Page 82 of The Dearly Departed

She’d been listening. Waiting.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I shook my head and replied, "You don't want to be friends with me."

"Why?”

I nearly laughed at the innocence in her voice as I said, “I’m not a good man, Analise.”

“Because you’re a murderer? That’s why you think you’re not good?”

The way she said those words with her pouty lips was nearly condescending, and I swallowed and clenched my fists, digging them deeper against my sides.

"Not sure if you’ve put it together yet, Doctor, but I'm surrounded by murderers. I live with them," she went on, moving her feet slowly, approaching. "That doesn't scare me."

"Oh, no?" I tipped my head to the side, eyeing her with curiosity.

She shook her head with nonchalance. "Nope."

"Then tell me, what does scare you?"

She stopped within a few feet of me and wrapped her arms around the middle of her black robe as she looked off into the darkness surrounding this land. "Probably, um …” She shrugged a single shoulder as she said, “Probably the dark, honestly."

"You're afraid of the dark," I repeated, enunciating the words as if to better understand them.

It seemed childish, coming from a grown-up woman who carried herself with such elegance and poise.

But her head bobbed with a nod as her throat moved with a deep swallow before she whispered, "Yeah," her dark eyes glossing over with a faraway look.

I wondered what she was thinking about, where she went when her stare became blank and her lips parted softly and her brows tipped with worry. And if I wasn’t so hell-bent on keeping her at a great distance, maybe I would ask. I wanted to ask. I wanted to know everything about her.

I can’t.

Analise lifted her chin, collecting herself, and looked back at me as she asked, "What about you?"

A smile curved my lips as I realized that maybe—maybe—she wanted to know everything about me too. And that made this game all the more dangerous, didn’t it? Us, toeing the line between what we should and shouldn’t do, testing the limitations on the forbidden binds that held us back from this thing that felt so natural.

"Me?" I answered.

"Yeah, you,” she replied with a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she nudged her chin in my direction. “What are you scared of?"

I shook my head, looking away to stare off into that same spot of darkness she'd claimed just moments before.

What am I scared of?

Funny, I'd never thought about it much before. Never had the time in childhood, never had a reason when my life had been nothing short of a living nightmare. And as an adult, it'd felt silly to focus on trivial things like made-up bogeymen when I knew the worst evil lurked among us in everyday reality.

"Come on. There has to be something the big, bad man is scared of," she coaxed teasingly.

Then she took another step and moved onto the driveway. She was getting nearer, closing in, and there was no space for me to take a step back.

What am I scared of?

The question was even more loaded now as the wind blew and the subtle scent of sweet florals wafted through the air holes, penetrating the mask. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs and wishing I could rip this damn thing off and be done with secrecy. I would grab her in my arms, and I'd hold on so tight that she'd know there was no getting away even if she tried. I would kiss her, again and again and again and again, and I wouldn't stop until I was certain the flavor of her lips and tongue was carved so deeply into my brain that not even a thousand-year sentence in Hell could make me forget.

I would take her breath away, and I would give her mine.

I would carry the memory of her touch, her taste, her scent all the way to the underworld, and I would replay them on a loop to keep me company through an eternity of torment. To remember that I’d once held something good within my shackled arms.

But right now, I knew the risks outweighed the reward, and the safety of my brothers was more important than a few minutes of personal pleasure. I'd never forgive myself for getting caught, for getting them hurt—or worse—and it was in that moment that I realized I'd always had the answer to that simple question.