Chapter 11

Pacing is my new hobby. I pace in front of the camera feeds on my television-sized monitor in the living room. I pace as I watch her try—and fail—at getting food. But when she was eating the food I left for her? I was as still as a lion crouched in a bush with an eye on its prey.

The way her lips curved around her fingers and sucked each morsel of the food I'd provided her did something to me. Something feral. It only heightened a need within me to take care of her. To nourish her for the slaughter.

Today, I had too much to do, however. I couldn't watch her. Snow had piled too high on the roof and needed clearing. Beneath it, I found some softness and set to repairing it. After mucking pens, harvesting eggs and milk, and tending to the small greenhouse I'd started late in the summer, I had no time to check the camera or lurk near her camp.

But when I'd turned the feed on just now, it took its time loading while I walked a hole in the floors in front of it. When it finally pulled the feed from the camera facing her camp from the south, I leaned in.

She's eating.

A growl tumbles out of my chest at the idea she'd provided for herself. It's insane, this need to care for her. I don't know her. I've been to enough therapy to know there's a deeper meaning here, but I don't have the fucks to give to dive into my psyche and learn more fucked-up things about myself. I choose to be oblivious. It's the best way to live, after all.

The grainy infrared picture doesn't show me what she's eating. Her fire flickers too closely to her, casting a white shadow. Each time she licks her fingers clean of whatever it is, my grip on either side of the monitor tightens.

She's safe. She's fed. She's alive.

Those three things ought to settle the pounding in my veins, but it doesn't. It seems the unshakeable reaper isn't that anymore. My heart is racing as I watch her clean up and ready the camp to turn in.

Most nights, I sneak over the bridge and lurk just near the tree line. I use the excuse that I have to change the battery in the camera, but it isn't so. Tonight, I'm going to remain firmly rooted to the cabin.

I can't give in to obsession.

Insanity is on the horizon, and it's something I've been hiding from for far too long to just slip back into.

But god, to feel her blood over my skin would be…

"No!" I growl, turning off the monitor a little too hastily. It rocks back and forth on the stand before I catch it to prevent it from tipping over.

Night after night, guilt wakes me as memories filter through my unconscious brain of Lucio and my family.

I know Enzo is plenty capable. He's the closest to the family, and he's also the most trusted Capo we have. He'd have had the backing of the majority to take my place.

But the thought of Mama's face if she knew I stepped down—more like ran away—keeps me up at night.

I don't know why it's all coming back up.

Likely just reminders why, even though the woman living beyond my cabin has stirred some fascination within me, I'm not worthy of her. My brain's way of keeping me away from her. Keeping her safe.

I slip into bed, lying on my back and staring up at the ceiling. The moon is at its peak tonight, illuminating the room more so than usual. A deep sigh of resentment leaves me as I close my eyes and give over to what I know will be hell behind my lids.

But one must go through hell to get to heaven.

Not that god wouldn't see me coming and raise an army to keep me outside the pearly gates. Men like me don't get redemption.

"Come again?" Andreas asks, lifting his thick black brows up his tan forehead.

"I want you to find me somewhere so off-grid that no one will ever find me. Rather, I want you to find me ten different locations."

It'll make it easier to find somewhere ‘near' one of them, diverting those who could try to find me if Andreas is ever questioned. Not that I don't trust my soldiers. But planning for the worst is how Papa raised us.

"Alright, but you can't… I mean to say," he corrects when he sees my eyes harden, "do you think you should leave while Lucio is so sick? You're the heir, Sir."

His respect puts a Band-Aid on the rage that had raised its head from his brazenness. "I think that I'll do whatever I damn well please. What I do is none of your business. Unless you mean to make it your business, Andreas. Do you think you have the balls?"

"Well, I surely didn't mean to offend you, Sir," he stammers.

I smirk. "Do you know how much I love to castrate men who let their enormous balls give them a gigantic head, Andreas? Don't let yours join theirs on my shelves, hmm?"

He swallows audibly, nodding. "Yes, Sir."

I nod, leaning back out of his space, flicking my hand dismissively. "Be a good little soldier and do as you"re told. Even though I'd hate to spill Ricci blood, I will. Keep that in mind while you're working for me."

He mutters something to the effect of thanking me and sputtering. I know bile is probably tickling the back of his throat from fear.

When I situp in bed, I'm not sweating. I'm not nauseous from this one like I get from some others. No, I'm getting used to the memories again. I don't like it, but I can't control them.

Alcohol would dull the pain they bring. The anguish only stays buried for so long, though. You can only hide from the dark of night for so long before it finds you. It seems it's found me once again.

The slowly rising sun has me snapping my eyes out the window. It's rare to see the sun here any time of year, so I'm in action before I know what I'm doing. I slip into my boots, sliding into my thick coat as I step onto the porch.

The cold air slaps me in the face better than even the blackest of coffees can, and I take a moment to linger in it before moving down the steps.

I forgo fucking with the animals and head for her camp. I don't know what nonsense is spurring me forward, or what confidence the dream had roused, but I'm angry. That I know.

I spent the better part of a year while my brother was attending treatments, finding and securing this place away from that life. Away from the old part of me. Her presence is fucking with me. I want her gone.

I'm carelessly traipsing through the woods, and I know better. I'll alert her to my presence far before I step out of the thicket. But suddenly, I'm the one on edge as a massive twig snaps and the curse of the female variety caresses my ears.

Stepping quickly behind a tree, I watch the little nymph step over whatever she hadn't meant to break under her footfalls as she moves to another bush of berries. They're edible, but this side of the river is where they grow wild.

Which means she found my bridge while I was repairing the roof. She spent her time wisely. The nutrients inside them will do her some good, but fire rages in my belly still.

She knows I'm here, does she?

Looking down at my feet, I grab a fallen twig, pick it up, and chuck it through the woods aimlessly. It smacks against a tree, and she startles, gasping ever so slightly.

It's enough to rouse every fucking hair on my body.

I flex my hands, instinct wanting her pulse within them. To feel the little patter of her heart. I want to lean into her and look into her eyes as they dilate. To study how fear affects the little rabbit I've got in my snare.

I shake out of the thought, but do something equally stupid; I step out from behind a tree, locking eyes with her.

She stills. She's got a tin can she found somewhere that she's collecting berries in, and she keeps a death grip on it.

For a heartbeat, we're both caught in a time where we don't know what to do. I don't know why I'd stepped out. I'd thrown the twig to scare her away. To let her know something larger than her is afoot, and that she's not welcome on this side of the water.

But the little fucking noise she made zapped me with a jolt of her fear, awakening something inside me I thought was long dead. Too bad for her. That side of me is a killer.

Her breathing is speeding, and in the still morning, I lock my hearing onto it. If she doesn't slow it down, she'll pass out. I know, I've done it a thousand times.

But I don't want her to slow down. I want her to faint. To fall to the snow-littered floor of the forest so I can drag her off into the night like a wolf who's found a carcass to snack on.

"I'm just—" She looks down at her can of berries, contemplating something. Leaving them?

She backs away, keeping them in her hands.

She's still so hungry.

And hunger I can work with. It's a big motivator.

You're not torturing her. I'm different! We're different!

I argue with myself internally as she slowly backs toward where she'd come from. Toward the bridge.

I should blow it up. I've noticed she doesn't have waders. She won't be able to come back.

"I'm sorry," she says almost inaudibly. Thankfully, the forest kicks up a soft wind, and it carries down toward me.

You will be.

There is an all-out battle happening inside me. Between new and old. Dark and light.

She's caught in the middle of it.

I step toward her, and even though she's more than a hundred feet away, she stops moving. As if she knows better than to disobey my command.

And that's when I break and let obsession take full control.

She's going to be mine.

I don't know what will become of it, but I can't fight it any longer.

She's going to regret the day she stepped foot into these woods. For the rest of her brief life span.