Page 124 of Gravehouse

Emeric sits beside her, burn scars pulling his skin tight, the flesh around one eye folded in on itself.

“Didn’t realize you were coming by.” I glance between him and Nonna.

His eyes drop to the paper in my hand, and he lifts a hand for it. “What’s that?”

“Oh.” I hand it over with a shrug and pull out a chair. “I went into the chapel and the priest gave it to me. Looks like there’s a killer out there.”

Nonna’s eyes cut to Emeric, his slide back to her. Everyone files in behind me, and Emeric gives each of them a moment of his attention.

“I feared this was coming, which is why I hoped you’d all be gone before it did.”

What? What does he mean? I go to ask him just that when Leon’s hand lands on my shoulder and I relax into his touch. Our bodies know each other better than either of us would ever admit.

Leon leans in, his fingers squeezing. “What is it?”

Emeric pushes the page across the table. “This.”

I look down at the outline again, as if it’s going to show anything different. Kind of lazy to draw a damn outline and then tell people to fear him. We don’t even know who we’re looking out for.

“I am Le Boucher Sans Loi.” Emeric lays his hand flat on the table. “My persona has been discovered, so I will be going under for the foreseeable future.”

“You?” My shoulders go still. “But...”

He gives a small shake of his head, and Leon’s grip tightens.

“No questions.” Emeric’s voice booms “This should come as no surprise to any of you. You know who I am, how I trained you, and what I’m capable of. You know what happens if I am exposed. Stay vigilant.”

How? I mean, I know he’s dangerous, but—my world drops out from beneath me because of fucking course it’s him. You don’t save broken kids from the dark without being brave enough to enter it. How is this any different…

My eyes snap open and for a second I’m still in the chapel, walking through the door to my home with Emeric’s hand flat on the table as he gestures for the poster.

Sweat slicks my neck and chest, pooling in the dip of my collarbone.

My heart slams against my ribs, making the wound at my side scream at me to move or fight. The damp sheets tangle around my legs, trapping me in the heat of the nightmare, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

In. Out.

Asher’s arm lies heavy across my waist, solid and warm, his fingers curled loosely against my skin while he sleeps. I press my palm over his knuckles and hold it there, counting the seconds between each thud until the gap stretches wide enough for air.

That was the first time we all truly knew to fear Emeric, and being able to fly under the radar for so long further gained our respect.

Every time I blink, that outline sears itself into my brain all over again, fresh as the moment I saw it. The angle of his jaw looked almost exactly how I’d always pictured Emeric’s before the burns.

I slip out from beneath the sheets without disturbing Asher, dragging my fingers through my hair. Le Boucher had no patience. He stayed controlled, sure, but waiting? Never. He proved that during our training when he shoved us toward our first US targets the second we arrived.

Why are you thinking of this at?—

I snatch my phone off the bedside table.

Three-thirty-three a.m.

Shit.

I need air.

I tiptoe out of the room, pull on a nightgown, and knot the belt tight as that weekend plays through my head again. Why isn’t he attacking? He saw us together. Saw my drunken mess and Asher’s annoyingly impressive aim. Yet he’s still hiding. By now, he should’ve come in guns blazing and taken us all out.

Slipping out the patio door, I shiver as the cold slips beneath my nightgown.