Page 74 of Watch Me Burn
“Okay, we’re going to come back to the stranger finger-fucking in a minute. Because, as horrified as I am in reality, it’s also kinda hot and dirty fantasy material for me. But what happened after that? Please tell me you called Sheriff Mills.”
I shake my head, telling her the rest. How he came back the next night and the next. How he bypasses Damien’s security system, hacks into the cameras, and seems to always know what I’ve done.
I tell her how he comes to me every single night and takes me apart before putting me back together, leaving me wrecked and wanting more. About the things I let him do and the things I beg him to do. I hold nothing back—well, almost nothing—and the relief of speaking the words out loud, of not carrying this alone anymore, crashes over me so hard my eyes blur.
Maren yanks the elastic from her ponytail, her curly hair tumbling free around her shoulders. She tosses the hair tie onto the nightstand, where it bounces once and disappears over the edge. Both hands rake through the long chocolate strands, nails scraping against her scalp, and she exhales a long, slow breath that sounds like a deflating balloon.
“Everyone calls me the queen of bad decisions. You kicked me out and took the crown. He really comes every night?”
“Yes.”
“Christ. I don’t know whether to be horrified or jealous of that. No wonder you’re fucking exhausted all the time.” She shakes her head. “You know I’m allfor wild, dirty sex with strangers, but this is kinda off the charts for you. And a little fucking scary. No, make that a lot.”
“I’m not afraid of him, Mar. I was at first. The first couple of nights, I was terrified he was going to kill me. But the way he touched me, I knew he wasn’t here to hurt me. Just to claim me.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, studying my face. “I never would’ve pegged you as a woman into erotic asphyxiation. Zip ties? Breath play? That’s more my style.”
“I know, right?” I say again.
She scrunches her nose like an angry kitten. “Hey, we don’t judge each other’s kinks. Especially now. I think you’ve bypassed me.”
She has no idea.
“So who is he?”
Oh, shit. Here it comes.
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes narrow, and her voice lowers. “How do you not know? You’ve been fucking him for months, right?”
“Yes.”
“So why don’t you know who he is?”
“He always keeps the mask on and refuses to tell me his name. And he only takes me in the dark, except he positions me so the moonlight comes through the curtains and hits my skin. He tells me I look beautiful bathed in it.”
“That’s kind of sweet, I guess, in a masked stalker, serial killer kind of way.” She stops, her face going serious. “He’s not a serial killer, is he? Fuck, I know I joke about this shit a lot, Lu, but he isn’t one, right?”
I freeze and hope she doesn’t notice. Thankfully, she’s rubbing her hands over her face, trying to digest everything I’ve told her. There’s no way I’m telling Maren that part of the story. That I’ll take to the grave.
“Maren, seriously?”
She leans back against the pillow again. “So, what do you call him?”
I knew this question was coming. I run my fingers through my hair and sit back against the pillow.
“At first, my watcher. Now I call him my wolf.” The last word comes out soft, loaded with emotion I’m not ready to admit. “Because of the mask.”
“Your wolf.” She repeats it without inflection. “No wonder you flinched when I called him that.”
I stare at the ceiling, letting my mind wander down that familiar path of suspicion and doubt.
“So this all started around the same time you met Damien, too, right? You don’t think it’s him, do you? I mean, that would be totally fucking twisted of him.”
I’m relieved she asks because I have to say it to someone.
“Sometimes I think… but then I convince myself I’m crazy and imagining things, almost like I want them to be the same person. Yeah, they’re both huge. Same height, same build, same overwhelming presence. But they don’t walk the same, they don’t sound the same, and they don’t smell the same. He won’t let me turn on the lights. I can only see hints of him, so I don’t know if I’m just imagining that they seem similar. Damien always wears really strong cologne, and my wolf smells more natural, like soap and pine and sex. I just want to breathe him in all the time. I want to crawl inside that scent and live there.”
