Page 48 of A Heart So Haunted
Gray eyes, sharp as steel. White-blond hair disheveled, short at the sides. He was sodden from the pouring rain, all the way from his unbuttoned cotton shirt to beige trousers. He wore no shoes. A beautiful grin stretched over his pink lips—before turning feline.
“Hurts, does it not, dearest? To see your sorest memories come to life?” he hummed.
Dearest.That word.
And what did he mean by memories? This was nothing close to a memory. Not once had I gotten lost in a maze as a child.
“I believe you have the wrong place, though.” The man’s jaw flexed, tightened. It was almost as sharp as his eyes. He eased closer, careful not to touch the thorns. He didn’t so much as lookin the direction Haddy had gone or where my double had just evaporated.
“Who are you?” I scooted to my left, back the way I’d come. I ground my teeth to keep them from chattering.
“You need not know who I am,” he said. “Not until you tell me who you are.”
I tried to gather myself. “I was only here for the boy. He’s stuck here.”
His eyes narrowed, uncertain. Maybe he didn’t understand. Or maybe I’d chosen the wrong person to ask.
I tried again. “Maybe five or six, with blond hair and …”
His hands were stuffed casually in his pockets, but the tilt of his head told me differently. He was calculating. His eyes caught mine, stealing every ounce of oxygen from my body.
His pupils were slits. And though a moment ago they were gray, now they shifted—like an animal in the middle of a forest. Yellow, like a snake’s.
Yellow, like citrine.
This time when he smiled, it was cruel and alluring all at once. I wanted to run, but my legs didn’t obey, my feet didn’t pull from the earth.
His voice slithered into a deep timbre—thecreature’svoice.
“You came back,” he crooned. A rumble, like a growl, vibrated from his throat.
I struggled to step back. “I came for the boy,” I choked. I blinked away a sudden wash of fear, of angry, terrified tears. What had I done?
As if he heard my thoughts, he chuckled. Squared his shoulders with intention.
“Oh, dearest,” he breathed. “You shouldn’t have.”
Chapter Ten
“You,” I breathed. The word slammed down like a gavel between us. “You’re … it.”
“Ah, yes. Me. Much easier on the eyes when the horns have not grown in for the night, yes?” He removed one hand from his pocket and rubbed the length of his jaw with his thumb. As if this were a common conversation.
“The boy,” I said as I tried to control my breathing. “I’m here to help him. That’s all. I don’t need you to—to—” To what? Chase me? Corner me? Keep the boy from me? How was I supposed to reason with this—this—
“Ah, sympathies. I’m afraid you could not remove the child, even if you tried.”
A hysterical sound, mixed between a laugh and a bray, bubbled from my lips. “No, no, no. He’s coming with me. I touched his sleeve—he was crying and—a-and—”
His head tilted again. Waiting. Listening.
Stark embarrassment ate my skin alive. “You’re holding him here, aren’t you?” I took another step back. The man followed. One for one, until the edge of the bramble wall stuck the backs of my arms. I jerked away, dots of blood already welling.
“I do not hold the child here,” he said.
“Prove it,” I blurted. I retreated sideways and he continued lazily after me. “How long have you had him here? What kind of—monster—”
“Fitting,” he cut in.
