Page 20 of A Very Killer Christmas
I grin as I remember that conversation. At that point, I didn’t know she’d save me from the police, yet I already gravitated toward her as if pulled by an invisible force.
We’re definitely soulmates.
But Prudy doesn’t seem to know what to do with everything I told her. She looks around, her tired eyes snagging on the clock. It’s almost ten p.m.. She yawns, turning her face away.
I’m at war with myself, torn between two urges. I want to spend every second in her company, but my girl is obviously tired, and I need to make sure all her needs are met.
“You should go to bed,” I say after a short internal battle. Her wellbeing comes first.
She shakes her head with a deep sigh. “No, we still need to decorate a bit more just in case. I should probably eat, too. My last meal was around noon.”
I get up, already cataloging in my head the contents of her fridge I briefly glimpsed before. “Drink your eggnog. What sounds better, a savory omelet or sweet French toast with cinnamon?”
She stares at me, blinking, then rubs her eyes with another yawn. “French toast, but you really don’t have to… I have lots of instant ramen, so I’m good.”
I ignore her feeble attempt to discourage me, already bustling around the kitchen. “You wanted tea, right? Where do you keep it?”
I put the kettle on and get busy making our meal. Prudy watches me with a sort of gentle helplessness, as if she knows she should stop me, but doesn’t have enough energy to do so. I congratulate myself with a grin. Cooking for my girl is a sure way to get her addicted to me fast.
I make enough for two and set the table, fishing a bottle of syrup out of her tea drawer. Canned peaches accompany the toast. She has little in terms of fresh produce, so they’ll have to do for now—but I’ll feed her so much better in the future.
When I put a plate of steaming, golden toast in front of her, she leans in and breathes deeply. Her eyes are big with surprise when she regards me.
“This looks amazing.”
I allow myself a smile. “Tuck in, sweetheart. And eat your peaches, too.”
She eats fast, taking dainty bites in between low, appreciative noises. I almost forget to eat myself, staring at her to the point of being creepy. I can’t help it. She’s just so cute.
And sexy.Andforbidden.
“You go on to bed,” I say when she’s done. “I’ll finish down here, okay? And I won’t bother you, I swear. You’re completely safe.”
She shakes her head with gentle confusion, her eyelids drooping now that she’s fed. She must be exhausted.
“Is it weird that I believe you?” she asks, stifling a yawn.
I clench my fists, but of course, my raging hormones win this one, because her budding trust is like a potent aphrodisiac. I stride over and gently hold her face in both hands, tilting it up.
She gasps when I lean down and kiss her forehead. And maybe I linger a little too long, but if that’s the only contact I’m allowed, then I’ll make it stretch as long as possible.
“Sweet dreams,” I whisper, looking into her confused eyes as I pull away. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Chapter 9
Prudence
I’m too tired to think, so I just go through the motions of my evening routine. A hot shower uncoils my tense muscles as I breathe in the humid, rose-scented air, relaxed and thoughtless.
There’s a man in my house. I hear him moving downstairs as I brush my teeth, and still, I feel completely at ease. Normally, any other person in the house unnerves me. My grandparents used to be the only people my pathologically introverted self could handle.
And now I’m fully on board with having a killer here. I always knew there was something wrong with me, I just never knewhowwrong.
I drift off to sleep thinking about that moment when I first saw him: an intruder wearing a helmet, looking as if he’d walked outof a game. That image feels so vivid and real under my closed eyelids, as if I could reach out and touch him.
And then, I’m running. It’s pitch black. I can’t see where I am. My feet keep sticking in squelching mud no matter how much I strain to lift them. He’ll catch me if I don’t runfaster.
My heart hammers with terror, but the mud sucks me in with every step. My legs tremble from effort, and I cry out, or maybe mumble, because my voice is stuck in my throat, and no one will save me, anyway.
