Page 33 of The Arbiter
I get into the car and start the engine.
By morning, the police will find him. By afternoon, he will be on a steel table. And since I know her schedule. Madeline will be the one standing over the body. Standing over her ex-boyfriend.
My fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel as I pull onto the empty road. Patience. Just a little longer. Soon enough… she’ll see exactly what kind of monster chose her.
The thought of her lingers in my mind. Madeline.
The memory of the way her body moved against mine on the dance floor returns without invitation. The heat of her waist beneath my hands. The sharp breath she tried to hide when I pulled her closer. I exhale slowly. That moment wasn’t fear. It was a desire. And she felt it too.
My thumb drags slowly across my lower lip as the memory sharpens. Her pulse under my fingers, the tension in her body, the way she didn’t step away. Not even when she could have. The way her body fits against mine.
The grip is harsh on the steering wheel. Not rage. Not violence. Something far more dangerous. Hunger.
I tilt my head back, letting the memory of her consume my thoughts entirely. The way she looked in that beautiful dress, the way her body moved with mine like she belonged there. Like she always had.
“Soon,” I whisper into the quiet of the car.
Because the next time I touch her… I won’t stop at a dance.
CHAPTER 8 - Madeline
I wake up with a crushing weight behind my eyes. I don’t move. The light leaking through the blinds burns straight into my skull. My mouth tastes like stale alcohol and something bitter I can’t quite place. God.
I press the heel of my palm against my forehead and breathe slowly, trying not to move fast. My stomach rolls in protest. Fragments of last night drift through my head like broken glass. Music. Lights. Lucy dragging me onto the dance floor. And then,him.
The memory is too sharp compared to everything else. His hand on my waist. The steady pressure of his fingers against my back as he pulled me closer. The heat of his breath when he leaned down to speak directly into my ear. I squeeze my eyes shut. Why do I remember that part so clearly?
A groan comes from the living room.
“Tell me I died,” Lucy mutters from the couch.
“Because if this is living, I want out.”
I let out a weak breath that almost became a laugh.
“If you died,” I say hoarsely, pushing myself upright.
“I’m pretty sure I came with you.”
My head spins the moment I sit up.
I steady myself and stand slowly, gripping the kitchen counter when I reach it. My balance feels wrong, like the floor shifted slightly overnight. Pieces of the night keep surfacing.
Someone drove us to my place. Lucy was barely conscious beside me. My keys slipped through my fingers while I tried to open the door. But the strongest memory isn’t the party.
It’s him. The way he touched me. The strange white streak cutting through his dark hair under the ballroom light. And the look in his eyes. The hunger.
My phone rings. The sound slices through the silence so suddenly I flinch. Unknown number.
Something cold creeps down my spine. I answer anyway.
ME:“Madeline Emerson.”
UNKNOWN:“Miss Emerson, this is detective Hargrove.”
My stomach drops. Detective. I straighten slightly, the fog in my head thinning instantly.
DETECTIVE:“We recovered a body early this morning.”
