Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“You think you know everything. Think this town is the same as all the other places you’ve investigated,” he says, voice low, almost conversational now, which is somehow worse than if he were yelling at me. “It’s not.”
“Something’s going on here.” My breath’s still ragged. “A kid is missing. Your sheriff wants me gone. You physically removed me from a public cemetery. And please tell me why a statue and some fog made your eyes look weird.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “My eyes look like eyes.”
“What was that?” I demand, even though I doubt he’ll give me an answer. “You told me I don’t know what it wants from me. What does it want? What is it?”
He looks past me toward the way we just came. I follow his line of sight and realize we left through a different gate than the one I entered. I swivel my head, checking out the surroundings. A dark alley. Tall, brick buildings, a parking area with a few cars and one motorcycle. The fog rolls in, heavier than before. I glance at the cemetery again—the gate stands like a mouth shut against a silent scream.
“Promises,” he says finally. “It wants promises kept.”
A chill skates down my arms.
“And me?” I force the words out. “What does it want from me?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. Not fair. He shouldn’t be allowed to have eyes that pull at me with the strength of a merciless undertow. And he has no right to be so warm when I’m chilled to the bone, or steady when my knees won’t stop wobbling.
Heat sparks low in my belly, insistent and unhelpful.
“Less than you think.” He takes me in, his gaze raking over my body, then back to meet my eyes. “More than I like.”
Is that supposed to be a confession or a warning? Either way, I want to get closer to him. He seems to sense my intention and steps back first.
“Stay away from that hill after midnight,” he says. “Stay away from the statue.”
Who does he think he is, ordering me around? “And if I don’t?”
His lips twitch again. Threatening to break into the almost-smile he won’t share with me. “Then I’ll keep dragging you out.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat or a promise?”
“Both.”
We stare at each other. The fog curls around our ankles, as persistent as a cat that adopted us against our will.
“Goodnight, Declan,” I say, because I need to break whatever this is between us before it breaks me. He thinks I’m nothing more than a foolish twit, filming herself in cemeteries in the middle of the night for Internet fame. I’ve been ridiculed and dismissed by enough people in my life. I’m not tolerating it from a brooding stranger, no matter how attractive he is.
I turn and start walking, my gaze ping-ponging around the dark alley, trying to orient myself. Where the hell did he take me? A shiny metal sign on the back of one of the buildings clues me in. Chocolate Enchantments. We must be in an alley behind the stores on Main Street.
Footsteps scuff against the asphalt. My heart lurches. I glance over my shoulder and Declan’s closing in on me.
“Seriously?” I stop and glare at him with two indignant eyebrows raised.
“I’m not letting you walk alone.” He stares down at me as if I’m the one being unreasonable.
“Great, now I can add stalker to your list of irritating qualities,” I huff.
He throws his head back and laughs. Oh, my goodness. If I thought he was handsome when he’s all snarly and brooding, he’s devastating when he actually smiles.
“Stalker.” He lets out another chuckle. “You wish.” He waves his hand in the air, gesturing toward the end of the alley. “I assume you’re staying at the Applewood Inn?”
“Not exactly beating the stalker allegations,” I mutter.
His gaze cuts back to me, cool and deliberate. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s the nicest place to stay within twenty miles.”
“‘Nice’ is underselling the inn, but yes, that’s where I’m staying.” I shove my hands in my coat pockets again. Sharp pain stabs under the nail of my index finger, searing and sudden. I yelp and yank my hands out.
“What’s wrong?” Declan frowns, his eyes narrowing.
“Nothing,” I grumble, gingerly reaching into my pocket and grabbing the iron nail between two fingers. “Jabbed myself with a stupid nail in my pocket.” I pull it out and hold it up to show him.
He blows out a slow breath. “Good thing you had that with you tonight.”
“Not this again,” I grumble.
Before I can toss it in my bag, where I’ll probably stab myself with it again in the future, he plucks the nail from my hand. His big fist closes around it, veins standing out, tattoos crawling faintly under his skin. Or is that a trick of the light in the foggy parking lot?