Eternal (Shadow Falls: After Dark #2)(56)

Damn! Damn! She and Chase were going to get caught and this was going to be bad. Really, really bad.

The footsteps came farther into the room. Eyes still forced shut, she heard the person inhale, deeply. Chase’s lips came against her ear.

“If they open the door, we fly right through the window. Just keep your head down and watch out for glass. If we go fast, they won’t be able to describe us to the cops.”

Della opened her eyes. Light snuck through the small space where the door didn’t meet the wood floor. That, or her vision had adjusted to the dark and she could make out things—the clothes on the floor, the pair of worn tennis shoes in the corner. She shifted her gaze back to the door, preparing herself to run like hell if it opened.

She counted to three, thinking that was about the time a person would need to decide to check the closet.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door didn’t open.

The sound of the bed’s mattress sighing with weight added another layer of sadness to the song playing in the background.

Then came the heartfelt sob. A feminine sob. Not part of the music, but so much more emotional. It sounded like pain. Pure. Raw.

“Why do I keep hearing you?” the woman said. “Are you here, baby? Why can’t I accept that you are gone? Can you hear me? I love you. I miss you. Miss you so much.”

She’s not gone, Della wanted to say. Tears filled her eyes. While she ached for Natasha and her mom, Della couldn’t help but wonder if her own mother missed her.

Did her own mom ever walk into her room and cry?

Della didn’t realize she still held Chase’s hand until his fingers, laced with hers, gave her a light squeeze. Was he hurting for the woman, too? It felt as if he was trying to communicate to her that it would be okay.

But how could it be? The woman’s grief grew thicker, the air, even in the tiny closet, felt heavier. The feeling of injustice, of grief, wiggled its way into Della’s chest and made her insides feel crowded.

The music suddenly stopped and the sound of a phone ringing piped over the intercom.

The ringing became replaced with an electronic voice announcing: Call from Miao Hon.

Della’s breath caught. Surely she’d heard it wrong. But the message repeated. Call from Miao Hon.

Why was her aunt, Chan’s mother, calling Natasha’s mom?

Della let out a shuttered breath. She cut her eyes toward Chase, but he hadn’t seemed to put Chan’s last name together with the person who was calling.

The slight sound of the mattress rising filtered through the door. Then footsteps left the bedroom. The click of the bedroom door shutting reached Della’s ears, but it somehow sounded different. Distant. Too distant. Immediately, the closet seemed to grow darker. Instead of a hiding place, it felt like a prison.

Della turned to tell Chase she wanted to leave—she wanted out of there, away from the pain—but it wasn’t Chase sitting next to her.

Chapter Twenty-four

Fear was her go-to emotion, but when she went there, the fear faded into a whole different kind of feeling. Something that gave her butterflies in her stomach. Good butterflies.

With her shoulder against his, she stared at the guy, trying to understand. He had dark brown, almost black, almond-shaped eyes, smooth skin the color of coffee with lots of cream. His short hair was black and hung in loose curls over his brow. His features were … perfect, except for a scar that was still red over his left brow. Something about him tickled her memory bank, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. Yet she had the oddest desire to run her finger over the healing wound.

All of a sudden, another recollection whispered across what little brain power she had. She didn’t see everything, but had vague flashes of a fight, and she knew he had gotten that wound trying to protect her.

He stared at her with warmth and passion. She wanted to close the distance between them, but then she didn’t have to. He leaned closer, his mouth a whisper from hers. His light breath touched her lips.

He was going to kiss her.

Correction. He was kissing her.

No, not her. He was kissing Natasha.

He was Liam. And Natasha was kissing him back.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, pulling back from her mouth, running his finger over her lips, moist from his kiss.

“I am not. My hair’s caked in mud, I need a shower.” She chuckled.

“That’s not what I see,” he said.

“Then good thing it’s dark in here,” she countered.

He kissed her again, and this time the kiss went from soft to hot. His mouth tasted so good. Sweet and tangy like blood. Her blood. His blood.

They must have just fed off each other again. But this time she wasn’t repulsed. She was too into the kiss, too into Liam, to care.

She may be facing death, but right then she wanted to feel alive. To feel passion. To touch. To be touched.

The next thing she knew, they were lying on their sides. The hard dirt beneath her didn’t even feel bad. All she cared about was Liam. He rested beside her. His shirt was off. She traced a tattoo of an odd-looking cross symbol on his shoulder.

His hand slipped under her shirt and the kisses grew hotter, sweeter.

Natasha moved her hand down his abs and around his waist.

They should stop before it went too far, but then logic intervened. All they had right now was each other. How could it be wrong to cling to that?