Is he as torn as I am?

No, he couldn’t be. The rogue had also delivered cleaning supplies and clothing: T-shirts and sweatpants she’d rather die than wear, as well as a French maid costume. The cruel beast obviously taunted her.

She was right the first time. Definitely hate him.

When next she caught sight of him, she would tell him. During every delivery, he had somehow remained hidden, as if he’d known when she slumbered, the coast clear. Even though she didn’t have a set schedule or know when she would succumb to the need for rest. Did he ever ponder their kiss? Or crave more of her?

A fresh tide of anger frothed. He’d gifted her with the best kiss of her life, the truth of his adoration drowning out the demon’s lies. Then he had rejected her. Abandoned her.

He must know what separation from an adoring public did to her. He’d followed her for months. But still, he stayed away? 

That settled it. No more kisses for him!

Tremors shook her as she motored forward. When her knees almost buckled, she whimpered. The weakened demon was feeding, weakening her. The heartless fiend had even begun revealing those long-buried memories, the terrible truth now so clear… 

As she’d smiled and chatted in those recollections, she’d destroyed people with her words. Males and females, mortals and immortals, had withered under her praises. Because her praises were insults!

Scraping noises halted her. Her ears twitched. Did she detect huffing too? 

Someone was here! 

Gasping, she pressed herself against the nearest wall, hiding in a shadowy corner. Though she was brave—the bravest!—she knew there were times to be leery. This was one such time. She had little strength and few weapons at her disposal. 

Had the Forsaken found her? Maybe Brochan had returned for good. Perhaps a stranger had stumbled upon the realm. What if Fluffy had arrived?

Please be Fluffy.