Pranavi pulled out the painting she had drawn of Shivatya and stared at it in silence. Now that she knew the truth, everything clicked into place the blood, his strange disappearances, the monstrous hunger in his eyes. The canvas, once a mystery, was now a revelation in color.

She should have been running for grace, fleeing from the house and never looking back. But she couldn't. She sat there dumbstruck, her body alive with a fever she didn't understand. She expected him to follow her down from the car, to break open the door, to demand what he so desperately needed. And God help her, a small, traitorous part of her was more than willing to give it to him. But the other part, the logical, frightened part kept whispering caution, warning her of the monster waiting just beyond the threshold.