Chapter 9 — Midnight Jealousy
818 Words
I didn’t realize how much the house had changed until I left it.
The air outside felt thinner, louder—too alive. People passed me on the sidewalk, laughing, talking, existing like nothing terrible had ever brushed past them in the dark.
Like death didn’t remember my name.
“Hey.”
I flinched.
A boy from my literature class stood near the steps, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Eli. Quiet. Kind. Safe.
Or so I’d thought.
“You live here?” he asked, glancing up at the boarding house. “I didn’t know anyone actually stayed.”
“I do,” I said carefully.
He smiled. “I was hoping I’d run into you. You left class early.”
“I wasn’t feeling well.”
“That makes two of us,” he said lightly. “Listen, a few of us are studying at the café tonight. You should come.”
The mark on my wrist tightened.
Cold bloomed sharply beneath my skin.
“I can’t,” I said quickly.
Eli tilted his head. “You okay? You look… pale.”
“I’m fine.”
A lie.
The streetlight above us flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Eli frowned. “That thing always does that.”
I felt him before I heard him.
The air dropped several degrees, the familiar pressure coiling around my spine. My pulse jumped, traitorous and immediate.
He’s here.
“You shouldn’t talk to him,” the voice said softly inside my head.
I clenched my jaw. You don’t get to decide that.
A pause.
Then—cold amusement.
“Watch me.”
The wind surged suddenly, sharp and unnatural. Eli staggered back a step, eyes widening.
“What the—?”
“Go home,” I said quickly. “Please.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he muttered, glancing around nervously. “This place gives me a bad feeling.”
As he hurried off, the streetlight shattered, glass raining down harmlessly behind him.
I spun toward the house, fury boiling in my chest.
“That was unnecessary,” I hissed.
He was there the moment I stepped inside, leaning casually against the wall like he’d always belonged there. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, shadows thick around his form.
“He was looking at you,” he said.
“That’s not a crime.”
“It is,” he replied calmly, “when it invites consequences.”
I dropped my bag. “You don’t get to punish people for talking to me.”
“I didn’t punish him,” he said. “I warned him.”
My hands shook. “You scared him half to death.”
His gaze slid back to me, sharp and possessive.
“You’re marked,” he said. “That makes you visible.”
“To you.”
“To others,” he corrected. “Things that shouldn’t notice you are starting to look.”
A chill crept up my spine. “What things?”
“Beings that remember me,” he said quietly. “And what I was.”
I crossed my arms, trying to ground myself. “You’re jealous.”
A slow smile curved his mouth.
“Yes.”
The honesty startled me.
“You don’t deny it?”
“Why would I?” he asked. “You’re bound to me. I don’t share.”
“That’s not how this works!”
“You don’t get to decide how this works,” he replied softly. “You never did.”
I stepped closer, anger blazing. “I won’t live like this—terrified of talking to anyone because you might lose control.”
His presence surged forward, stopping inches from me, cold and commanding.
“I didn’t lose control,” he said. “I showed restraint.”
The implication made my stomach twist.
“You felt it too,” he continued, eyes burning. “The mark reacted when he touched your attention. It doesn’t like competition.”
My wrist throbbed in agreement.
“I hate this,” I whispered.
“No,” he said gently. “You hate that it feels right.”
The silence stretched between us, thick and dangerous.
“You don’t get to hurt people because of me,” I said finally.
His gaze softened just enough to be unsettling.
“Then don’t give them reasons,” he replied.
The house groaned softly, settling around us.
From somewhere deep within the walls, a low sound echoed—ancient, displeased.
His head snapped up.
“They know,” he said.
“Who?” I asked, heart pounding.
“The ones who killed me,” he replied. “And they’re not happy I’ve found you again.”
Cold dread flooded my veins.
He looked back at me, something fierce and protective tightening in his expression.
“From now on,” he said, “you don’t leave this house alone.”
- Writer
