Page 21 of Like Grim Death: Part One
And I’m proven right when he slides down to his belly, his face between my thighs, his breath hot on my pussy. Before he licks me, his hands gripping my thighs wide, shoving aside my shorts, all he says, eyes locked on mine, is,“I don’t.”
For some reason, with thoughts of what he said about Atlas and the initiate swarming back into my brain, it feels like an omen.
A scream ripsthrough me as I slump to my belly, palms flat against the dirt-covered floor. The numbness that blanketed the backs of my legs is now gone, burning pain like fire dancing beneath my skin instead. Tears prick my eyes and I want to call out for him.
Mavy, please. Help me.Help me.
But he isn’t here, and he wouldn’t hear me.
“Just breathe, Ella.” A voice like a coiling serpent slithers through the air. “It’s all over now.”
I run through the cemetery, desperate to put distance between me andhim.But it doesn’t take long before my sprint tapers off to a walk, then I’m limping, the humid North Carolina air clotting in my throat. Damp grass grazes my ankles, the patch of skin between my loose sweats and burgundy boots. The cotton of my pants sticks to my wounds, and I pull up my dark green sweatshirt, biting the material of the collar between my teeth to stop from screaming.
The moonlight glints on a crumbling gravestone to my left. There’s an angel perched atop it; one wing eroded to dust. As my breaths come in shallow pants, the scent of cemetery dirt filling my nostrils, I take it as a sign and come to a desperate stop. I unclench my teeth and run my fingers through the strands of my wavy red hair, damp now with sweat. The little church inside the gates of Emily Cemetery isn’t but half a mile through the woods behind mine and Mavy’s house, but the blinding fire along the backs of my thighs is making getting home hell. It’s not like I could’ve gotten a ride with my tormentor, either. Although all of my boyfriend’s brothers from hell should be at the unexpected meeting taking place in Sanctum, the boys tend to be in a lot of places they shouldn’t.
Kind of like me, now.
I sink down beside the perishing angel, the grass wet beneath my butt. I don’t mind it though as I double over, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. The coolness of the leftover rain is a balm against my wounds and for a moment, I just keep my head bowed, my pulse thundering in my temples. I know I have to get home before he finds me missing—if he hasn’t already—but my chest is heaving, and I just need to breathe.
Spots of white and gray pop behind my closed eyes, sweat damp along my temple and under my arms. Tears threaten to prick behind my lids, but I bite them back, swallowing the tight lump in my throat.
If I cry, he’ll see my mascara streaking down my face. I didn’t even shed tears in the chapel. I can’t now, not when I’m so close to home. Working out he’ll understand, if only because it’s a new “hobby” I’ve picked up. Mavy probably thinks it’s because I’m bored.
He doesn’t understand I’m just trying to save our lives.
Lucifer’s demonic blue eyes flash inside my head at the same time thunder cracks somewhere high above me. I gasp, lifting my chin and dropping my hands as I stare at the darkening sky overhead, a gray cloud moving menacingly to cover the beauty of the moon.
A drop of rain taps my temple and I know I have to stand and go home.
Slowly, I get to my feet even as my knees shake, and I haven’t quite caught my breath yet.
Then I put one foot in front of the other and head towards safety.
I enter through the back gate using my thumbprint to unlock it. It’s incredible to me that the fence has iron, spiky turrets atop it, like something out of an old Gothic novel, but there’s a tiny black box which will spring the lock free with mine and Maverick’s touch.
I walk onto the Astor property and instantly feel relief as the gate clangs closed behind me. My shoulders drop, lightness in my chest as I continue along the cement path that winds through the overgrown garden and past the stone fountains in the backyard. The gurgling of the water is soothing and so is this lingering scent of marijuana which always seems to invade anything Maverick has touched.
Squinting in the dark as I wrap my arms around my body, I can’t see any lights on in the mansion looming up ahead of me. Every window is filled with darkness, and I smile softly to myself.
He isn’t home yet, and I’ll be able to shower and pretend I didn’t just scramble my way out of a graveyard with blood sticking to my pants. I can apply cold compresses, take medicine, maybe sink into an ice-cold bath if I’m feeling brave. And by the time he gets home, he won’t notice a thing—
“Mea vita,”a familiar voice whispers in my ear and I flinch, jumping back against his hard body, the Latin ringing in my ears.My life. His arms come around me, strong and secure even though I cringe a little because the backs of my thighs are pressed to his hips, and it stings.
Shit, there goes that plan I had.
Fear knots in my throat as his fingers splay along my collarbone. My knees feel shaky and despite the fact I only want to drown in his embrace, the tension doesn’t leave, and my lips start to tremble.
How long was he watching me?
He nudges his nose along the side of my neck, and I dig my fingertips into the corded muscle of his forearm, clinging to him. “You didn’t scream for me, Ella.” He sounds amused. “Notyetanyway.”
I smile a little, but it’s forced. Flashbacks of kneeling at the chapel, flecks of blood beneath my palms, make my stomach churn.
He seems to stiffen behind me, sensing my mood and coming alert as lightning forks the sky above our heads, shrouding our home in eerie tones of pale blue.
“Baby,” he whispers, his lips by my ear as he holds tight to me beside a gargoyle fountain, “what’s wrong?”
His voice is so soft, threaded with tenderness, that I want to tell him the truth.
