In place of a TV hangs a painting that was not there when I left for work this morning. Candles and an assortment of flowers all around it like a makeshift shrine.

I stare at the painting, completely transfixed. It is the most phenomenal thing I have ever seen. As well as the most frightening. A cloaked man stands over a sitting woman with long brown hair wearing a dress spun from gold. Every inch of her is the spitting image of me. Down to the butterfly freckles and the soft scar on my lip. Where the man’s head should be is pure inky darkness. The Faceless Man. My Faceless Man. Letum. It's the type of painting that belongs in a museum, that artists all around the world would talk about for centuries to come.

I turn and take note of the rest of my apartment, following the rose petals that lead to the bedroom. I’m so numb from everything that has happened today that I’m not sure how to react, other than just to stare at it. Dumbfounded.

My foot hangs over the threshold of my room. Scattered across my desk is everything he has ever given me: the letters, a bag, the thriving lily, silk dresses and lace blouses, a crystal flower, an onyx skull, black feathers, the bag of rose petals that I haven’t thrown out.

On the bed are some of the items that I thought I had lost. The ones I swore I left it in one place, and the next, gone. The matching charm bracelet that Dahlia and I always wore. The photoframe of me on the day of graduation, holding up my stupid business degree with the biggest smile on my face. A pile of hair ties. My favorite red lace lingerie with black ribbons.

In the middle of all my things, a single brown parchment that reads:

I’m coming for you.

Chapter eight

Lilith

When I slip beneath my sheets, there’s no alcohol or medication putting me to sleep. So I toss and turn, my mind a jumble of questions.

I returned all of the things I thought I lost to their rightful places. But the things from Letum remain untouched on my desk. I’m almost proud of them.

No, proud isn’t the right word. Comfort isn’t strong enough either. Cherished? Wanted? Seeing every single thing laid out like that says something stronger and more meaningful than any of his letters. It’s like he’s telling me that he’s here for me, as he always has been.

The question remains: why me? What did I do to garner his attention? What is it about me that has made him obsessed? I do nothing but mope around my apartment, go to work, unload some of my problems on Dr. Mallory, then repeat the dull cycle.

I need to talk to Letum. I deserve answers. If only he would stop hiding, it’s not like I haven’t figured out he purposely disappeared. He obviously wants me and thought that Evan was in the way.

Eventually, I fall asleep. Just like the last time, I wake up somewhere other than my bedroom. This time I don’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my head that tells me this isn’t just a dream, but something else entirely. Something more, something real.

The velvet blankets tangle around my legs as I move to sit. Like the last dream, the void above me is swirling with shadows, each flicker is another soul being sucked into the void.

Candles are lined around the room, creating a triangle with the bed in the middle. I only just realized that the triangle is almost as large as my bedroom.

Letum dressed me in something just as revealing as last time. Or maybe I dressed myself in it. I pull myself off the bed and wrap the red velvet blanket around me to try and hide as much of me as I can. The black carpet is plush beneath my feet, and I can’t help but wiggle my toes before inspecting the room. It’s like he’s keeping parts of me I thought I lost.

The four walls around me are painted black, hidden behind grand bookcases filled to the brim with an assortment of items: books, skulls, ornaments from all around the world, vases, and more things that I thought I had lost.

There’s a picture of me beaming in front of the Trevi fountain when Dahlia and I backpacked through Europe for two months. A poorly made paper plane and crane with my messages on it. The pearl hair clip that I got when I was a little girl. A mug that I made with Dahlia on a Wine and Pottery night. My sunglasses. A little elephant that used to live on my bed and I slept with it every night.

A fireplace simmers calmly between two bookcases, right in front of a chaise flanked by a single-seater wingback couch. There’s something about this room that is familiar, I just can’t put my finger on why.

My body is so attuned to Letum’s physical presence that I know exactly when he materializes behind me.

“You look good in my space.” The rumble of his voice casts silken shivers through my body.

I spin around and become caught in his trap. He’s wearing the same sleeveless cloak that shows off the mouthwatering curve of his muscles. I didn’t get the chance to run my fingers over the ridges the last time. Would he shudder under my touch? Would the marks on his skin recoil from me? Would I be able to feel them?

“I know who you are,” I force myself to say. Having practically his entire body on display is too distracting, especially when the sharp ‘V’ on his stomach is pointing directly to the area that I’ve been wanting to feel between my legs for longer than I care to admit.

“I did tell you my name.” His tone is almost teasing.

I frown. He knows what I meant. “I know what you are.”

Though I can’t see his face, something tells me that he’s smiling. “You have solved my riddle?”

He moves forward, and I will my feet to move back, when all they want to do is meet him halfway. So the only choice I have is to stay in place and be at his mercy as always; a place I have come to love. Truthfully, I have always liked being at his mercy a little too much.

He doesn’t stop until he’s less than a foot away from me. His presence is taking the oxygen straight from my lungs and replacing it with the smell of the woods right before a hunter pounces on its prey.

The smooth expanse of his chest is directly in my line of sight, making the need to reach out and touch it even stronger. Up close, the swirling shadows beneath his skin remind me of flames flickering right before wisps of smoke escape into the night. Like a flame, it’s warm to be around, but you know it will be scorching to the touch.

“Yes,” I mutter and look down at my feet. What if I’m wrong and make a complete fool of myself? I spent time researching what his name meant, and the answer I found was the only thing that has made sense since the accident.

“Look at me, Lilith,” he whispers as he tips my chin up to him. My muscles give up the battle for control and the velvet blanket drops and pools around our feet.

“I can’t see you.” I sound so meek. How could he be interested in someone like me?

“I can see you.”

There’s nothing he has ever said that has been truer. He sees me more than I see myself. Fear bubbles inside me, like maybe if he keeps looking, he’ll figure out he does not want me anymore, and that I have nothing to offer.

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. I breathe in to try and capture his scent, wishing I could stay like this forever. His affection for me oozes from his skin and rains all over me, and everything feels right.

He laces his fingers in my hair and our lips collide only to break apart a moment later. “Tell me, my night monster, who am I?”

I suck in my bottom lip before saying, “You are the one who refuses to take my soul. You are Death.”

A rumble of approval sounds from his chest as he returns his lips to mine. “Good girl.”

My knees almost buckle from the two words. I lean my whole weight against him just to feel him beneath my hands. I’m not sure who makes a move first, but our lips crash against each other and my hands develop a mind of their own, exploring his body, feeling the hard muscles of his back that are hidden under soft skin, wishing that he would just take the goddamn hood off.