Page 125 of Bleed

My anger surges all over again.

“Oh, now you–”

He steps forward, and the remaining words die on my lips when moonlight illuminates the sharp lines of his profile.

Dark hair, a square jaw, and an all too familiar mouth.

My heart thuds violently, because it isn’t Vincent coming toward me.

It’s Elliott.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

“You?” The word leaves me in a breath of disbelief, and for a second, all I can do is stare.

Elliott looms several yards away, dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie, his hulking figure half swallowed by shadows beneath the trees. A faint glint of moonlight catches on the lenses of his glasses as he stares back at me from behind them, his expression unreadable– except I know him well enough now to recognize the tension beneath that blank mask he wears. The rigid set of his shoulders; the muscle ticking along his jaw. He lifts both hands slowly, showing me his palms as he takes another tentative step forward.

“Beatrix, let me explain.”

My arms fold across my chest defensively. “Explain what?” I spit.

He stops, his brows slamming down.

“That you almost drained me dry, then dumped me here and disappeared?” I scoff, my voice rising with every word as all the anger I’ve spent the last three days stewing in finally finds its target. “Or that you’ve apparently been lurking outside James’ house instead of coming inside to see if I’m fucking alive?”

His lips part, but I don’t give him a chance to answer.

Because something has started scratching at the back of my brain. The figure outside my apartment, the one across from the bar. And before that, outside Henry’s townhouse. My stomach swoops violently as I stare at Elliott, a chilling realization dawning.

“It was you,” I breathe, blinking at him. My pulse thunders in my ears, goosebumps pebbling along my skin as I point an accusatory finger in his direction. “It was you stalking me this whole time, wasn’t it?”

Something flickers across his face. Guilt. Then his throat bobs with a hard swallow as he averts his eyes, dipping his chin in a subtle nod.

A disbelieving laugh bursts out of me. “Seriously?”

“Beatrix…”

“Seriously?” I throw my head back, scrubbing both hands over my face before lowering it to stare at him again. “What the fuck, Eli?”

He takes another step toward me, and I immediately retreat, throwing up my hands. “Don’t.”

“Just listen to me,” he coaxes.

I flip him the bird, a bitter laugh slipping from my throat. “Fuck off.”

He doesn’t, though. He keeps coming.

I take a step backwards, then another, my heel catching on a root and making my balance falter. Elliott’s there instantly, his thick arm banding around my waist to catch me before I fall.

I grunt in frustration, shoving against him. “Let me go, asshole.”

“Beatrix.”

“Let me go!”

My fists beat against the solid wall of his chest, but his arm stays locked tightly around my waist, holding me firm against him.