8

“Bloody hell,” I muttered as the mouthwatering scent of Sunday Fallon filled my nose and overwhelmed me yet again.

Night after night she’d gone for a run, and night after night I’d kept to myself, stalked her from the shadows, made sure she didn’t see me. Avoiding her notice during the day hadn’t been as easy, but I’d managed. She didn’t need to have any reason to be in my orbit. Not if she wanted to keep breathing. Not with the way her blood called me home.

But tonight was different. Sunday wasn’t out for a midnight run. I’d watched and waited just like every evening. She hadn’t left her room. How had I missed this?

My heart lurched as I rounded the corner of the trail in the woods and found her in nothing but a thin nightgown, her body crumpled on the ground.

No.

Rage boiled inside me.