The second I reached the top, my heart went from zero to a thousand. Sleeping in a bed with Saint was like stumbling across a bear’s cave and deciding it was a good place to take a nap. I was not gonna come out of it unscathed. Especially as I’d messed with his room and he was about to see exactly what I’d-
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Every little change I’d made had been rectified. No doubt by his damn ghost maid. Gah.
“Brush your teeth, I’ll bring you your nightwear,” Saint commanded and a tremor rolled through me at his tone. I didn’t want to like his commands, but sometimes they had a sinful effect on me which was purely chemical. I couldn’t stop it even if I tried. It made the most depraved part of me sink to her knees and part her lips like a freaking whore who loved her job.
I headed to the bathroom, finding that my products had been tidied neatly into order beside Saint’s. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my toothbrush and squeezed a line of toothpaste onto the bristles. When I was done, I washed my face then caught my gaze in the mirror. I never thought I’d see a killer staring back at me from the glass. But there she was. Perfectly innocent looking and yet her soul was painted black.
A ragged breath snagged in my lungs as I remembered the weight of Merl’s body on top of me, the sharp pain in the back of my skull as he’d cracked my head against the ground. Panic bloomed in my chest and I shut my eyes as I tried to force the memories away. I’d barely let my mind stray to it all day. But now it was quiet and late at night and there was nowhere else for my mind to go but there-
A cool hand pressed against my back and I jumped, realising I was clutching onto the sink in an iron grip.
“Routine can calm the mind,” Saint’s voice cast a gentle breeze against my ear and I despised that it actually helped to draw me out of the dark pit I’d been sinking into.
He pulled me away from the sink and I opened my eyes, finding him before me with a blue silk nightdress in his grip. He was stripped down to a pair of black boxers that clung to his hips and drew my eyes down to the rigidly firm muscles of his abs. My gaze snagged on the tattoo that ran over his chest and I had to fight the instinct to reach out and trace the words with my fingertips, the days are long, but the nights are dark.
“Get changed,” he growled. “Then come to bed.” He placed the nightdress in my hand then left the room, swinging the door shut behind him.
I took a steadying breath and changed into it, the silk clinging to my figure and showing off my curves, my breasts partially exposed and my thighs kissed by lace. Asshole. Dressing me up in pretty shit that I annoyingly like.
I headed out of the room and found Saint turning back the covers and sliding into the right side of the bed. His gaze fell on me as I moved around to the other side of the bed, our eyes locked as I gripped the sheets, pulling them back as I moved beneath them.
The bed seemed far colder than when I’d slept in it alone and I stole a look at the man who was the reason for that, a chill seeming to emanate from his body permanently. He was like the Night King in Game of Thrones. I was surprised he didn’t get frostbite from his own heart.
He picked up a book from his nightstand – one I’d looked through myself during my time in quarantine. It was a book of the darkest poems I’d ever read by Edgar Allan Poe.
Saint started reading out loud and my heart ceased to beat as his velvet soft voice spun a web of hypnosis I couldn’t escape from. “From the same source I have not taken… My sorrow - I could not awaken…my heart to joy at the same tone…and all I loved, I loved alone.”
He glanced at me for comment, but my voice was locked deep down in a box in my chest.
“There’s beauty in pain. Poe knew that,” he said, his voice contemplative as he reached out and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, leaving a freezing trail against my flesh. “That’s why you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Tatum Rivers.”
I said nothing, my heart wounded by his words.
The clock ticked onto midnight and he placed the book on his nightstand as the lamp switched off automatically and he dropped down into the sheets. He closed his eyes, his arms resting rigidly either side of him and I stared at him at a loss.
I slid deeper beneath the covers, resting my head on the pillow and watching him in the soft light of the moon that filtered in through the stained glass window above his bed, casting us in tones of deepest green.
I was unable to pull my eyes away as I traced every detail of my vicious captor, my cruel saviour, my lonely beast.
“Goodnight, Saint,” I whispered, but he didn’t reply. His routine was iron. But so was my will. And I was going to find a way to destroy him if it was the last thing I did.
I stood before the students in the assembly hall on Monday morning, casually reminding them about after school activities and telling them not to try and leave campus. It was as if we hadn’t just survived an insurgence from the outside world and weren’t currently holing up within this school like a
