Chapter 9

“I took a peek at your book collection.” Dante said, standing by my side as I locked the door of my apartment. All the boxes had been moved into the car, so we were good to go. “I must say you have a very amazing taste.”

“I know.” I smiled, shoving my key into my pocket.

It wasn’t the first time someone had made that type of remark.

I loved my books in two ways; either they were the sappiest of romances or the most horrifying of horrors. No in between.

“Most people said I didn’t look what I read.” We walked side-by-side to his car. They understood the romance books, but the horror section always caught them off guard. They said I looked too sweet to be interested in that kind of stuff.”

“You do. So what piqued your interest in horror?”

“The tension. The rush of adrenaline. The thrill. My heart banging in my chest when I know something really really bad is about to happen to a character. What’s there not to love?”

What was there not to love? Horror was happiness. Horror was life. Horro