Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (71)
Gathering my strength, I leveled my breathing and stopped several yards in front of him. “When are you going to stop following me?” The fog swirled around my ankles with disconcerting precision.
He took a step forward, face revealing nothing but black and white skull pain. “When are you going to stop running?” There was the deep and graveled voice I’d expected.
I gasped as the blue mist snaked up my body, skimming my thighs and swirling around my throat. It was only air, but somehow I could feel it. The denier inside me, the avoidant, dissociative bunny, wanted to say it was all a trick . . . but I knew better. “I’m not running.”
The corner of his mouth lifted as he took another step. I inched back, bumping into a mossy gravestone. My breath hitched as he reached out a painted hand. His knuckle met my cheek, softly grazing my jaw. “You will be, Little Ghost.”
“You’re the Ghost. The leader of The Halloween Boys.”
“What else?” he asked, letting his gaze wander down my neck, to the cleavage above my dress’s neckline.
I felt a rush of blood to my core as I answered, “A killer.”
“More,” he coaxed, stepping closer, his body only inches from mine. “You know there’s more to me, don’t you?”
I couldn’t hide the heaving of my chest from anticipation, longing, and a bite of fear What if this had been an elaborate game for him? What if I really was a fly lured into a trap? “You’re some sort of monster. Are you a vampire?”
A dark chuckle escaped his throat as the soft graze of his hand skimmed my neck. “Unfortunately, you didn’t get so lucky. I’m something much worse. But I like this game . . . .” His touch dropped to the top of my exposed breasts.
“Tell me, Ames,” I breathed, feeling my knees weaken.
His mouth curved again as hunger lurked behind his blue stare. He leaned forward, breath hot on my ear, and whispered, “You’re standing on me.”
Confusion muddled in my mind as I looked down at the dead grass. And then I realized. Turning around, I looked closer at the dark gray and crumbling headstone. My mouth went dry as I read the inscription. “James William Cove, born November twelfth, seventeen ninety-four . . . died October thirty-first eighteen twenty-three. How?” I managed, feeling his presence against my back. I turned, searching his deep eyes.
“Who I was died with the rest of the town that day. But who I am now . . . I’m the stuff of nightmares, Blythe. The reason they say not to go into the woods alone, why people are afraid of the dark . . .” Blue fog suddenly turned black as night as it wrapped around my thighs and curved up my waist. I gasped, this time feeling its give, like an arm.
“Demon,” I murmured, feeling my voice leave me.
He took another step forward, letting me feel his heat but also putting the choice in my lap of how close I wanted to get. “Even that would be better in this case. No, Blythe, I’m an Archdemon. The worst of the worst and more powerful than any god you’ve ever heard of in your religions.”
“How? I’m standing on your grave. You had fourteen brothers and sisters on a farm, plowing with horses and sickles?” The black weaved through my hair now, as the Archdemon angled his head.
“My friends and I pissed off the Devil, and it cost us our souls. But the stories about him are true. Even his curse came with stipulations . . . appetites and oaths.”
“Did you really slaughter the whole town?”
His jaw tensed as the black took hold of my wrists. I felt it then, its strength, his strength. The force could have shattered my bones in an instant. But instead, it pulled me back against his gravestone. I gasped and pulled against it, but it was useless. I wasn’t getting out unless he let me. His lip twitched. “Your fear is so sweet. I can’t think with you scared like this.” He took another step, this time pushing himself flush to me. I could feel the bulge in his jeans press into my stomach. My core heated with wetness for him. I didn’t know what it said about me that I was pinned to a dead man’s grave and getting wet for a Archdemon, but I couldn’t resist his pull, even without the ropes of dark. “What if I did? Would you still chase after me, Little Fox?”
“I like Little Ghost better, and yes, I would.” The words tumbled out effortlessly.
His gruff chuckle trilled through my bones, and the tension on my wrists relaxed, though they remained like translucent chains. “You’re more depraved than I gave you credit for.” His lips hovered over mine. “I like it.”
I couldn’t help myself then, and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he leaned forward. I pressed my forehead to his.
“You’ll never have to chase me.” His deep timbre shook through me. “I will haunt you for the rest of your days and then some, Little Ghost.”
“Kiss me,” I answered.
His lips crashed into mine without a moment’s hesitation. A small moan escaped my throat as his lips parted mine and his tongue slipped in. When it found mine, I gasped at the taste. It was like amber honeycomb. I wanted to ask if that was normal for an Archdemon, but then his hands were hitching my thighs around him. With easy effort, he picked me up and placed me on the top of his headstone. I pulled at the collar of his jacket, needing him closer, wrapping my legs around his hips. He growled in my ear before his lips found mine again, taking in my kiss hungrily.