Wicked Kiss

I pushed his hand away from me. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Wrong. I know enough. I know in the three kisses we shared that you weren’t only kissing me because you had to. You liked it, too.”

My cheeks heated. “You’re dreaming.”

“And now you can kiss Bishop again without being in danger of sucking both his soul and his life out of him. Right?”

This was ridiculous. I was giving him way too much time to try to manipulate me. “Get to your point, Kraven. I know you have one. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Only if you’re delusional.”

His smile grew and his eyes went back to their usual amber shade. “Sweetness, you can deny it all you want, but you do feel something for me. I know it.”

“You’re right, James.” I said his real name to see if it would get a reaction. It did. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t correct me this time. I slid my hands slowly up his chest and he froze, his brows drawing together. I placed my hands on either side of his face. “I do feel something for you.”

His lips curved to the side. “I knew it.”

I studied his handsome face, that glimmer of victory already in his eyes that I was about to admit to something that would cause Bishop pain. “I feel pity for you.”

That cockiness vanished in a heartbeat and he stepped back from me so fast it was as if I’d been set on fire.

“Save the pity for someone else,” he said, his voice now cold. “Besides, you can lie to yourself if you want to, but I know the truth. I see it in your eyes.”

“Yeah, right. You are delusional. Rinse and repeat. All you want to do with me is make Bishop jealous. I read your mind, remember? I saw that darkness in there. That vengeance you’re jonesing for. But it’s not going to happen.”

“Whatever you say, sweetness.” He looked away, toward my window, as if shielding his expression from me long enough to gather his smart-ass mask back up. “My brother gave you a gift—that little dagger of yours. Nice and shiny. I have something shiny to give you, too. That’s why I came here tonight.”

I didn’t ask what it was. I just stood there waiting, my fists clenched at my sides.

“A name,” he said quietly, that glint of mischievousness returning to his face. “Adam Drake. And a year. 1878.”

My heart started to pound harder. “Who is that?”

“Use that little computer of yours.” He nodded at the laptop on my bedside table. “Do a little digging. You might find some interesting details.”

I turned away from him, my head swimming. When I looked back again, Kraven was gone.

Immediately, after closing the window, I went to my laptop. I almost decided to forget the whole thing and put what he’d said out of my mind forever. But then, with shaking hands, and a slight hesitation, I went ahead and searched the name and date—Adam Drake 1878.

It got a couple direct hits. And a picture.

Adam Drake...was Bishop.

It was Bishop’s real name, the name he wouldn’t tell me no matter how many times I’d asked.

My hands trembled as I clicked through to an obscure web article and I read it quickly, my stomach tying itself into knots.

Adam Drake was eighteen years old when he was hanged in New York in 1878. He was in a group of grave robbers and body snatchers who worked for Kara Drake. His mother.

Kara was his mother. Kraven’s mother, too.

Adam had killed his brother, James, nineteen years of age.

And he’d also killed twenty-five other people. With a dagger.

James had been his first victim.

These pieces of Bishop’s puzzle clicked into place and left me stunned and sickened as I stared at the grainy black-and-white photo.

Bishop had been a serial killer.

And I’d just freely given him both my heart and soul.

Chapter 31

Despite everything I’d experienced, everything I’d learned, and how long it took me to finally fall asleep...I slept. Hard. And I had no dreams to disturb me, good ones or bad ones.

When I woke, I glanced at my alarm clock to see I hadn’t even slept in. It was seven o’clock.

Seven o’clock in the morning on the day after my death.

I got out of bed and glanced at my reflection in the mirror, surprised in a way to see that nothing about my appearance had changed. I looked exactly the same as I had yesterday, or the week before, or the month before any of this had happened.

My mother had left a voice mail for me. She said her Hawaiian vacation, as awesome as it had been, was nearly over. She’d be home the day after tomorrow, Saturday, and she couldn’t wait to see me.

In a daze, I showered and got dressed just as I would on any other Thursday morning. I had toast and peanut butter for breakfast.

Something was off, though. I stood there in the kitchen for a moment, my hand pressed against my stomach.

“Oh, no. No, it can’t be,” I whispered.

I was still hungry—but it wasn’t for food.

It had to be my imagination. I wasn’t a gray anymore. I wasn’t. But there was only one way to find out for sure.

I went to school and found him in the halls exactly where I expected him to be.

Colin glanced at me as I tentatively approached. “Hey, Sam. Not ditching today? Where have you been all week?”

“Around.” Kidnapped, held captive, trying  to stop an angel from going postal at a Halloween party. “Look, I—I’m sorry about what happened on Monday.”