Page 71 of The Darkest Chase

I’ve always felt like background noise to other people’s lives. The sick girl, almost invisible, always left out and left behind.

But Micah makes me feel seen.

For the first time in my life, he makes me feel important.

And right now, the way he’s looking at me across the street blows my heart up.

It’s almost like he can’t see the real Talia Grey, the annoying runt everybody else knows.

I can’t hold eye contact or I’ll start thinking things I absolutely shouldn’t. So I look down at my screen, taking a deep breath and texting.

And you wonder why I trust you’re a good man.

Micah: You shouldn’t. I’m fucking not.

My lips twitch. You’re going to figure out pretty fast that I’m more stubborn than I look. You’re not going to change my mind about that, Micah.

Micah: You think I want to?

I look up again, watching him from under the brim of my baseball cap.

I can’t read his expression, not from this far, but the look on his face is so strange, so intense. The way he watches makes me feel like he’s right next to me.

Feeling that strange, overpowering body heat that makes him seem more inhuman, that vivid presence that makes me shiver.

There’s a loud pulse in my ears as I think about sharp teeth and fire in his dusky blue eyes, what that man could do with one kiss if he—

Oh my God, no.

No.

We’re not going there.

It’s not fair to Micah, seeing him as this fantasy instead of a real person—and honestly, I don’t want to go see Xavier Arrendell with those kinds of thoughts rattling around in my head.

A weak smile flicks over my lips.

I’d better get moving. I’ll be late.

Micah: Good luck.

His lips curl faintly and he looks away, out the other window of his patrol car.

It’s like being released from a spell.

Thanks. I’ll update you when I get back, I send, right before I force myself to turn away and cross the town square, only glancing at my phone again to install the app Micah sends with his next text.

The sun glints brightly off the bronze statue in the center of town, the rearing horse with the noble figure of the first Arrendell, briefly blinding me before I move past it and take the road leading up the hill.

This trek is getting familiar.

The trees overhead, the bright morning sky, the call of hunting hawks piercing the day. It would almost be a pleasant spring walk, if only I didn’t feel like I was heading toward a brooding smudge of darkness waiting at the peak of the hill.

But there’s a pleasure here, too.

Once, I wouldn’t have been able to climb this hill without collapsing in a wheezing heap.

As I hit the steepest portion, there’s a tightness in my chest, but nothing to be concerned about. I just measure my breaths carefully until it levels out in the huge roundabout courtyard at the front of the manor.