Page 20 of The Wraith & Her Killer

There was onlyAdris.

It’s always been Adris.

From the first time he appeared in my bedroom and every night after, it’s been him. I wanted to claim Adris as my own in the same way he had laid claim to my soul. Words were never exchanged, but his silence spoke louder and clearer than any teenage conversation ever could. Every night he would take a piece of me with him when he would leave, but he gave, too.

Not of himself, but little tokens, reassurances that he wasn’t just a dream. That he was really there with me.

The conversation hearts.

Adris always left two on the pillow where he would lay some nights, watching over me. I have no idea where he got them from but the messages were always the same.

MINE.

ALWAYS.

I understand my mother wanting to live a life of freedom, of wanting to give me a future that wasn’t already premeditated. To beused as a bargaining chip in the bratva world. I didn’t want to leave him. For the first time in my life, I had wanted to fight my mother just to stay, my future be damned.

But my leaving caused something to snap in Adris. He believed I’d willingly run, and it fucked with his mind more than I ever could’ve imagined. I had heard whispers of the Cupid Killer throughout the years. The trail of bodies left in his wake would probably be plentiful enough to stretch across the span of the continent and back. I had never learned much about the killer, other than the fact that he seemed to target the scum of the earth, who often worked under men like Santino.

The first few hours of the flight, I was able to piece togetherwhythey call Adris the Cupid Killer. The first clue being the fact that he works with those fucking terrifying broadhead arrows. The second came from the lifetime supply of conversation hearts stashed in the spare closet of Calix and Rune’s home. I discovered them when I went snooping through the room in search of anything that could clue me in as to where exactly I was. For ten years I’ve been lost, knowing I was somewhere in the pacific northwest, but didn’t know exactlywhere. I was looking for a piece of mail, a letter, a fucking postcard… anything. I’d found a large cardboard box, thinking I had hit the jackpot, but instead I found the candy boxes.

My heart stutters over the fact that he chose those hearts in particular as his calling card. Like he wanted me to know he was out there, scouring the continent in search of me. At least that’s what my delusional ass is choosing to believe.

My eyes drift on their own accord to the two men sitting across from Adris at the front of the plane. Rune, the stoic, white-haired man with ice-blue eyes is fully immersed in his laptop. Meanwhile, Calix—the deceptively sweet-faced man with dark eyes and dark curly hair sits next to Rune, seemingly having a one-sided conversation with Adris. He’d told me about their relationship, but what has me more curious is the dynamic that Adris has with the two of them.

When I found the group of men in the office, Adris hadCalix pinned to the wall by his throat with his knee wedged between his legs. There wasn’t even enough room to fit a wisp of air between the two of them.

Unfettered jealousy ripped through me at their close proximity, but I felt I had no merit and no leg to stand on when it came to my claim on Adris. He’s not the kind of man who can be owned.

It doesn’t stop me from wanting it, though, does it?

It was impossible to miss the arousal and lust permeating the air in that moment, the feeling practically radiating off of Calix in heavy, stifling waves. According to Adris, the adoptive brothers are alsotogether,together, but he mentioned nothing of being in some sort of…grouprelationship with them.

Being a slave for most of my adolescence, I grew up not knowing much of relationships, other than marriage was to be between man and woman, and women were to be subservient to their men. One night outside the walls of that wretched place has changed my entire perspective.

It’s clear to see that Rune loves Calix and Calix loves Rune. But it’s also obvious that Calix feels something for Adris, too. Adris doesn’t feel much in any capacity beyond obsession, but he clearly has a history with these two men.

So where does that leave me?

My heart stutters at the thought and I turn to face the window—away from the men at the front of the plane—and close my eyes, curling in on myself. Unshed tears sting the backs of my eyes when my thoughts drift to the way I had been treated by Santino. For years, I’ve been nothing more than an object to be abused, used, and discarded. I can’t help but feel that it’s no doubt how Adris will see me eventually, too.

A finger swipes at a rogue tear that had escaped and rolled down my cheek, and the unexpected touch makes me jolt in my seat. My head whips to the side to see Adris occupying the vacant seat next to me as he sucks his finger into his mouth, devouring my tearlike a delicacy.

His expression is blank as he watches me, his eyes boring into mine for a pregnant pause. He cocks his head to the side like a curious, demonic puppy when he homes in on the tears gathered in my eyes. His own eyes narrow before he leans in closer and his tongue darts out and he licks the next tear directly from my cheek when it falls.

“Why?” His bored tone makes it sound more like a statement than a question.

I don’t answer him fast enough, because his hand darts out like he’s going to grab me, but I swat his wrist away, having had enough of being jerked around tonight.

His nostrils flare but he doesn’t react otherwise. It’s the closest thing to a reaction that I’m going to get, I guess.

“Why the tears?” he tries again, but it’s still just as flat as the first time he asked, and if my face wasn’t so sore from all the bruising and my split lip, I’d laugh.

Instead I release a heavy breath, allowing my head to slump back against the headrest and close my eyes. “It’s been a fucking day, Adris,” I murmur, shifting in my seat to alleviate the pain in my sore muscles. “I’m so far beyond my mental and physical limits and we’re not even done yet, apparently.”

“No rest for the mentally deranged, or however the saying goes,” he quips. I snort.

“He’ll be dead in less than twelve hours, you know,” he says after a few minutes of silence between us. I crack open one eye and look at him.

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