to us. Sure, there have been a few times I was trailing someone, and I was able to stop them before they attacked another person in a dark alley or an empty parking lot.

It’s been clear the only thing I’m good for is observing.

Maybe that’s why I’ve become so obsessed with my job watching over Dani, before my emotions came into play.

If I can’t do anything really substantial for East End and all of Shadow Grove, at least I can do this. I can do it for her and for Cade.

And yet, the motivation for this doesn’t quite feel so noble anymore. Yes, the majority of it is fueled by my irreverent need to keep her safe. But…how can I claim I’m doing it for that reason alone when I cannot take my eyes off of her?

Dani is—

God, she’s so fucking beautiful. Every inch of her, every detail, carved with the intent to create the strongest, smartest, funniest, kindest, most perfect woman mankind has ever seen. I don’t really subscribe to religion, but I’ll be damned if she isn’t the closest thing to a deity walking the Earth. And I would humbly fall to my knees to worship at her altar.

She turns, bending at her hips as she tugs down the remnants of her fishnets. The position is so similar to how she stood over her desk weeks ago, taunting me just like this. I’m like a moth to a flame when it comes to her. Every movement captivates me in a trance, all of the universe centering on her.

This has moved past just being attracted or aroused. That has become innate to my being the second her body language or tone shifts into that alluring manner I can’t resist. She steals my breath, leaving only her to fill my lungs. Craving her, even just her presence near me. My mind empties, leaving only thoughts surrounding her behind. What she’s doing, what she’s thinking, how she feels, what I can do for her, if she feels the same.

I don’t know how I could live as if nothing is wrong if she doesn’t. Too much has changed within me. Dani’s not the person she was to me before Founder’s Fest. She’s so much more. Words can’t quite explain it.

The soft light filtering inside her room makes her skin glow, ghostly, ethereal. Her movements are slow, pushing the leather straps of the harness from her shoulders, dropping it to the floor. With languorous hands, she trails teasing lines down the deep curve of her hips, delicate fingers inching up the hem of her shirt, exposing more and more of her luminous flesh.

My heart stutters in my chest as the fabric is pulled over her head, her rich luscious curls spilling over one shoulder.

I’ve never been envious of other artists and their abilities. Capturing a moment in time, telling a million stories with a single image, has been my chosen medium for as long as I can remember, but a photo could never do the sight before me justice.

Only a painting could provide the level of dedication she deserves. Every brushstroke as a declaration—a devotion—painstakingly heartfelt. A lifetime could be spent on filling the canvas and it would never compare to her.

SNAP!

I tear my eyes from her, jerking my head to the left, scanning the part of the front yard I can see from my crouched position, listening.

Crunch!

Rising, I lean over the banister, willing my vision to focus in the dark corners of the night. There are no other sounds, no animals in sight, and the noises are far too close for them to have come from beyond the treeline.

Then I saw them.

The slight shift of movement across the street beneath the large tree at the end of Mrs. Carter’s driveway. A faint outline of a man that fades into the shadows of the woods surrounding the alley.

With one last glance at Dani’s naked form, back arching, and her hand between her thighs, I climb over the rail, hanging for a moment before I drop to my feet.

By the time I reach the tree and search the darkened areas around this side of the cul-de-sac, the person’s gone. The only trace they were ever here is the small path through the fallen leaves leading into the trees.

thirty-three

Dani