VALORIA WILDEROSE
He's standing there half-naked as he was the night before—messier hair and a look akin to exhaustion in his eyes, or something else; I could be wrong.
Blood-stained hands up to his elbows, dripping.
Whatever it is is buried beneath the twisted look of delight in his eyes that lights up the second I walk in—the unhinged derangement I'm used to.
He's nothing like the man from last night — a complete 180. That person I could talk to. What stands in front of me now, trembling with excitement, isn't him.
On instinct my body tenses, completely on guard and terrified as if I'm staring at the devil himself.
"There she is…" He covers the distance to get closer, stretching out a bloody hand toward me; the smell of it makes me nauseous.
I stagger away, running into the wall behind me, and glance to meet Eros's cold, distant eyes—watching me, inadvertently telling me there's no escape.
"You're just in time," he calls out again.
