Page 74 of A Curse On Black Lake
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This was not the plan. This was not supposed to happen. I made the perfume for her so she would see how much I care. It took me months to distill that amount of oil. And now she’s packing her things? Now she’s moving in with that grumpy bastard?
Burning, righteous anger flows through me, and the itch comes up again. It’s not time. It’s not time. I’ll out myself if I kill again. It’s too soon. It will pull in the FBI, and I can’t afford to let that happen. I’ll make it harder for the grand finale. I’ve been patient this long. I just have to be patient for a little longer, right?
Right.
Seeing her with him made me want to rip his heart out with my bare hands. The way she sat so comfortably on his lap makes me want to tie him up and dismember him for touching what is not his to touch.
We belong together. It was written in the stars. It’s part of our history. It has taken a long time to get there, but I’m almost ready. Everything is falling into place, except for the one issue I thought I had taken care of. Everything was supposed to pointto him. I deviated from my norm to make sure I pinned him for the crime. But he’s smarter than I thought.
It doesn’t matter, though. Killian Lennox is taking what does not belong to him, and he will pay for it.
Chapter twenty-five
Killian
“Morning,”Elianasaysasmy foot hits the floor.
I pull up short, surprised to find her sitting on the couch, dressed, and a cup of coffee in her hand. My eyes trail from her folded legs up to her tank top covered ample chest, to her white hair cascading over her shoulder, the rest against her back.
She smiles and takes a sip. “Forget I was here?” she asks.
My hand runs through my hair and rubs my chin trying to hide my grin. “No, I, uh, didn’t think you’d already be up.”
She tilts her head, and the way those blue-grey eyes seem to go darker. “I’m always up this early. Coffee is ready,” she says and takes another sip.
“Thanks,” I grunt.
She hums, and I glance over my shoulder before pouring a cup.
“Did you sleep okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and I lean back against the counter, studying her.
She shakes her head and takes a long drink.
“Is it the pillows? The bed?” I ask her.
“No,” she says.
“Was it too hot? The AC unit is old, so I might need to charge it.”
She sighs. “No, it was fine. I struggle to sleep since Grams died. Sometimes my eyes won’t close, and if it’s not that, sometimes the Spirits won’t shut up.”
“Oh,” I mumble and take a drink.
“Yeah, it is what it is. I’ll survive.”
“There were days I wondered if I would,” I mumble into my cup. But when my eyes flick up from the floor, I know she heard me.
“I’ve stopped asking if I will because if I don’t sleep, then I don’t,” she says.
I don’t know how to respond to that, but I’ve been in her shoes before. The lack of sleep makes you feel a little crazy.
“Do you think you can die of heartbreak?” she asks.
My heart stalls in my chest, and the hot coffee hits my tongue. I focus on the burn going down my throat so I can’t answer the question. It doesn’t matter if we barely know each other. The more time we’ve spent together, the more connected I feel, like she is filling that space of loss. It will always be there, but it feels like it’s shrinking because of her.
