21. Ava

AVA

S cáth stood in my doorway, wearing his usual all-black ensemble, his figure almost blending into the shadows of the hall. His hood hung low over his dark hair, casting his brutally beautiful features in deep shadow.

He’d ditched his skeleton half-mask, so I could see his jaw was clenched, and his lips pressed into a hard, displeased line.

My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at him, the silence between us growing heavier by the second.

In some cloudy, paranoid corner of my mind, the idea slithered in.

He knows.

He knew that I was going to turn him in. He knew that I was about to betray him.

And he was here to kill me.

My breath hitched in my throat, the room suddenly too small, too tight.

I tried to remind myself that I wasn’t certain, that I didn’t know what he was thinking—but my mind kept spiraling.

His cold gaze lingered on me too long, and every muscle in his body seemed coiled, ready to strike.

Just like he’d killed the attacker last night, as easily as snuffing out a flame, he was here to finish me.

The eye. The grotesque “gift” he’d left for me—it had been a test.

He’d wanted to see if I could handle the darkness, if I could accept him for what he truly was.

And I’d failed.

I would have screamed at the sight of him. But the pain was so bad all I could do was sob as I crawled across the carpet, trying to get away from him.

Scáth crossed the distance between us in two long strides.

I flinched as he squatted next to me, his familiar scent of musk, leather, and spice invading my nostrils.

But that tiny motion brought out a pained gasp as another invisible knife joined the dozen or so already sticking into my belly.

I wanted to scream at him to get it over with.

If he was going to kill me, then just fucking kill me.

I just had to hope he wouldn’t mutilate me or torture me first the way he did with Cormac.

His arms went around me and he lifted me from the floor.

I could barely protest. Whatever he’d decided to do to me, I had no fight against him. He’d picked the right moment to turn from my stalker into my killer .

His hand was surprisingly gentle as he cradled the back of my head and lowered me to the bed.

He tucked my sheets around my body, brushed a strand of damp hair from my forehead, and disappeared.

What was he doing? Getting a weapon? He seemed to like knives a lot.

The pain felt inescapable and nausea swept through me. But at least it’d all be over soon.

My stalker made a blurry figure over me when he returned. He held out two white pills, a glass of water in his other hand.

I stared at the pills.

Was he going to poison me to death? Or just put me to sleep so he could do God knows what to me?

He said nothing. Just kept his hands in place and waited.

Cheek pressed against the edge of the mattress, I glanced up at him, trying to read his intensions.

But my vision pulsed in time with my racing heart and his eyes were hidden in the shadow of his hood.

A particularly brutal cramp had me grasping at the pills. If he wanted to knock me out, or worse, I wasn’t in any state to stop him. This way would probably be less horrifying than a pillow over my face.

I swallowed the pills without water. I took enough to not need it. And it seemed at least a tiny bit resistant, though my stalker didn’t seem to care at all.

He placed the untouched glass on my bedside table and left again, this time going out of the room completely.

I remained curled in a ball, waiting for the pills, whatever they were, to kick in.

He returned .

I struggled feebly as he pulled back the covers and lifted my shirt.

I wanted to do more, to put up a fight he’d at least remember, but every time I moved, pain lashed across my stomach.

I felt pressure against my belly. Oh God, was he going to disembowel me? I’d seen Braveheart . That was one of the most painful ways to go.

I tried to push his hands away, but he was too strong.

I tried to scream, but nothing came from my throat but a hoarse moan. “No, please.”

Then I felt the lovely heat.

He was pressing a hot water bottle to my stomach.

I was stunned into silence as I blearily watched him tuck in the duvet over me and tuck me in, slipping the sheets gently beneath the outline of my body. He did this all the way down to my feet, each gentle caring touch sending warm sensations through me.

Cormac hadn’t ever done that for me.

Even Ebony hadn’t either.

His tenderness made tears roll unrestrained from my eyes. The pain and the fear had wrecked my emotional barriers.

My stalker stood by the side of my bed and looked down at me.

He brushed aside the strands sticking to my sweaty forehead.

In that moment of pain, relief came over me.

The pills.

They were painkillers. Not some kind of poison.

He was… he was taking care of me .

When he turned to leave once more, a pang of apprehension struck me.

“Wait,” I gasped.

He hesitated.

“Please,” I whispered. “Stay?”

I know how stupid that sounded. I was begging my stalker to stay with me.

But in that moment, he wasn’t my stalker. He wasn’t my tormentor. He wasn’t the dangerous man who’d cut out my ex’s eye. Or the one who had killed my attacker.

He was the man who looked after me. Who’d had saved me. He’d come to my side when I thought I was alone. Shown me a kindness I hadn’t even dared to hope for.

I swallowed heavily, heart beating erratically. “This house is so large. And I’m always… alone.”

He didn’t move for the longest moment.

Then he stepped back toward the edge of my bed.

I didn’t dare breathe as he lifted the sheets and climbed into bed next to me.

His warmth enclosed around me and I shuddered against him.

I felt warm. And safe.

I could hear him breathing in the still bedroom, could feel the way his breath expanded his ribs against my back. I slowed my own breath down, timing it with his.

It calmed me the way watching waves on a foggy morning shore calmed me.

We were the only two in the entire house, but I did not feel alone anymore.

“Thank you,” I said .

I wanted to turn around to face him, but I restrained myself.

He tucked an arm around me, sliding it gently under my fingers so he could press the hot water bottle to my belly.

The warmth seeped into me, making my tense muscles finally unclench. I let out a slow, shaky breath as I sank deeper into the bed, feeling his body close to mine, steady and solid.

God, what is happening? I was curled up in bed with my stalker. The man who had haunted my every move. The man I should have feared. But here I was, and the strangest part was—I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to pull away.

For the first time, this cold, impersonal room didn’t feel so empty. The shadows in the corners seemed to retreat, replaced by a warmth that I hadn’t even realized I was missing.

And this house—this large, lonely place that never felt like home—it suddenly felt… full.

I couldn’t explain it, and I didn’t want to. All I knew was that, right here, wrapped in his quiet strength, I felt safe.

And that scared me more than anything.

“I grew up in a house like this too,” his voice rumbled softly, sending a shiver down my spine as it cut through the stillness. His arm tightened slightly around me, as if the memory was something he could hold in place. “Large, cold, and empty.”

I hesitated, glancing around the room, taking in the grand, polished walls and elegant furnishings.

“At least it’s… pretty,” I whispered, my voice sounding hollow, even to me. “I mean, this place… it’s beautiful. ”

He let out a quiet scoff, his breath warm against my neck. “A pretty house doesn’t make it a home.”

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over me, and I instinctively pulled the blankets tighter around myself.

“A house isn’t a home without love in it,” he continued, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “Without laughter. Without… family.”

There was a bitterness to his tone, a sadness that tugged at something deep inside me.

My chest tightened at his words, and I couldn’t help but think of all the times I wandered through the empty halls of my own house, the silence pressing in on me from every direction.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly. “All the beauty in the world doesn’t mean anything if it’s… just empty.”

The warmth from him and the hot water bottle and the numbing effect of the pills combined to make me feel like I was sinking into the bed. Was I even still awake? This couldn’t be real, could it? Having an intimate chat in my bed with my stalker?

“My father was a single parent as well, always busy with work too,” he continued, his voice quieter now, as if admitting it out loud made it more real.

I opened my mouth, ready to defend Ebony, to tell him that she wasn’t like his father. That she had done her best, always working to give me a life most people could only dream of.

But something stopped me.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, or maybe it was the undeniable truth in the silence between us. For some strange reason, I didn’t feel the need to lie to him.

He saw everything. Knew everything. What was the point of hiding?

“And now?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Do you still feel… alone?”

He hesitated, inhaling a long, deep breath against my hair that sent tingles across my spine.

“I feel… like a ghost,” he said, and the weight of those words sank deep into my chest. “Like I died a long time ago. And I’m not really living anymore.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, understanding in a way I wished I didn’t. The familiar ache of isolation settled in me. “Like you’re just drifting, watching everything from the outside.”

I snuggled up closer to him. What did it say about me that I felt closer to my stalker than anyone ever? What did it say about me that I felt like he was the only one who understood me?

And for the first time he was being open with me.

I shifted slightly, gathering the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at the back of my mind.

My voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “Why did you… hurt Cormac? Was it really to protect me?”

His arm tensed around me, his body stiffening for just a second before he let out a slow breath.

“Yes,” he said, his tone firm, as if the answer was simple to him. “He threatened you. He put his hands on you. And I couldn’t let that stand.”

He turned my face toward him with his palm on my cheek, his penetrating eyes meeting mine. “I didn’t plan it, Ava. I reacted. But I don’t regret it. ”

I searched his face, my heart racing. “But why? Why go that far?”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Because you deserve to be protected. No one gets to hurt you, not while I’m around.”

His voice softened, though the intensity remained. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I won’t wait for the system to protect you, because the system doesn’t care. I do.”

I swallowed, my mind spinning with the weight of his words.

His expression softened. “I know you’ve been struggling with whether you should turn me in.”

I stiffened, warring in my mind over whether I should deny it. But this wasn’t the time for lies. This wasn’t the time for hiding.

I nodded. “I have.”

He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear, such a tender motion from such a dark-hearted man. “I don’t blame you for it. So I’m not mad.”

He paused, his voice growing softer. “I should be in jail.”

The admission hung heavy between us, the weight of everything he’d kept hidden slowly coming to light.

“But I won’t go. Not now. Not because I’m afraid of prison. But because I won’t leave you unguarded, unprotected. I made that choice a long time ago, Ava. And I stand by it.”

A lump formed in my throat, my emotions a tangled mess of fear, confusion, and… something else. “Even if I turn you in?”

His lips twitched into a half smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Even if you turn me in, they won’t find me. I scrubbed all the necessary traces of myself away years ago. No records. No identification. No trail to follow.”

I blinked, my stomach knotting. “What do you mean?”

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Technically, I don’t exist.”

“But—”

“Enough questions.” An edge of tension had crept back into his voice. “Go to sleep, Ava.”

A part of me wanted to protest, to push him away and tell him I wouldn’t stop until I got answers. But the words never came.

There was something about the way he held me—so steady, so sure—that felt impossibly good. Like in his arms was the only place I was meant to be.

It shouldn’t have felt right. It shouldn’t have made me feel safe. And yet it did.

It felt familiar , like I’d been here before, wrapped in his warmth, his presence shielding me from the rest of the world. It was as if some hidden part of me had always known this, had always been waiting for this exact moment.

“Stay with me till I fall asleep?” I asked.

The tension melted from my stalker’s shoulders. His steady, calm breathing returned.

“I’m not leaving you,” he promised.

Perhaps it was his words, or perhaps it was the way he was curled so protectively behind me, but it dislodged another memory.

I gasped awake, thrashing around in my four-poster bed, its carved spindles twisting like something out of my nightmare.

But he was there behind me, his arms holding me tight .

“Shh,” he whispered as I sobbed. “I’m here.”

My tears fell hot and fast down my cheeks. I was drenched in sweat, my lace nightgown vacuum-sealed to my young body.

I sucked in deep breaths, the familiar scent of old furniture and velvet filling my nostrils.

He was the only thing that made my nightmares bearable.

I wasn’t sure what I would do if I woke up from one and he was no longer there, nestling his nose into my damp hair.

He brushed his fingertips up and down my arms, hushing me softly.

This large gothic bedroom had made me uneasy from the day I arrived here, made me feel like I was being swallowed up in the black maw of a monster, but the touches of pale pink that he’d surprised me with helped.

Gifts to help me settle into my new home.

With my new family.

A soft throw draped across the bed, the faint blush of pillows and brand-new pink velvet drapes that almost seemed out of place against the ornate dark wood paneling and iron chandelier.

Through my shimmering eyes I noticed the door of my bedroom inch open.

If I tensed against him, he didn’t notice. He continued to caress me and gently comfort me, his chest firm against my back.

I stared at the sliver of black which opened into the hallway.

Someone was out there.

Someone was watching.

I couldn’t make out the outline, but I felt their presence.

It seemed to make the air in the bedroom thinner. I struggled to breathe as I stared into the darkness.

Behind me, he continued to exhale kind words into my tangle of hair .

I became too aware of how close his body was to mine. His hand on my arm was suddenly too intimate. He shouldn’t be placing his lips against my ear. He shouldn’t have his arm between my breasts, squeezing me tight.

“You should go,” I whispered, terror making my words stutter. “If we get caught, you’ll get in trouble.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

“But brothers and sisters shouldn’t… shouldn’t do this.”

He turned my face to his, his lovely blue eyes, rimmed with charcoal lashes, flashed like lightning in the moonlight.

“I don’t care,” he said, palm against my cheek. “I’m not leaving you.”

I gasped in my bed with my stalker wrapped around me once more.

If my memory was to be believed, he wasn’t just my childhood best friend… he was my foster brother.

I needed answers. I needed him to acknowledge that these memories were real.

I shifted, turning to face my stalker, my hot water bottle left ignored on the mattress.

His face was all hard edges and intensity. His jaw, sharp enough to cut glass, clenched as he stared back at me, those pale-blue eyes piercing through the shadows between us.

Looking at him, I couldn’t deny it: he was as terrifying as he was beautiful.

He tensed, his breath sucking in between those perfect lips. “What are you doing?”

I brushed strands of hair from his forehead. “I remember you…”

He flinched against me and frowned. Like he wasn’t used to being touched so tenderly. “W-what do you remember? ”

“You were my foster brother,” I said.

He stared at me for the longest moment. Then he let out a sigh. “Yes.”

Finally. Answers. Truth.

“I remember,” I continued, “you used to bully me.”

His jaw worked as he clenched it.

“But…” I traced my fingers along his jaw and it relaxed. It thrilled me being able to soften him with just a touch. “…you also protected me. Like you’re protecting me now, right?”

He nodded.

I traced my fingers across his face, tracing his brutal features.

He closed his eyes as he leaned into my touch, his dark lashes so long they almost reached his high cheekbones.

God, he was so beautiful.

Even more beautiful than when we were young.

It didn’t matter what I had done to make him hate me then. He cared for me now. He’d always cared.

I knew then that I could never turn him in.

No matter what he did.

He was protecting me the best way he knew how. Even if it meant doing it in ways that most people wouldn’t understand.

He opened his eyes, and our gazes locked with an intensity that made my breath catch. “You have to stop investigating Liath’s disappearance,” he said, his voice low, but it hit like a warning.

I stiffened, a chill running down my spine. “What? Why? ”

“It’s too dangerous,” he murmured, his eyes hardening with something I couldn’t quite place. Fear? Anger?

“Then help me,” I whispered, reaching for his hand, my fingers wrapping around his. His grip was strong, steady, and I squeezed it, pleading. “Tell me what I’m in danger from.”

His jaw tightened, a deep scowl settling on his face. “I don’t know. But they are powerful, they are dangerous, and they won’t stop coming for you if you don’t stop digging.”

His words echoed in my mind like a dark promise.

I was right. Something twisted and shadowy that had ensnared all three girls. A conspiracy, one that I had only just begun to scratch the surface of.

I was so close. I could feel it, the answers just out of reach, like puzzle pieces falling into place with every step I took. The threads were starting to unravel, the secrets finally coming to the light. That’s why they sent someone after me last night—to scare me off, to make sure I didn’t get too close to whatever it was they were hiding.

They knew I was on the verge of finding out the truth. And that terrified them.

“Scáth,” I said, excitement in my voice. “I’m so close to uncovering everything. I can’t stop now.”

He shook his head, frustration lacing his every word. “I can’t keep watching you put yourself in danger, Ava,” he said, his voice cracking with anguish, the raw emotion in it cutting deeper than I expected.

But his words only fueled the fire burning inside me. I pulled back slightly, my jaw tightening.

“You can’t stop me.” My voice was low, but firm, my resolve solidifying with every passing second. “I’ll be fine. I’ll start carrying a taser.”

His eyes darkened, his scowl deepening. “Ava…”

“No.” I cut him off, straightening my spine. “You’re not going to scare me into giving up. Not now. Not when I’m this close.”

My heart raced, but I wasn’t backing down. Not from this. Not from him.

He’d tried punishing me, threatening me, tormenting me, and none of it worked. There was nothing he could do or say to stop me.

He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across my lips, and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. My heart pounded, the air between us heavy with unspoken words.

“If you don’t stop investigating…” He hesitated, his eyes searching mine, filled with something I couldn’t quite name. “I’ll leave.”

His words were a gut punch, stealing the air from my lungs.

He meant it.