Page 154 of Coveted

It’s Chuck Fairchild’s body.

I drag myself away in terror, but even then it’s like I can still feel his pallid flesh.

Shaking all over, I lift my gaze to the killer who’s been tormenting me since I came to Darkbloom.

Professor Patrick Worthington, respected academic and writer.

“It’s you,” I rasp. “You’re insane.”

Insanity seems like the most logical explanation. Why else would he kill Hannah, Parker, and the world’s friendliest student advisor?

Is this fun for him? A sick hobby?

The shock leaves me reeling as much as the physical pain. Professor Worthington is my teacher. I liked him, I trusted him, I cared about his opinion.

Crawling further away from Chuck’s body, I grasp the chipped leg of a chair for balance. My stomach still hurts too much to stand up.

“Would it reassure you to believe I’m insane?” Worthington tuts. “I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark on my motivations, Sadie. Dig deeper.”

He folds his arms and glares down at me like he really expects an answer.

I’m horrified and amazed by the change in his demeanor. His very aura is different. The man before me has empty eyes, square shoulders, and moves with chilling purpose.

Professor Worthington was wearing a costume all along. I just realized too late. No longer adopting the timid slouch of a stuffy professor, he seems to have physically grown.

He prowls around the office, flicking on lamps, as if he wants an excellent view of whatever he’s about to do to me.

My head thumping, I take in the rest of the room. Faded posters on the wall, battered leather furniture, and a table holding two half-empty teacups and numerous egg cartons. In the back, there’s a low, unmade bed.

I see nothing within reach I could use as a weapon, which is probably intentional on his part. After all, he already murdered one person in here today. He must’ve taken Chuck Fairchild by surprise too.

White foam drips from Chuck’s mouth and a deep gash marks his forehead.

Worthington steps toward me, making me scramble to the side. His foot slams down on my ankle, and a searing pain shoots up my leg.

Crying out, I tug my ankle from under his shoe. Though he lets me, his face lights up with cruel humor.

“With your wings, you’re like a broken bird.” His English accent is stronger now, with a distinct mocking edge. “I’ve had such fun playing with you.”

As long as we’re talking, Worthington’s not killing me, so I resolve to keep the conversation going until I can make a move.

“You were in the forest,” I say, fighting nausea. “You killed Parker. And Hannah.”

He tilts his head. “She got cold feet. She wanted to confide in someone about our dalliance. I couldn’t lose everything because of her, could I? Her father would’ve seen me ruined. My wife would’ve never forgiven me.”

Revulsion ripples through me. “You were sleeping with her?”

“We were lovers,” he says emphatically.

“You took advantage of her.”

“She took advantage of me. Of my lust.” His nostrils expand with outrage, as if he truly believes what he says. “She was a speedy little nymph, I can tell you.”

Parker’s final, anguished words in the forest echo in my head. “Her brother was on to you though. He was going to expose you.”

My strength returns in fractions, my breathing evening out.

“Yes.” He waves a hand. “Collateral damage.”