Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (32)

“The elders wouldn’t approve of that anyway,” I cut her off, trying to mask my irritation with my friend. We never discussed her staying with him. Fucking animal just wanted to mount her.

Blythe made her way to the passenger side and, before ducking into the car, responded, “They did though, apparently. But it doesn’t matter.”

What the fuck? Fenrir was run by their females, the collective alphas. Though every so often they’d choose an exceptional male to be an alpha alongside them. They’d had their sights set on Wolfgang for years and probably would agree to anything he wanted at this point to stay on his good side.

Once I was inside the old Honda, I clutched the steering wheel, thankful the darkness concealed my emotions. Onyx and Wolf needed a swift kick to the balls for each trying to fool around with her. She may have been gorgeous, and I may not have been the guy for her, but they sure as hell weren't either. And I wouldn’t let them hurt her.

I turned up the heat for her and she exhaled. “By the way, I’m sorry for passing out at your therapy group. I’m pretty embarrassed.”

Shooting her a sidelong glance, I replied, “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Blythe. It’s that psycho stalking you that should be embarrassed. And punished.”

Did I say that last bit out loud?

“Punished? I’m afraid the good state of Alabama has already tried and failed to punish my stepfather. At this point . . . it’s just inevitable.”

“What’s just inevitable?”

“He’s going to find me, Ames. You saw the blank letter. He’s here. Or he will be soon. It’s only a matter of time before he catches me and it’s all over.”

Without thinking, I veered off the highway. Blythe shrieked, bracing herself on the dash. “What the hell?”

The car came to a screeching, dusty halt on the side of the road. Unable to hide in that moment—maybe it was the moon, and her, and Hallows, and that goddamn dance— I couldn’t fucking bear sitting here and listening to her talk about being murdered. I took her chin and tilted it toward me. Her brown eyes went wide, but she was still wearing that stupid mask. I loved her dark makeup, but I hated the fox in that moment. She wasn’t a fox. I wanted to paint her in my skull mask so everyone knew she was mine. Take her out of orange and put her back in black. She wore a lot of black and I fucking loved it. “That is not what’s going to happen, Blythe. I can fucking swear that to you. This fucker isn’t touching you, finding you, speaking to you, fucking nothing.”

“How can you promise that?” she whispered, her voice a small tremble between hope and fear. I’d never wanted to reveal myself before. The urge to share my story and true self had never emerged. Until now. In that moment, all I wanted to do was offer her every one of my secrets slaughtered on a silver platter. For her to consume, or wear as jewelry, or discard entirely, if it was her doing it, I’d be okay with that. The thought tightened my throat and screamed at me that I was losing control. My resolve around her was already hanging by a thread, and those puppy dog eyes didn’t help. Perhaps I should have told her then. Perhaps it would make things easier if she ran away in terror, seeing me for the monster I truly was. But I wanted to hang onto the fantasy a little longer. For now, I could be her gentile therapist. Her awkward acquaintance. A part of me wished I could really be him. That one day I’d wake up and the darkness would be gone and this skin I’d shrugged on could be mine permanently. Those were the rare days I allowed myself to pretend that was what I wanted. When in truth, I wanted my monster. I was the monster.

The truth wouldn’t set me free. The truth would damn me. The air between us grew heavy as my glance dropped to her mouth. Oh, to feel her sweet tongue . . . Her lips parted as she sucked in a breath. Did she feel it too?

Against every instinct, I dropped my grip. “You’d be surprised at the things I can promise, Blythe.”

The sound of her puff of breath as she repositioned in her seat and pulled my jacket around her were the only sounds in the car as I pulled back onto the main road. “Nineteen forty-one,” she mumbled, tracing a finger over the faded navy embroidery. “This is a vintage jacket?”

“It is,” I replied, trying to shake off my gnawing emotions. What was she doing to me?

“I like it.”

“Keep it.”

“That’s okay—”

I interrupted. “Would you like to stay with me tonight? If you’re worried or afraid, I’d rather you be somewhere you feel safe.” I ran a hand through my hair. “If you feel safe with me, that is.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me. For a moment, worry panged me. Did she think I was a creep? I was, but still. She didn’t seem to notice that I was the masked asshole dancing with her, so that was a point in Ames’s favor.

“I do feel safe with you,” she answered after a moment, and my shoulders relaxed. “But I need to do this on my own. I appreciate your kindness, but I can’t drag you into this.”

I scoffed. “I’m already in it. I’m invested.”

“Because you care about me as some client, or charity case, or whatever you see me as,” she murmured, though her voice sounded stronger than I’d heard her speak before. Even if I didn’t like the words, I liked the small flicker of fight I sensed behind them. Like when I asked her to dance and she looked like she wanted to kick me in the balls. There was still some fight left in Blythe Pearl, and the least I was doing was assisting in coaxing it out. If even out of sheer annoyance.