Page 22 of His to Fear
Her tiny little black lace dress, with a neckline framing her plump breasts, almost gave her a corset-like look. Fucking gorgeous, with long and bellowing sleeves. Sexy with dark red details all over, ending right above her knees. And those patterned see-through tights, making me wish I could grab her thighs.
Such a fucking pervert.
But best of all? Her makeup. Those small little fangs on her front teeth, adding to her vampire, goth look. Fragile, little beautiful thing, pretending to be a vampire when every part of her screamed prey.
Luckily for her, I was born a predator.
I never should have let my friends drag me here, because then, I wouldn’t have done what I did. Committed the sins that I do not in the slightest regret, for they were justifiable. But I wouldn’t have acted so irrationally, pretending to be a scare-actor just so I could come closer to her. But it was already too late.
I needed to get the woman I had set my eyes on andownher in the only way I knew how to.
She would be mine. Min dödsängel, her fangs glinting like a vampire’s, posing as something dangerous.
Her fragility and preciousness echoed around her, as if her soul was calling to the beast roaring inside me. The way her eyes locked with mine as she spoke, her sweet voice filtering into my eardrums, made the emptiness inside me evaporate. It was likecoming home to a place I never had.
I felt like some pussy-whipped motherfucker, but I knew I just had to have her.
After all, a lumberjack is nothing without his muse. And tonight, I’d found mine.
Chapter 7
Nadia
The Barn
The haunted fair seemsdesolate this late at night. At eleven, only two hours remain until closing, and the thought of finally getting to go home is a relief.
I stagger out of the slaughterhouse after eventually finding the exit, with no one else in sight as I made my way out. My breath rasps in my throat as I fight to keep the remaining pieces of my sanity intact.
The biting fresh air outside should feel like freedom after that suffocating house, but dread snakes through every inch of my chest, threading itself with an underlying anxiety around every beat of my heart.
No one is outside the haunted house. Not Eveline or her men, and certainly not the attendant supposed to give my card a stamp.
The night is growing eerier, mist curling low on the ground and clinging to the foliage, making it impossible to tell if it’s natural or another part of the scheming tricks the haunted fair has added. My eyes sweep the area, desperately to findsomeone.
But there’s no one here. Only suffocating emptiness with the raw wind tearing its way through branches.
With the moon hanging low, half-hidden by the canopies overhead, I let its weak glow guide me toward the tents marking the food court. A sense of doom wraps around me with the gut feeling that something is utterly wrong, even when I can’t quiteput my finger on it.
When I arrive, my heart sinks to the bottom of a deep lake as if bound by a boulder. The tents have all been closed up, a jarring contrast to the lively activity of scare-actors and fairgoers that filled the space hours before. Now, the food court is smothered in darkness, except for a handful of lamplights spilling weak, pale light across the center.
The courts were supposed to stand open until the fair closes, so where is everyone?
Where is Eveline?
A shiver needles down my spine, and my breath fogs in the air as I hug myself tight, attempting to regain some bodily warmth.
A sizzling heat drips over my skin, the feeling of unseen eyes tracing me. The air presses in with the weight of someone who isn’t here, but theyhaveto. I shudder, the prickling certainty of being observed clawing inside me. I bite my tongue hard, copper tinging my taste buds.
Farther ahead, a single smaller tent has been lit up, indicating some sign of life. I move toward it, anxiety knotting tighter with each step closer.
There is no one by the tent as I arrive, so I peek behind the curtains, desperate to find someone. Anything.
I don’t like this at all.
“Hello?” I ask, voice trembling, though I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the fear.
No answer, so I try again. The space is sparsely decorated, with a few shelves put up here and there toward the walls of the tent, all kinds of liquor filling them. A counter with barstools is strategically placed right by the entrance, an inviting space for visitors to get a drink for unwinding after all the jump scares.
