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Which makes me wish Glenda was here. Where’d she go? Why’d she take off so fast? I miss her chatter and the way she slips in words like groovy.
Shaking off my thoughts, I move from room to room inside the manor, doing a preliminary sweep of the interior features, taking snapshots of the windows, the crown molding, the door frames. None of which match, coordinate, or suggest any continuity in the design. By the time I reach the top of the third flight of stairs, I still have no better idea who built this house or when.
Worse, I’m so distracted that not even architecture, history, or the weird lack of ghosts can keep my attention. I could swear Wren held me all night. Not just in a dream, but on the thin mattress of the camper van.
He’d seemed so real.
I appreciate whatever miracle he worked on me. My headaches usually last for days if I don’t medicate quickly enough. This morning, last night’s migraine had disappeared other than a dull ache.
He knows details about my headaches, my traumatic brain injury, my entire life that no one else would guess. We’ve shared more than physical intimacy during the thousands of nights we’ve spent together. He gets me. From my weaknesses to my fears to my obsession with macabre architectural details, he’ll listen. More importantly, he knows when I need silence.
He’s the perfect guy, even if he’s not human. Maybebecausehe’s not human. My past relationships fizzled more than they ever sizzled. But Wren…he’s everything I could want in a man, reaper, whatever.
Which is crazy considering I’ve never seen him outside of dreams and…well, dying. When I teetered between life and death? The first time I saw that purple skull mask he magics up sometimes to wear beneath his hood and he said,Not yet, my beauty,in his gravelly voice? I should’ve been scared out of my mind, not turned on and wishing he’d wrap me up in his shadows and darkness.
Now, I live for the nights when he comes to me in sleep, teasing me until I’m begging my Shadow Daddy not to stop. He surrounds me in shadow, yet my body knows the weight of him, the heaviness of muscles I can press against but can’t see.
The memory of all those times he has touched me, the sweet, kinda stalkery words he has whispered, the way he makes me feel like a queen—it sends heat to my belly and has my panties going damp.
A strange scratching from nearby interrupts my daydreams before they can become truly depraved.
Snick, snick, snick.
Is that the wind?
Or could it be a ghost?
God, I hope so.
My breath catches in my throat, excitement and curiosity winning out over any fear. I hurry into the closest room. “Hello?”
There’s no one there.
Light barely shines through the grimy windows. Turning my camera’s flashlight on at its lowest setting so as not to irritatea possible ghost source by blinding them, I double check the corners and shadows. A broken bed frame stands against a wall, exposed electrical wires run along another, and dust covers everything, its particles glittering in the lone beam.
“Anyone there?” I ask, hoping for an answer. What kind of historic home doesn’t have a single ghost?
A whine comes from behind the bed frame. I circle closer, my heart thrumming too loud.
I can do this.
I’ve been brave my entire life.
I’m in love with a reaper, for goodness sake. Though I haven’t confessed that truth to anyone. I take a steadying breath and swing the light to shine in the crack where the bed frame meets the wall.
Two bright eyes reflect back at me from ankle high.
Not a ghost. A stray.
“Oh, hello. Come on out,” I coax. “I won’t hurt you.”
The tiniest dog I’ve ever seen crawls forward. His fluffy black fur stands up in odd places, and his tongue pokes out. He hesitates, stopping a few feet from me. I step back so I don’t tower over him too much and sit cross legged on the ground, careful to avoidexposed nails or broken boards.He scuttles over to sniff at me, then wags his tail.
“Aren’t you the cutest?” I let him smell the back of my hand, giving him space and keeping my movements slow. “How’d you end up here? Huh?”
He whimpers and nudges my fingers, demanding a pet.
“You got a name, big guy? Can I call you Sparky?”
