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“Love,” I whisper. “I think I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen.”

He doesn’t respond, but I didn’t think he would. A moment passes, then another, and all I can hear is my growing heart rate, the wind picking up outside, and the dark evil presence on the other end of this phone call.

“I want to see you,” I tell him. “I’m sick of just talking on the phone all the time.”

“That can’t happen right now,” he says calmly.

“Why?”

“I think you understand why.”

No. I don’t understand why. Not even in the slightest.

My hand whips to my mouth and, for a moment, I lose the ability to breathe. “I’ll do anything to see you.” My hand drifts to my abdomen, even though my fingers, no matter how much pressure I apply, simply aren’t cutting it anymore. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” I breathe.

A long pause, and I wonder if he’s still there. Then he says in a voice I recognize, but it’s darker, edgier, and sounds like my nightmares, “I’ll see you soon, pretty girl.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

LINCOLN

It’s Monday afternoon, and I’ve just finished my third appointment of the day and the only reason I’m still here is because I’m waiting for Summer to show up. Despite my avoidance strategies to keep her alive, my fingers slipped last night, and those two words flowed out of my fingers as if the thoughts were my own.

Pretty girl.

I’ve never thought of her as pretty girl—those are Mikael’s rudimentary, fragmented thoughts. Yet at that moment, I was the one who said it.

I wanted her to come see me in my office—this is where I’m in control. This office, this profession, the life I’ve built myself over the past few years while he was asleep, none of it belongs to him. Here, he’s muted, and it’s the only place I’m safe seeing her in person without the chance of him fronting and killing her.

I glance at my screen, hoping to find news of the anticipated return of Shadowface causing a frenzy.

There’s nothing.

Which means Summer is still sitting on the incriminating evidence I sent her. Not that it would make a difference, even if she reported it to the police, since the chief of police is one of them.

Even if she did run to them, they won’t take any action. He’s given his oath, killed his beloved, and he will cover up any evidence to protect me, but more importantly, he’ll protect the Order until death.

After a few minutes, as I’m preparing to leave, my heart races as Summer walks into the room, shutting the door behind her. Her lips are pursed, and her tight outfit leaves little to the imagination.

Mikael simmers in my blood, settling close to the surface at her arrival. The heat of him cools when I give him a stern warning not to overstep, especially not with my colleagues just outside and Dr. Garcia down the hall.

I should shut him out, but I’m becoming more comfortable with his presence in my head. I’m reluctant to admit it, but he’s making me more whole. The twinges of emotional bursts he gives me, some of which I’ve never truly experienced. Yet I still sense a foreign substance, as if some of those emotions belong to someone else—something more powerful and much more appealing.

I settle back into my chair and raise my eyes to meet hers, adjusting my glasses so I can get a good look at her. A wave of Mikael’s anger pushes into my peripheral vision. I keep my voice even and arch my brows, enjoying the electric current of emotions flowing through me.

My tongue slides across my lips. “Hi, pretty girl.” Not my words, not my voice. I’m not in control.

She gives me a sharp look, and my sight goes blurry, like my glasses are causing it. I take them off and she is a vision of perfection. For reasons I’ll never understand, I’m as blind as a bat, so when I’m wearing my glasses, I don’t think Mikael can actually see anything, his view is distorted. So when I can see without my glasses, I know that’s when I’m not in control.

Summer stands with her arms crossed and her bright red lips pursed.

My jaw ticks as dark thoughts ripple through me, and I have to admit the images of Summer sliced up are starting to turn me on.

That power pulses again. That growing fragment, I dare now call a split. One I haven’t yet killed, and I’m not sure I want to.