Page 11 of Depraved

I scrub a hand over my face as exhaustion settles over me. I’ve been through too much in the last twenty-four hours.

“I need to sleep.”

“Anything you need.”

Even that declaration is so intense it’s disconcerting.

And so terribly tempting that I have to force myself not to wrap my arms around him and cling on tight.

No one has taken care of me in years. Not since my parents died.

For so long, I’ve been standing resolutely on my own. The promise of his unwavering support makes it so difficult to maintain the small distance between us.

“I’m a phone call away if you need me,” he reassures me. “Tell me you’ll contact me if you’re in trouble.”

“I’m not in any danger anymore.”

“I’m not leaving without a promise. Let me keep you safe, at least.”

I blow out a sigh. “I promise.”

It’s not an empty vow. I know I can rely on him to handle any possible threat.

If I call, Rand will come running.

Just like he did the first time I called him to tell him about the messages from my stalker.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nod numbly. My vision is blurring at the edges as exhaustion saps my body and mind.

He takes one final moment to study my features, memorizing me as though it might be the last time he ever sees my face.

“Rest, Karolina,” he finally says. “Things will be clearer in the morning.”

I nod again.

I sway towards him slightly when he gets to his feet, and he notes the small sign that I crave his nearness.

His lips quirk at the corners, a shadow of the smirk that makes my belly flip.

Despite everything he’s done, Rand still has a chance with me, and he knows it.

4

KAROLINA

The temptation to skip Rand’s class is almost overwhelming. A long, punishing sprint at dawn barely helped me clear my mind, even though I pushed myself past my endurance level.

Exhaustion saps my limbs, but I manage to trudge into the lecture hall and drop down into a seat.

I sigh a small breath of relief that Rand isn’t here yet. I’m not ready to talk to him outside of an academic setting.

Because ever since I woke up this morning, the same thought has plagued me: he concealed his identity all these years, but so have I.

He knows my real first name, but I only told him about the fact that I was in foster care a few weeks ago. He probably thinks I go by Lena as a nickname, not an entirely new identity I bought for myself after I killed Carter and Brandon.

Since I met him as Rand, he’s opened up to me about his painful past. I’ve shared glimpses at my own, but there’s so much more.