Page 33 of Unhinged Obsession

Mr. Moretti lifts the dagger, and I realize that Elijah’s only recourse is going to be to fight him head-on. He’s too boxed in by the other Saints; there’s nowhere for him to go.

I don't think I'm breathing anymore. I can't stop staring at the way the silver dagger reflects the candlelight; it’s like my brain has completely stopped working.

Just as the dagger is about to come down toward Elijah’s chest, there’s a bellowing yell. One of the Saints grabs the knife and plunges it into the chest of the Saint standing next to him. The sound that erupts is guttural, of a man who is in anguish.

The Saints don’t keep their composure, which allows Paris and me not to worry about making a sound. The Saint who grabbed the dagger lets it drop and swings into the crowd of men who are disguised just like him. The Saint who was stabbed is lying on the stone floor, gasping for breath.

I watch as Mr. Moretti lifts the injured man’s mask, and I see that it’s not only Bradford, but he appears to already be dead.

Without speaking, I grab Paris’s hand, and we start up to the main part of the cathedral. I feel sick, but relieved, and the adrenaline pumping through my body doesn’t give me enough time to think about what I witnessed or what it means for the Choosing Ceremony tonight.

I glance back over my shoulder and realize that Elijah is walking around the side of the cathedral, no mask and no robe.

Of course the Saints would have underground tunnels.

I let go of Paris’s hand and take off running toward the love of my life. He does not look amused to see me, but I don’t care. I could have just witnessed him dying, but he’s here, and he’s mine. That’s all I care about. I hoist myself in his arms, and he immediately envelops me, his hand coming down to cup my ass as my legs wrap around his waist.

“I thought your dad was going to kill you.” I hate how my voice trembles, despite trying to be strong for the boy who has always been forced to be strong.

“I wasn’t going to let that happen,” he says, and I realize he’s walking, never attempting to put me down. His words sink in, and I pull back from hugging him, studying his face. All of that, Elijah standing there, unwavering, as his dad lifted the dagger to his chest, another Saint stabbing Bradford instead… all of that was planned.

I don’t even care what happened or who stabbed Bradford because I’m just grateful that Elijah is here, very much alive and holding me like he’s never going to let me go.

“Where’s Ben?” I hear Paris ask, and I look over my shoulder to see where we’re headed.

“He’s taking care of a few things, but he’ll meet up with us after,” Elijah says.

“You can put me down,” I say, but he makes no movement to do so. In fact, he actually pulls me closer, letting me know he wants to carry me without saying the words.

“Where are we going?” Paris asks, and I feel Elijah’s groan before I hear it.

“You have a lot of fucking questions for someone who can’t follow directions,” Elijah says, and Paris huffs at him, not offended in the least.

“We wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say, cupping Elijah’s cheek, and he pouts his lips for a second before leaning his face into my touch.

“How did you two get out of my room anyway?” He grumbles.

“Stop bringing up the past, Elijah. That was so long ago,” Paris says, purely just to enrage him, which lets me know that she’s feeling like her old self.

Before Elijah can grab her by her hair and fling her into the wind, I grab his face again, kissing him very quickly. “Can I ask why we’re going to the barn?” I nod my head toward the extravagant building.

“You’re very perceptive,” Elijah says, smirking before he answers me honestly. “It’s all part of the plan.”

BLAIR

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Beau flicks an ear back toward me as I ask him for another transition, easing effortlessly from a working trot into a canter like we've been having the same conversation our entire lives. I might be superstitious, but I feel like maybe we have. I have a connection with this horse that I can’t really explain. We just get each other, and I’m so grateful for that.

“I can’t believe we just saw what we saw and now I’m here watching you ride your horse,” Paris says, and she’s leaning over the wall that separates the indoor arena from the aisle. With her injuries, she didn’t want to ride, but I haven’t been on Beau’s back since last summer. I don’t want to say it out loud, but part of me is afraid this might be my last chance.

When we arrived and turned on all the interior lights, my plan was to brush him and give him some treats, but Elijah said we would be here for a while and that I should ride if I wanted to.

“Shhh. I’m watching my girlfriend play her sport,” Elijah says, nudging Paris from where he stands next to her, arms folded over the side of the arena wall.

“I’m telling Ben,” Paris says, shoving him back, but his bigger frame doesn’t even sway.

“Go ahead, and while you’re at it, tell him if you get on my nerves again, I’m going to tie your hair to one of the horse’s tails,” Elijah says in such a deadpan voice that Paris bursts out laughing.