I’m not in that grave. I’m not anywhere near it. There’s no black shadow after my life.
It’s…over.
The sense of relief hits me like a soothing wave and I fight the urge to close my eyes and sink into the feel of Jonathan’s touch.
It’s comforting and gentle, and I know for a fact that tenderness isn’t his thing at all, so I should soak in this moment as much as I can.
As I relax into the familiar mattress of my bed, I take in the rest of my room — the soft curtains and the large lamp on the side table. I try not to think much about the fact that he brought me to my room, not his. After all, he needs a punishment to let me step in there.
“Are you okay?” he asks in that no-nonsense tone of his. It takes everything in me not to scoff. Only Jonathan would ask if you’re okay while being authoritative.
Still not finding my voice, I nod.
“You don’t look okay.” The stroking stops, and I groan before I can catch myself.
Jonathan is sitting on my bed, his large body looming over my small one, both like a comfort and a threat. The mixed signals give me whiplash, but I don’t get to think about it as he retrieves a small first aid kit from the bedside table.
He touches his finger to my mouth and I wince as his skin connects with my cut. “I covered the scrapes on your knee and palms. I was going to apply ointment on your lip when you woke up.”
Sure enough, my palms have small bandages on them. Since the covers are pulled up to my neck, I take a peek under them. The first thing I notice, along with the bandage on my knee, is that I’m dressed in a nightgown.
“Did you…did you dress me?” My voice is a bit hoarse, a bit weak, but it’s nothing I wouldn’t have expected.
“Who else would have?” His expression is unchangeable as he applies the ointment on a cotton bud. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before.”
I clamp my lips shut before I start arguing that I was unconscious, and I hate that I wasn’t awake to watch how he stripped me.
Damn it. There’s definitely something wrong with me.
Jonathan glides the ointment on my cut lip and I grimace at the sting of pain. Yet I stay completely still, afraid that any unwanted movement would ruin this moment.
Seeing Jonathan’s gentle side always strikes me deep. It’s like witnessing a passing unicorn and I need to soak it in. Maybe next time, I can film it and watch it secretly or something.
After he’s done, he traces his fingertips beneath the cut, so he’s almost touching my lips, but not really. I suck in a breath as goosebumps start a war on my skin, beneath the covers and under my clothes.
He retracts his hand faster than I want and organises the ointment and cotton back into the first aid kit. The sensation is weird. Not being touched by him, I mean.
Not that I’ve ever gotten used to being touched, but since he barged into my world, I’ve started to take it as a given. It feels weird that he’s beside me, his woodsy, spicy masculine scent enveloping me, but he’s not touching me.
I want to grab his hand and place it on my face again, or go back to sleep with that same hand around my waist.
However, there’s something at the back of my head that stops me. No idea what — it seems as if I’m missing something.
But what?
“Now.” He lifts his head, his merciless gaze zeroing in on me and holding me like a vice. “Tell me why the fuck you returned to Leeds.”
My lips tremble as the memories strike me in the hollow place of my heart.
The interview. Sarah’s attack. Alicia’s message…
My eyes widen as I stare at Jonathan with what I’m sure appears to be a horrified expression.
Jonathan has been poisoning me, Claire.
I jump up to a sitting position, and my shoulders hit the headboard as I draw my knees up and pull the sheet to my neck. I’m about ready to do anything to put some distance between me and him.
Oh, God.
That’s why I left. That’s why I shouldn’t have been found. Even the attack pales in comparison to the man sitting on my bed. The man whom I willingly gave my body to and was in the process of giving more than that. I fucking bargained for inserting myself into his armour.
At least the attack was straightforward. The black shadow was someone who felt wronged by my father and took it out on me.
This, though?
This man was giving me safety signals, and no matter how fucked up and wrong it felt, I started to believe in Jonathan King. I even started to believe that I could somehow unlock his emotional vault.
How naïve could I have been?
He killed my sister.
The realisation hits me like a thunderstorm, like that day I fell to my knees in the middle of the road, struggling to breathe through my tears.
But this time, I don’t bother to look up and ask for all of this to end. It won’t.
This is the reality I have to face. The fact that the man I’ve been giving myself to every day is my sister’s killer.
What’s stopping him from killing you, too?
A shudder snaps my shoulders together, and perspiration covers my skin, causing the nightgown to glue to my flesh.
“What is wrong with you?” Jonathan’s brow creases. His beautiful face twisting in disapproval. That face is the devil’s. Just like Dad’s.
“N-nothing.” If he knows what’s going on in my head, he’ll finish me off sooner rather than later. I need to be as smart about my survival as I always have.
“It doesn’t look like nothing, Aurora.”
“It is.”
He grips me by the ankle and I yelp when I fall, my back meeting the soft mattress. I’m splayed in front of his savage eyes as he plants a hand at the side of my face and speaks in a low, chilling tone, “Better opponents have tried to fool me, and it’s always failed. So how about you tell me why the fuck you scooted away from me just now?”
The need to fight him pulses into me like second nature. The survival instinct that’s been my modus operandi since I was sixteen claws its way to the surface. However, I don’t act on it for two simple reasons. One: Jonathan will easily overpower me. Two: I’m injured and fighting would be the dumbest move.
Smart. I have to be smart.
“I…I just need to rest.”
“Try again, wild one.” He sounds clipped and fierce. He knows I’m lying to him, and honestly, I have no clue how to fool someone like Jonathan or if it’s possible to do so.
All I know is that I need him the fuck away. I will not end up like Alicia. I will not let him suck the life out of me, then eventually kill me.
I escaped one of the most notorious serial killers, and I can escape him, too.
Smoothing my tone, I say, “I really just want to sleep. I’m exhausted.”
His knuckles touch my forehead and I suck in a breath through my teeth and release it through my nose.
To my dismay, it’s not because of fear. Far from it. My body hasn’t gotten the memo that Jonathan is a real danger to my life and I need to stay the fuck away from him. My stupid skin is still tingling like it does every time he touches me. I’m still getting caught in his orbit as if it’s the only place to be.
A line slowly forms between his brows. Whether it’s because of worry or that he doesn’t approve of my expression, I don’t know. It could be both.