CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

B rooklyn stood with the water blasting her face, wishing she could stay in the shower forever. What was it about showers that made you feel like you were in a vortex? As if life stood still while you either ignored your worries or obsessed.

Sometimes both.

Michael had gone to his room for the night—the hotel room a dual room—which was a relief. They had nothing in common. He was boring.

And she strongly suspected he thought she was insane.

Stupidly, she found herself wishing Logan was there with her. The last thing that would ever happen.

The vampire despised her.

As did every vampire on the planet.

#killbrooklynwade was trending.

As was #makebrooklynasaint

But it was the former which was terrifying. Few people would know how it felt to be so hated around the world.

None of that compared to the emptiness she felt knowing she'd never see Logan again. Never feel his touch or his kiss. Never again feel his huge, tattooed arms.

She realized now she'd never been truly scared of him. Somehow knowing he'd never kill her.

Now?

Yes, now he would.

He already thought humans were the lowest form of existence. Betraying him was the last straw. In reflection, Brooklyn realized she wouldn't have done what she'd done if she could turn back the clock.

It had been shortsighted, and her life was in danger.

She held no value now and humans saw her as a whistleblower. Vampires hated her for exposing them. If she lived another twelve months, it would be a miracle.

One good thing that had come out of it was the peace she'd found after speaking to her parents.

A blood clot.

Wow.

Brooklyn felt ten pounds lighter and had slept soundly all night. She hoped one day to get home and hug her parents.

Who knew if it would be possible?

The feds were talking about moving her to somewhere more remote in the next few days. Even tomorrow. So life was just happening one day at a time.

Brooklyn turned and let the water run down her back. Her hair was up in a messy bun getting sprayed by the water. She sighed, then turned off the tap and reached for a towel.

When she slid the curtain open and saw the man standing there, she screamed.

HER SCREAM WAS MUFFLED by Logan's large, tattooed hand.

Oh fuck.

He was here to kill her.

In true Logan fashion, he lifted her out of the shower and placed her on the bathroom mat. Then took the towel from her hands and wrapped it around her.

Her body was trembling.

Her voice broken.

And while she knew it was her last moments alive, all she could think about was how beautiful he was. This terribly dangerous and powerful creature.

She loved him.

Her body wanted him.

"Prefer you naked, but for this conversation, I'm sure you'd like to be covered," Logan rasped.

She fish mouthed it for a few seconds then swallowed. "How did you find me?"

"I'll always find you," he replied, nudging her to walk back into the bedroom. Then he nudged her once more, and she sat down on the bed.

Her eyes roamed his body, taking in the black jeans and fitted T-shirt he wore. His ripped abdomen was impossible to miss underneath.

He'd taken off his jacket and it was draped over a chair in her room.

How long had he been here for?

"Ten minutes," he said, reading her mind. "You have long showers."

She chewed her upper lip. "Why didn't you just kill me in the shower?"

He smiled slowly. "Who says I'm here to kill you?"

Tears prickled in her eyes. "I know you are."

Anger replaced his smile.

"You don't know anything, Brooklyn," Logan said, walking up to her and gripping her face. "Not a damn thing."

She shook, waiting for him to snap her neck, wishing she could tell him she was sorry, but she just wanted to look at him and remember how he'd made her feel beautiful and terrified and safe.

It was complicated.

Just like the male before her.

Glad she'd made peace with her parents and her brother's death, she took the final few seconds of her life to say the only other thing she needed to say.

"I love you," Brooklyn whispered.