Her Soul to Take (Souls Trilogy #1)(13)

Maybe I’d make it a little higher.

I lingered behind her, just out of her line of sight. Her internet browser was open to a webpage with the title Mass Deaths, Madness, and Cryptids: Abelaum’s Creepy History. She rubbed her eyes before she went back to reading and highlighted a passage that she copied and pasted into another document.

Abelaum is host to a menagerie of haunted locales and historical monuments, it read. One such place is St Thaddeus Church, located one mile from the infamous White Pine mine shaft, where the survivors of the 1899 disaster were freed.

What the hell was she looking into St. Thaddeus for?

“History homework already?”

She jumped at the sound of my voice, and turned her head to look up at me. That nervous glance, the uptick in her heart rate, the rapid blink before she looked away — it was enough to make me suck in my breath and hold it in an effort not to move in any closer.

I’d been locked away far too long if a mere glance from a human was having me feel this way.

But I’d had plenty of glances. Plenty of longing looks. It was her gaze. Her scent. Tempting me. I wasn’t usually the tempted one.

“How do you know it’s for history?” she muttered. She turned the laptop slightly, as if to hide the screen from me, and her hand clenched on her lap. Maybe I’d get to see that little bit of hellfire come out in her again. Her hackles were already raised.

I shrugged, sauntering over to the table to lean against it, my shadow looming over her. Fuck, she smelled good. Warm blood, mint and sage, coffee and something like granola. This girl was flat-out dangerous to be around. “Just a guess. Maybe you like researching condemned churches for fun.”

She slammed her laptop shut. The glare she directed toward me brought a smile to my face. “Are you fucking lost?” she said, echoing my earlier words to her. So much sass in such a small body.

“Unfriendly little thing, aren’t you?” I said. “I patrol the whole campus, doll. It’s my job to check secluded corners.”

“Okay, well, patrol away. That way, preferably.” She made a show of pulling out her phone and turning her back to me, but she was just idly scrolling through text messages. As if she could dismiss me that easily. It was too fun to watch her squirm to leave now.

But besides the fun of it, unease had grown in me to see her looking into that damned church. She was already spending time with the Hadleighs, which was bad enough, but something told me this woman didn’t have the slightest clue what she was meddling with.

“You’re not from here, are you?” Even if they didn’t know the true nature of it, locals would steer clear of St. Thaddeus and White Pine. Too many legends. Too many stories.

“Why do you say that?” she said suspiciously, slowly turning back to me. At least she was wary. She needed to turn that wariness on her little friend group.

I shrugged, and tucked my hands into the pockets of my pants. “Oh, I don’t know. You smell different.”

“I smell different? What does Southern California smell like, hmm? Brush fires and avocado toast?” She ended her outburst with a wince, as if she regretted giving that little bit of information away. Flustered, she shoved her laptop into her bag and got up, keeping her back turned to me. Her skirt brushed against her thighs and her movement flooded me not just with another whiff of her shampoo, but a faint and far more primal scent.

I grinned wider. Stubborn little thing, resisting her own arousal. That was why she was trying so hard not to look at me. She stalked off, bag slung hurriedly over her shoulder, boots stomping. I lingered near the table, but called, “I can’t say St. Thaddeus makes for a good tourist attraction. I’d stay away from the church, if I were you.”

That made her stop. She whirled back around, snapping, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were the campus guard. Are you the church guard too?”

Goddamn, every time she snapped it had my mind spiraling into all the ways I could turn those snippy words into moans. I should have been more focused on that, rather than whatever white knight crusade had me saying bullshit like, “It’s a dangerous place. Condemned, locked. Any local would know better than to visit there.”

Something about this unassuming new girl casually involving herself with the most dangerous parts of Abelaum just didn’t sit right with me. Victoria and Jeremiah were popular, certainly, but they rarely showed anyone special attention.

What did they want with this girl?

She was nodding, slowly. Her anger had moved into confusion, but there was a curious gleam in her eyes. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep that in mind.” She kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk, and added casually, “What else do you know about the church? What have you heard about it? Have you been there?”

“I’ve heard it’s old, dirty, and not worth seeing.” And haunted by damned souls fed to a wicked God. But that was the last thing a curious woman like her needed to hear.

“But what about the stories?” She pried, betraying her enthusiasm. “About the miners and — Hey! Where are you going?”

I’d lingered there with her long enough, and I didn’t like the impulsive feelings that were poking against my ribs like sharp accusing fingers. I wanted her away from that church. I wanted her away from the Hadleighs. She was too ignorant, too curious for her own good.

But goddammit, that was not my responsibility.