Burn for the Devil: A dark romance (Empty Wishing House Collection Book 2) by Larissa Vincente

Author:Larissa Vincente [Vincente, Larissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

23

Samantha

It didn’t feel like I’d slept that long, but the sunlight pried my eyes open. I must have been dreaming, because I did not recognize my surroundings at all. Horror washed over me as I realized I was in the little cottage of my worst nightmares. I hadn’t slept in this bed before, having held vigil in the living room rocking chair the near entirety of my imprisonment, but I’d know the bed anywhere.

I flung the covers off as soon as I heard footsteps, groaning when I saw I was in the same damn blue dress I’d always had on while here. It was unfathomable I’d be stuck here again, even if it was daytime. The possible ramifications of the timing of my return fled my mind when Ramone pushed the bedroom door open.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said quietly, crossing the room to stand in front of me. My heart stopped at the sight of him.

I didn’t move, my brain scrambling for a reasonable explanation as to why he was here, and why I was here. I’d dismissed all this nonsense as a stress response and been thrust right back in. A single tear rolled down my cheek while I held my breath.

Ramone squatted in front of me, wiping the tear with a finger. He squeezed his hand shut, and then opened it, revealing a small navy-blue gemstone. “All your tears belong to me,” he said, slipping the stone into a pocket.

I glanced up at him, and he appeared softer than I’d remembered, deflated of some of his characteristic aggressive energy. His appearance was a bit less formal as well, dressed down to merely slacks and a button-up shirt and vest—no jacket. I noticed his lack of designer shoes, the usual Italian leather replaced by boots.

Remaining unable to speak, I considered my options. He’d either taken me against my will again—if that had ever actually happened, or I was dreaming. The latter option didn’t account for the clarity of mind that indicated I wasn’t sleeping. I’d once heard about a curiosity that affected people occasionally, where they were conscious in their dreams. I had to assume that was the safe, rational explanation plaguing me.

Ramone stood up, holding out his hand. “Come with me.”

“I’ve had nightmares about this place,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I dreamed I was trapped and couldn’t leave. Every night for about a year. I don’t know why I’m back here; but it’s day now. That means I’m healing, right?”

He glanced down before dragging his bright green eyes to mine. “I’m certain it does, and I can heal you.”

“Okay,” I said, ignoring the odd claim of healing ability. “Where are we going?”

I’d never done anything like this before, my whole life having been scripted, planned, regimented, and appointed since Zoey’s death. There had been a specific time for everything, even vacations. The second week of June, July, and August every year, carved out for excursions to the exact same places, no deviations.

May and December contained physical and dental check-ups, with the same family of doctors that had attended to my family for generations.

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