Page 41 of Paramour of Sin
When Xai and Eve left to meet up with Gleason and go to the crime scene, I’d spent a little time drowning my sorrows in some wine. However, that bizarre sensation of wrongness had left my stomach churning with dread. And that didn’t combine well with alcohol.
So I’d stopped drinking.
And started pacing.
With a sigh, I ran a hand over my face.You’re overreacting,I told myself.Nothing’s actually wrong. It’s just this… thissituation.
TDH died because of me. Not directly, but indirectly. And somehow, that made it worse. Killing someone from a lack of control was something I’d more or less come to accept as a hazard of my existence.
But this…
I’dchosena man, knowing he might die.
And yeah, sure, he wasn’t exactly the epitome of male perfection. However, he was still a human. A life.
I didn’t enjoy taking life.
The Tracker failed.
I failed.
Worst plan ever.
The silence in the house suffocated me, yet it was oddly expectant. And exactly what I deserved, too.
How many times could I pace before I wore a path in the hardwood floor? How many steps would I take before Eve returned and banished the silence? Before Gleason slouched moodily in the door and glowered at me in his special way?
I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was causing me so much unease. A culmination of everything, maybe. Multiple deaths. Being accused of murder. The threat of an eternity in Hell for crimes I didn’t even commit. Not to mention Zane’s manipulation at Club Hoax, and the way I’d fallen for it like the naïve little girl he expected me to be.
All of it was too much. Too much to deal with right now. Here. In this place.Ugh, why did I ask to be alone?I wondered.What a stupid request. Now was the worst time to be—
The hairs along my arms danced, as awareness tickled my spine.
That darkness was here again, looming, breathing down my neck.
I froze mid-stride, my head swirling from the sudden, inescapable sense that I wasn’t alone like I’d thought. Not anymore.
I closed my eyes, trying to pinpoint the source of my unease. The house was just as quiet and unmoving as it had been since the others had left, but the air had changed. Not inside… Not really.
Outside?
I took a few hesitant steps toward the kitchen, and the feeling intensified. Followed by an unmistakable scent tickling my nose.
Sulfur. Fresh from hell.
“Lord Zebulon?” I whispered.
But I knew before I even said his name that it wasn’t my Demonic Lord. The scent wasn’t right—it didn’t have the minty undertones of his aftershave.
Someone’s here.
Someone from Hell.
I lurched through the kitchen door and slammed my palm against the light switch, casting the room into darkness. Prowling quickly to the back door, I double-checked the lock, thankful Gleason had insisted on curtains for our privacy. Although, I suspected his choice had been more about protecting wandering eyes from my tendency to feed in every room of the house than to provide security.
I raced through the rest of the house, checking the locks on all the exterior doors and shutting off the other lights to give myself more cover. All the while, I kept my senses on high alert, keyed in to that strange sensation that someone stood outside my house.
Waiting and watching.
