Page 26 of He Who Sleeps

Chapter 10

The torches in theforest stood steadfast in the night as she ran down the lane and into the kirkyard, a smile on her face. Her Devil was wild and sexy, but her dessert was just up ahead. Fifteen feet into the stones, she skidded to a halt when she saw Ghost standing before her, hands behind his back. He was in his hooded Ghostface mask, black pants, boots and a long-sleeved shirt.

“Well, well, well,” he offered, modulated voice heavy with sarcasm. She stood there, trembling in the cool night air, and felt her nipples pearl, knowing without a doubt that his eyes were on her.

“Run,” he said softly and she took off into the darkness, her feet barely touching the moss-covered ground. She zigged and zagged, rounded a large mausoleum, and another, tearing off between headstones.

She could hear him pounding after her and she grinned, rushing through the trees, doing her best to give him the chase he wanted. Five minutes more and she was stopping to catch her breath, not because she needed to—her endurance had grown since the year prior thanks to her morning runs and such—but it wouldn’t be any fun for her volatile lover if it wasn’t truly a game of cat and mouse.

He didn’t really want her terror in this, no, he enjoyed the chase, the catch, not the fear, at least not with her.

He came into view and she gasped, taking off down the opposite way. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him go left so she went right, not bothering to hide her steps. Ultimately this wasn’t a game of kill or live, because Ghost wouldn’t kill her.

She ran and darted through the kirkyard, weaving when he would jump out and try to nab her. Left, right, left, hide, sprint. And as she rushed headlong toward a ring of stones, she knew she was being herded. Her heart pumped hard as she skidded to a halt, spinning, realizing she was exactly where he wanted her.

Five angels, grimy, moss and lichen covered, loomed in the darkness. She turned once more, searching him out, and he stepped from behind the largest of the gravestones.

“No escape,” he huffed, and she could hear him breathing heavily. Was it from the exertion, or because he knew he was finally going to get a piece of her?

She backed up, one step. Two. He was on her before she could bolt, his hand on her throat with a slight squeeze.

“You knew I would catch you.”

“You always catch me,” she croaked, his hand squeezing more. “It’s the best part.”

“Yes it is.” He pushed her back, against the praying angel, and lifted his knife. “You aren’t wearing anything.”

“Blame Devil for that,” she said. “He’s the one that ruined your fun.”

“If I can’t cut clothing, I can cut skin.”

She shivered at his words, modulated and threatening, but it didn’t matter. The idea of it, it turned her on. She had come to trust Ghost in a way she wouldn’t any other psychopath with a knife, because of the care he took with her. He wanted to mess with his toy; he didn’t want to break it.

He looked down at her smaller body and chuckled. “Tight little nipples. Our victim likes the danger. Or does the victim like me?” he asked.

“Both,” she said, arching into his hold more.

“Good answer.” Slowly, almost featherlight, he ran the blade down from her collarbone and between her breasts. She hissed at the sharpness, the warmth, then coolness as the blood welled and started to drip. Not a lot, but enough to get him going.

“Fuck, that’s pretty.” His voice, still modulated, sounded like there was awe behind it.

“What are you going to do about it?” she croaked and he squeezed, making her whimper.

“Oh, I do love that sound.”

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