“Is that really a question?”
“No,” he concedes. “I need you to stay with Eli tonight.”
“Because of that man named Grayson?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “Because of Grayson.”
I draw in a breath and face forward. I’m being hunted by a monster. I know this. I know this for a fact. And yet, monsters don’t exist. They’re fiction, like my books. I have a flash of the beast that towered over me and Jacob, of its red eyes and claws, and I’m sick to my stomach.
Monsters exist.
And there is no question Grayson is a monster.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Eli
Grayson is hunting Ivy.
And now, I’m hunting Grayson.
He will die. She will not, ever. Not if I have a say in the matter.
I’m forced to stay with the police and ensure, by whatever means necessary, that everyone believes Jacob’s attack to be a bear attack. There are so many other places I’d prefer to be right now. Killing Grayson ranks almost as high as being with Ivy. Because killing Grayson represents Ivy’s safety. Once I know Ivy is on her way to my place with Cam by her side, guarding her with his life, as I know he will, I step away from the heat of the investigation. That means down an alleyway, behind a dumpster. Not the nicest smelling location, but it’s private. And then I do what humans do to communicate. I pull out my phone and I dial Marcus. He doesn’t answer. I leave a message that I know will get his attention. “Elijah came to see me today. He says Grayson killed Ivy over a card game and hates me enough to keep killing her every time she lives. Yes, I’m aware that he could be playing me, trying to start a civil war. But know this, Marcus, I don’t care. If he’s in this city, I’ll assume he’s here for her, and I’m going to kill him.” I hang up.
I’ve walked all of three blocks when Marcus appears. “Elijah says?” he asks, arching a brow.
“That’s more than you’ve said.”
“I’ve said too much,” he replies. “And know this,” he adds, repeating my phrase from the message, “it doesn’t matter whether Grayson is killed or not, Elijah will use his murder to justify his thirst for war.”
“And you expect me to let him live to spare a war?”
“No,” he says. “Hell no. Kill that prick.”
My brows dip. “Then why are you telling me this?”
“If you choose to turn Ivy, you need to know what you’re bringing her into.”
“If what Elijah said is true, she’s already in this.”
“But she doesn’t have to be. You know that.”
“Are you telling me I shouldn’t turn her?”
“I don’t pretend to make your decisions for you,” he says. “Never have. Never will.”
He’s right, of course. The night he saved me and Cam from the vampire attack, he stood above me as I cradled Ivy’s body, and offered me a choice. Die or fight. I chose to fight.
“Just remember this,” Marcus adds, “every action has a reaction. Every choice has a consequence. Her choice has a consequence, as does yours.”
He says nothing else.
The asshole disappears.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ivy
The elevator dings to announce my floor and shortly after, Cam and I are at my door. I enter my room, and proper as he can be, Cam stays in the hallway. I grab a few items and quickly wash the blood off my face. Once I have everything I need for a shower and change, I’m eager to get somewhere safe. Eli’s place feels like it will be that place, though in reality, he’s a stranger and so is Cam. I just know my gut says to stay with them.
I join Cam in the hallway and it’s not long before we’re on the residential floor and then at the door of a penthouse suite.
Cam keys in a code beside the door and we enter what is a beautiful home with hardwood floors, a fireplace built into the center of one wall, a stylish masculine chef’s kitchen with a gray and brown theme, and low ceilings and inset lighting. Of course, there are windows with views of the city. And yet, it still manages to feel like a hotel room, a bit cold, a lot sterile. There is nothing that attaches this room to one person over another.
“He likes wine,” Cam says. “You’ll find plenty at the bar and there’s always chocolate. Look and you shall find.”
I turn to face him. “You’re leaving?”
“No,” he says. “I’m staying, but I thought you might want to look around.”
“That feels very invasive of me,” I comment.
“He won’t mind,” he assures me, walking to the kitchen where he opens the fridge door and pulls out a bottle of beer. He twists off the lid and guzzles. “His room is upstairs. Get that blood off. You’ll feel better.”
He slugs back a drink while I process what he’s told me.
Eli drinks wine and eats chocolate. He had dinner with me and ate more than I ate. Eli is not a monster. Cam is not a monster. Monsters wouldn’t drink beer and wine. Would they? I walk to the window, the night lights twinkling, dancing a tune as if music led their way. “In the deep of the night, monsters roam.” It’s a quote from one of my books and that world comes to me oh so easily, as if I lived it, as if I understand it.
The air shifts and I can feel Cam in the living area behind me. I turn to face him. “He thinks I’m his wife, doesn’t he?”
“What’s between you and Eli is between you and Eli.”
“That was a werewolf that attacked Jacob, correct? I mean, I’m not crazy, right?”
“You’re not crazy,” he replies. “You are most likely in shock even if you don’t realize it.”
“So I’m talking crazy because I’m in shock?” I ask, and a part of me wants him to say yes, that is why you’re talking about werewolves.
“I didn’t say you were talking crazy.”
“Then there was a werewolf out there tonight?”
“Go shower,” he urges.
I want the shower, but I need answers. “He’s familiar,” I dare to admit. “But so are you.”
There is a shot of emotion that flashes through his eyes before he cuts his stare and then looks at me again, this time without those emotions. “Am I?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “You’re familiar. Have we met before?”
“That’s a trick question and any answer I give you will be a trick answer.” He winks and tips back his beer before setting it on the coffee table, but not before he sets a coaster down. Either he’s a polite monster or he’s not a monster at all. “I’m going to go downstairs and get some food,” he says. “You hungry?”
“No. I’m not hungry. Eli took me to dinner tonight.”
He studies me a thoughtful moment and then asks, “Then why were you with Jacob?”
There’s an accusation in the question, as if I’ve betrayed Eli, betrayed my husband, which is silly. Eli is not my husband. And yet, I want to explain myself. “Eli had to leave and I went to get ice cream. I ran into Jacob while I was there. He offered to walk me home and I accepted after I told him that I wasn’t interested in a relationship beyond friends. I told him Eli and I were, are—” I hesitate, suddenly unsure of what we are.