To save her ghost-hunting career, psychic Kayde Foster must confront an evil and darkly attractive entity that has taken up residence in her uncle's business.
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Kayde prides herself on being fearless. Ghosts? Crumbling buildings? Scary legends? No...
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It didn't take long for him to boot me back to Tales Untold. Twenty minutes. That's all it took.
He didn't even glance at me. Didn't even speak. Just handled me with an all-too-serious face as I scrambled for the dagger, shoving it into one of the boots left in my room this morning.
That icy patch of something between us remained solid. Unmoving, unyielding, and frozen.
He'd let me take the dagger, of course—because I'd likely need it. The entire time, I had to bite my tongue to keep from questioning him. There was so much loss in that vision—what happened?
Not for you to know, Kayde.
Even though I'd caught the gist of it. Something terrible had happened to him—something soul-crushing and unforgettable—and then he's thrown in prison for centuries. It sounded like it was all from a coup; he obviously had a kingdom and a family and that was torn from him. I tried not to feel bad for him, but it was hard.
Very hard.
Then he did that weird teleportation thing—the one that made my ears ring and my stomach flop. I could feel he was pissed and silently brooding like a supercell, ready to leave destruction in his wake, but he remained quiet.
He left me on the third floor, saying nothing, before he vanished in a haze of dark smoke. I stared after him.
And stared and stared.
I hated the pity that flushed through me. He'd probably hate to be pitied. Monsters like him didn't need to be pitied.
I had tried to say something to him. But what was I going to say? Fucking sorry? It wasn't like I did anything on purpose; it wasn't like I was snooping in on his life to learn his weaknesses. Whatever words I'd wanted to use got stuck in my throat; he was menacing while he was angry. And cold.
So, so cold.
I really hated to admit it, but the way he was acting stung. And I shouldn't care. I shouldn't care because he didn't care about me or anyone else. It was only right that he earned my hate.
Do I hate him?
The answer was no. It should be yes.
It was drafty on the third floor. The electricity was still on, kicking the AC into full blast. It felt nice, but I had a feeling it wasn't the total cause of it being cold like the Shadow. It was because of ghosts.
Lots and lots of them.
Surprisingly, they gave me a wide berth as I shivered and walked down the black-and-white checkered hallway. The overhanging chandelier lit up my path. The third floor vaguely reminded me of a high school cafeteria; at least the floor did. Cringe.
