Locating the lecture hall, I slip inside and post myself at the back of the auditorium, where I wait until my target is announced to the podium. I almost reach for my phone to capture a picture—but I turned my device off, making sure I wouldn’t be pinged in this location.

I can’t take my eyes off him.

This is him—it has to be him.

As I listen to him talk, I note all the characteristics of a narcissist, which isn’t telling on its own. Many of the foremost authorities in Western esotericism and the occult in academia have massive egos and exhibit a degree of psychopathy. My job requires me to know who these names are and to study from their knowledge.

But this is the first time I’ve heard of Mr. P.W.

He’s kept himself hidden well.

Something else is notable about him: he’s inebriated. Slurring his speech, swaying off-kilter.

As soon as the thought strikes, his eyes connect with mine from across the hall, and a sliver of fear coasts over my skin, making me shiver.

I push through the doors and find a dark corner along the outside of the building, where I take a few steadying breaths to calm myself.

This is reckless.

My rash behavior is about to not only expose me to the suspect, but scare him off. Drunk or not, he’s evaded authorities this long, and his outward appearance could be a part of his ruse.

I did what I came here to do. I found him. We have a suspect.

As I flatten my back to the brick wall, I close my eyes for only a second, but when my lids open again, the night has grown darker.

Shit.

I’m trekking back through the quad when I spot him exiting the building, a tumbler in hand.

Despite the danger—or maybe because of it—I follow him.

I just want to observe. Secure more concrete evidence. At least, this is what I convince myself of as the obsessive need to watch him thrums through me, canceling out all logic.

He stalks to the parking lot, where he stops at a black car.

“Son of a fucking bitch—” he curses, then smashes his glass to the asphalt. On reflex, I flinch. He hunkers over to inspect a flat tire on the vehicle. “That fucking prick.”

As I watch him open and search the trunk, an eerie feeling settles over me. Something’s not right; I feel it in the air, a buzzing sensation prickling my skin. The hairs along the nape of my neck lift away. The warning flashes through my body, and instinctively, I turn and head in the opposite direction.

I’ve just reached the edge of the parking lot when his voice calls out.

“Hey! Are you following me?”

I don’t look back. I walk faster. His heavy footfalls sound behind me, and I clutch my keys tighter between my fingers.

“Who sent you?” he snarls, his voice too close now. “Did that slut send you?”

Anger grips my insides, and I dig out the evidence from my front pocket and whirl around to face him. “This did,” I say, voice shaking from adrenaline. “You made a mistake, and I found you. I found you.” I swallow down the ache. “I know who you are.”

He grips a tire iron in his right hand. His eyes narrow on me, the mask slipping from his face. Then a dark smile curls his mouth in a sinister grin.

The Harbinger killer advances on me.

What happens next will haunt my nightmares, it will change my course.

It will change me.

His hand fastens around my throat. Panic splays through my body. Time mutates, slowing, freezing to a stall. And during the slowest blink of my life, I capture the cruel features of Professor Percy Wellington. His is the last face I see before the world goes black.

Thank you, lovely reader, for reading my words, for joining me on this dark journey with Halen and Kallum. You need to know that it means absolutely everything to me, and you are truly the reason I breathe, to keep writing stories for you.

I want to offer one thing before we leave book two and embark on the last book in the Hollow’s Row series, Lovely Wicked Things:

Question everything.

Some answers were given, some questions were raised. But as Halen has advised, we have to always question everything. Even the answers.

Until next time, read madly <3

To be the first to see the cover of Lovely Wicked Things and receive a release notice, join my VIP list here.

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Special gift to Trisha Wolfe readers! Click the link to receive a FREE bonus story featuring your favorite dark romance couple, London and Grayson, from the Darkly, Madly Duet .

We weren’t born the day we took our first breath. We were born the moment we stole it.

~Grayson Peirce Sullivan, Born, Darkly

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Two rival serial killers. One common enemy.

Available in Kindle Unlimited.

Kyrie

We could have murdered Sebastian five times over already, but the truth is, I want more than just the anticipation of the kill. I can keep trying to push my feelings away, but I still want him. I want Jack touching me, kissing me. Worshiping me.

Devouring me.

I raise an eyebrow in a challenge.

In my next breath, Jack has me on my back, his palms a cool brand on my thighs as they slide beneath the hem of my dress. He pushes it up over my hips and his mouth is on my pussy before he’s even tugged my panties down, his frustration with the thin fabric mounting until he whips a switch-blade from his pocket and cuts them off in a single, fluid slice, much to Sebastian’s delight. When they’re gone, Jack parts my lips and drags his tongue across my entrance and he groans, groans right into the depths of me as though he’s been starving for my taste.

“So sweet,” Jack whispers against my clit before worshiping it with licks. One of his hands slides up my body to pull my dress down, exposing my breast to the cool air. A gasp leaves my lips as the tape tears from my nipple, its sting replaced with Jack’s fingers as he teases it into a firm peak.

I’m burning. I’m desperate. I barely hold onto the sounds building in my throat as I raise my hips when Jack sucks on my clit, chasing my pleasure with his tongue. The more I try to keep from moaning, the more I fail, and when Jack pushes one finger into my pussy and then another to curl them in deep strokes that glide across my G-spot, I stop trying altogether.

“Your sounds are mine,” Jack hisses, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s pushing my damp panties into my open mouth. I look down my body at the fierce command in Jack’s eyes, whimpering at the erotic taste of my own arousal. He pushes the last of the fabric past my lips and holds my jaw shut with his thumb. “They are only mine. Now come on my fucking tongue and keep quiet.”

Jack gives me a flash of a wicked grin.

And then he descends on my flesh.

He pumps his fingers and works my clit until my muscles are spasming, pulsing around him, sucking him in. Tiny bombs of sparks explode across my vision. Pleasure winds up my back and tightens it like a bow. My heart deafens every sound and thought and I don’t even know if I obey his command. My eyes are still closed when Jack pulls the fabric from my mouth and kisses me, sharing my taste onto my tongue.