There Are No Saints (Sinners Duet #1)(46)

But the effort would be pointless.

Cole ain’t ever cooling off. I’m not stupid enough to think that a couple of days apart is going to ease his fury at what I did. Not after I literally hung a reminder on his wall.

Besides, I want to work. I don’t want to take a week off from painting, or even a single day.

Which is why I find myself back at the studio a little before midnight, praying that Cole might possibly be asleep and not angry enough to haul himself out of bed to mete out what’s coming to me.

Janice isn’t at her desk. The building has a roaming security guard at night, but I suspect he spends most of his time walking as slowly as possible so he only has to make a few rounds before his shift ends.

The odd silence of the usually bustling space puts me on edge as I climb the stairs to the fourth floor.

I didn’t used to be a jumpy person.

Getting snatched by a monster straight out of a nightmare changed that forever.

I’ll never forget that dark figure hurtling toward me. Somehow that was the worst part: realizing that the things you fear are very much real. And they’re coming for you.

Cole asked me why I kept the piercings. I told myself that I was doing it for me—an act of defiance.

But Cole is right.

I like the reminder. I need it.

So I never get too comfortable again.

Sometimes I think it was Cole who kidnapped me. Sometimes I feel sure it wasn’t.

Nothing about that night makes sense to me. It feels like one of those perspective paintings, where if you look from the wrong angle, it’s just a jumble of shapes and lines. But if you move to the right point in the room, the shapes align and you can see the image clear as day. I could see exactly what happened . . . if I just knew where to stand.

For now, I know one thing for certain: Cole is dangerous.

I should run far away from him.

I know this, rationally.

Yet I want the exact opposite.

I’m fascinated by him. Drawn to him in every possible way: physically, mentally, emotionally.

I’ve been reading Dracula. It’s a cautionary tale. A warning to young women not to give in to the seduction of a man who wants to devour you.

And yet . . . not all of us were drawn to Prince Charming. Some little girls ate up the stories of ball gowns and castles and knights who slayed the dragon . . .

While some little girls read the stories of a dark pathway into the woods . . . a twisted mansion with black windows and fog covering the grounds . . . That’s where we wanted to go. No matter what we might find inside . . .

I’ve started my second painting.

It will be just as large as the first—life-sized. The primary figure is part human, part animal, with a ram’s horns and bat-like wings outstretched on either side. Four arms and two sets of hands. One pair of hands are slim, pale, elegant. The other hands are thick, coarse, brutish.

I put on my music, as loud as I want because there’s no one else in the adjacent studios.

Gasoline — Halsey

Spotify → geni.us/no-saints-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-saints-apple





The canvas seems to expand until it appears as large as the room. It fills my whole field of view, it becomes the whole universe. Each tiny detail unspools from my brush, bursting into life.

I forget about Cole.

I forget about everything outside of the painting.

Time flows by while I stand still.

I don’t even realize someone has walked through the door until Cole says, “First a saint, now a demon.”

He’s standing right behind me. I don’t know how long he’s been in the room.

I whirl around, brush upraised.

Cole looks down at me, our faces only inches apart. He’s paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes. He definitely wasn’t asleep. He might not have slept last night either.

It must be raining outside. His clothes are damp. Droplets glint in his thick, black hair, the tips wet like my brush.

The rain amplifies his scent. He smells cold and clean, like a windswept street. His eyes are black as asphalt.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“I was hiding,” I reply.

“I know that. I know you were hiding. I also knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away for long.”

His voice is as cold as his clothes. It makes me shiver.

He knows me too well.

“It’s not a demon,” I say. “It’s the devil.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s only one devil.”

He smiles. Cole’s real smile is very different from the one he gives to everyone else. It’s slower. It doesn’t crinkle up his eyes. And it ends with him biting down on the edge of his lip. Hard.

“You left a gift in my office.”

The chill runs from the base of my skull, all the way down my spine. I try not to flinch. I try not to let him see how hard my heart is pounding.

“How did you like it?” I say, tilting up my chin.

Cole steps closer, slipping his right hand under my hair, gripping the back of my skull. With his thumb, he forces my chin up even further.

“I didn’t like it at all. In fact, it made me jealous.”

My skin goes from chilled to burning hot, all in an instant. My nipples stiffen under the thin material of my top. The rings stay cold like ice.