In Death's Grasp: Part I: In Death's Grasp, #1

By Alyssa B. Cole

She's about to go from haunted to hunted...

 

A traumatic incident in Primrose's childhood has left her with a stutter and, more recently, paranoia. Nevertheless, she tries to live a quiet, peaceful life with her sister and brother-in-law. But when she nearly drowns, she wonders if her fears really are all in her head.

It's a relief to meet Amadeon, a handsome and stoic man who says he understands her grief. Despite the warnings of her best friend, he quickly becomes a part of Primrose's life. However, odd things keep happening as her friendship with him deepens.

With her grip on reality slipping, can Primrose find the truth before it's too late?

In Death's Grasp: Part I is the first half of the In Death's Grasp series. If you enjoy stalker romances, elements of fantasy, and suspense, you will love Alyssa B. Cole's dark retelling of the myth of Hades and Persephone.

Buy In Death's Grasp for a dark thrill today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alyssa B. Cole
• Release date: Sep 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393092810

Alyssa B. Cole

Alyssa B. Cole is a teacher in Minnesota. She enjoys anime, true crime, and occasionally learning languages. You can follow her on Twitter @AlyssaBCole or on her Facebook Page Alyssa B. Cole.

Book preview

Alyssa B. Cole

In Death’s Grasp: Part I

Copyright © 2020 by Alyssa B. Cole

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First edition

Cover art by Rebecacovers

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

To Heather Peterson.

Thank you for reading every draft and motivating me to finish writing this story. You are a blessing of a friend, and I can’t wait for more of your stories.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

About the Author

Also by Alyssa B. Cole

Chapter 1

It starts, in hindsight, at the dawn of summer.

She can feel the ghosts watching, can feel how they focus on every movement before they flicker away. Despite the stubborn heat that refuses to cool into something tolerable, she wears a hoodie when she can.

Don’t look. Don’t see me. I’m not here. I’m sorry.

The feeling of being watched creeps over her at the oddest of times, whether she is alone or not. When she is in bed, she peeks over her shoulder to search for the ghosts in the darkness, though she can never actually see them, even on the brightest of days. She pinches the thin skin of her hand, digs her nails in and stares at the indentations. Crescent moons puncture her flesh, and she revels in the slight pain.

It’s not enough for redemption.

Sometimes, she thinks the ghosts are kindly. She takes comfort in their presence.

But mostly, she imagines they are dead-eyed and cold—not even angry, which makes it worse. She imagines they just watch her in silent, dismissive judgment.

She is nineteen years old.

* * *

It’s not until the twilight of summer, when she is 23, that the ghosts stop merely watching.

Elaine’s somewhere grabbing ice cream. Primrose waits for her, stretched out on her towel. She hasn’t worn a hoodie out of season in over a year. She’s even wearing a tankini instead of a one-piece swimsuit. Primrose is a little proud of herself, although something whispers inside her, You deserve to be seen and loathed. But for now, she’s able to shove down the self-hatred and enjoy the sun coloring her skin.

Until something cold spills onto her stomach.

A scream bursts out—more of a squeal than anything else—and she flops like a fish before grabbing the end of the towel she lays on and wiping her stomach.

Elaine laughs heartily, righting the tilted bowl of ice cream and licking up the small amount still spilling down the side of the cup. That was great. I needed a laugh.

"Y-You are the worst," Primrose grits out, kicking at Elaine and missing. But she finds herself laughing. It’s a relief to have Elaine as a friend. She always manages to break through the foggy darkness that seems to cling to Primrose.

Okay, so listen, Elaine says, plopping down on her own towel. Don’t look, but do you see that guy by the ice cream stand?

Primrose can’t see without turning her head, which earns a thwack on the arm. Ow! Stop! Yeah, I s-see him.

He’s a burly guy, reminding her a little bit of a lumberjack. He’s swiping through his phone, leaning against the stand.

Okay, Elaine says. I know this is our girls’ day, but I think it is my duty to grace him with my presence and drive him wild.

Your confidence is astounding, Primrose says, carefully smoothing out the disjointed stutters that want to creep up. She’s gotten much better at it in recent years.

My self-esteem is through the roof and yours is in the negatives. We balance each other out. Elaine’s blue eyes glint mischievously. "You know, you could always flirt with a guy."

Not interested.

Boo. You’re boring. Do you want me to see if he has any friends? Don’t worry; I’ll vet them and make sure they don’t look like trolls.

Primrose laughs again, a sound that’s always a little quieter than Elaine’s boisterous guffaws. No. I don’t need anyone. Besides, I’m still technically dating Lincoln.

Still? I thought you said last week you were going to break up with him?

Primrose winces. I know. And…I will. It’s just…he really is nice. And I do love spending time with him. And…it’s n-nice, having someone to kiss and cuddle with. She sighs. I’m awful.

No, you’re not.

Yes, I am. He cares about me much more than I care about him.

She slips back down into the familiar crater within her, not even attempting to grab hold of the edge and climb back up. She doesn’t deserve Lincoln. She doesn’t deserve anyone. Poor Elaine, having to put up with her black moods again. One of these days, Elaine’s going to throw away their decade-long friendship and—

Elaine smacks her upside the head.

"Ow! Could you stop being abusive?" Primrose grits out, the last word sticking on her tongue and taking too long to get out.

I don’t appreciate you being rude to my best friend. Be kind to yourself, will you? Elaine stretches out on the towel, slipping on her large sunglasses. Forget Hot Guy. I’ll stick with you.

You don’t have to.

I want to. It’s our girls’ day, anyway.

Primrose shakes her head. No, I’m sorry. I’m f-fine. I’m going to go swim, anyway. Go flirt and have fun.

I don’t want to.

I’ll feel way worse if you don’t.

Elaine frowns up at her, peering over the frames of the sunglasses. I really don’t need to.

Stop babysitting me. Go or I’ll get mad.

Her friend doesn’t look very happy, but she nods. You’ll let me know if you need me or want to talk?

You’re never quiet enough to let me talk.

Elaine looks at her, aghast, before they both say, Ooooh! Elaine begrudgingly gives her a high-five for that particular insult, then stands up, taking her ice cream with her. Okay, I’m off to charm him. Wish me luck.

You don’t need it.

Of course I don’t.

Elaine sends her a winning smile before strutting off. Primrose watches her for just a minute before stretching, enjoying the heat of the sun for a minute more before deciding that it really is getting too hot. She ditches the towel and heads toward the rolling water, stepping on blistering sand and wincing when jagged shells dig into the soles of her feet. It’s a relief to feel the water cool her toes as a wave rolls up, washing some of the excess sand away.

She wades in, stopping for a moment to let her body adjust to the chill. Thankfully, the water is still warm enough from a summer of heat waves that the adjustment is quick. She takes another few steps into the ocean, hissing when the water hits the small patch of stomach her two-piece reveals. Primrose stands on her toes, almost hopping as she gasps, Cold! Cold! and turns to face the shore. She can’t see Elaine or Lumberjack Guy; hopefully that means good news for her friend. The rest of the beach is nearly deserted, as it’s a Tuesday and school has started for families and college students.

The sensitive skin of her stomach grows used to the water, and she turns from the beach to wade in some more. She’s on her tiptoes before she takes a deep breath and holds it, dunking herself entirely underwater before popping out with a gasp, now a little more accustomed to the temperature. There are no ghosts, no pressure from socializing, no broken record of broken thoughts. All that exists is the sensation of the cool of the sea and the heat of the sun. It’s refreshing.

She swims farther out, enjoying the way her limbs strain in the water. A lone seagull cries out above her. For some reason, it reminds her of a vulture.

Closing her eyes, Primrose lays on her back and floats on the waves. She sputters sometimes when saltwater splashes over her face, but otherwise the world is peaceful in a way she rarely experiences. It reminds her of a cradle, rocking her gently.

Like most peaceful moments in her life, it doesn’t last long.

Her eyes shoot open as a strong wave knocks her off-balance, sending her crashing into the water face-down. Annoyed but somewhat amused, Primrose moves to bring her head up—

Something grabs her ankle.

It feels like seaweed, light and almost ticklish. It disturbs her nonetheless. She kicks away from the light grasp, taking in air as her mouth breaks out of the water, but then it…it yanks.

Primrose is pulled underwater in an instant.

Panic bubbles up like the air escaping her lungs. The surface is so close; she’s not that far out to sea yet. She tries to claw up, kicking desperately. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? The sun’s right there. She’s got to—this isn’t good. She’s…

She feels the ghosts in the water with her.

In the murky, sandy water, she sees nothing, but the shame the gazes always bring crawl up her spine nonetheless. This is it, she realizes wildly, the thought on repeat in her mind. This is her penance. This is where it ends. She’s been on borrowed time.

She’s pulled down deeper still, and her feet brush the jagged ocean floor.

Her lungs tighten, painfully empty. She’s about to breathe, but there’s no air. Primrose should just give in. This is her penance. This is justice.

But…

Her muscles flail against nothing. Primrose grabs for the slippery, barely there thing tied around her ankle, but she feels…nothing. The barely there thing isn’t there at all. In the brief seconds she has spent underwater, this is what frightens her the most as the ghosts look on.

Then it grasps her hand instead of her foot.

No, she screams in her mind.

Feet braced against the sand, she grabs at it with her other hand and yanks. It’s not a conscious decision, to fight to live. It’s automatic, mere instinct. But she fights nonetheless.

And then the slippery thing in her hand is suddenly very solid and real, and the force holding her in place vanishes, sending her spinning.

She’s at the surface before she can even make out what’s happening. But it’s not over yet. It’s hard to breathe. Water spews out of her mouth, nose…

An arm circles her stomach, and suddenly she coughs and the rest of the water spills out. She’s half vomiting, but she’s alive.

She’s pulled against a broad, clothed body. Dimly, she hears a male voice rumble against her ear. She can’t make out the words, can’t make out anything except the aching beat of her own heart in her waterlogged ears.

Prim!

Her name is barely audible. She wipes some red hair away from her face and realizes she’s not against a man’s clothed body, but his bare chest. Why did she think he was clothed in the middle of the ocean? She’s losing it.

There’s a hesitancy, but when she hears her name again, the man starts to move her toward the shore. She watches it slowly approach. From the way he’s holding her, she can’t see him, but she can tell he’s strong and cold. He propels them quickly, and not a moment too soon. He brings her to Elaine, who yanks her out of the man’s hold. Primrose clings to her on shaky legs.

What happened? Are you okay? Those are only two questions within the barrage Elaine throws her way.

Primrose doesn’t respond, can’t respond. Instead, she pulls away, throwing herself on her hands and knees as she vomits into the sea. Still heaving, she allows Elaine to pull her up the beach, far from the waves’ reach. Primrose now sees the other beachgoers, some of them watching the girls curiously. She shrinks from their gaze. Her stomach hurts. Her lungs hurt. Her throat hurts.

She is so, so tired of hurting.

It—it was just a rip tide, s-sorry, she rasps, because what can she say? The events are already blurred in her mind, the memory fading with her adrenaline.

Primrose looks back at the man who brought her to shore. He has long dark hair, almost like a woman’s. For a second, she can see wide, almost terrified eyes before the wind throws his hair across his face, obscuring it from view.

Thank you, she half whispers as Elaine pulls her away. Primrose turns forward to watch her steps—she’s stumbling like a drunk—and when she looks back, he’s gone.

They collapse onto their jumbled beach towels, which do very little to prevent sand from coating their legs and swimsuits. Primrose grabs her water bottle in the cooler and chugs it. She can’t help finding it a little funny, how nearly drowning makes her need water to talk.

She and Elaine both fall silent, the roar of the waves and the shouts of the other beachgoers drowned out by their own thoughts. As the sun dries the water off their skin and suits, Primrose takes deep breaths. Elaine does so as well before speaking.

You could have died, she says quietly. Do you need a doctor?

I can talk. I think I’m ok-ka-kay.

I read that there was this kid once, and he started drowning in the pool, but he was pulled out and fine the rest of the evening but there was still a bit of water in his lungs and he ended up drowning in his sleep that night. The story pours out of Elaine in one breath, as many of her stories do, but this time Elaine stares at Primrose with growing horror as she tells it.

Wow. Awesome. Th-thanks for the nightmare, Elle.

I’m just saying. Can’t you ask Marcos to do a checkup on you?

Primrose’s hands still shake, and she clutches her water bottle in an attempt to steady them and herself. I’m fine. A-and hey, if I die, at least it’ll be p-peaceful if it’s in my s-sleep.

I don’t think drowning’s peaceful.

Well, like, it might be, if it’s in your sleep and from just a bit of water?

Are you listening? Primrose calls silently to the ghosts. I don’t know if you mind if I make requests, but…

The seagull lets out a cry before stealing a fry several feet from them.

* * *

The girls have been friends since Primrose moved to Crystal Harbor in middle school. She had been absolutely silent at first, refusing to talk to anyone, even the therapist Marcos forced her to see. (The therapist always came over for dinners, as neither Marcos nor Tina had the funds to spend as newlyweds, and Dr. Hassan had known Marcos in college. It was never anything official, but it was pretty obvious when her sister and brother-in-law went to the other side of the apartment to clean something and left Primrose alone with the doctor. It ended after three months of nothing).

Elaine was—and still is—Primrose’s polar opposite. She had been a chatterbox as a student and never needed anything more than a listening ear. The girls were increasingly paired together in projects, probably an effort by well-meaning teachers hoping to encourage a breakthrough in Primrose.

It worked. Somewhere

Reviews for In Death's Grasp

[Cassie Wigley · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Some grammatical errors but overall a good read. I couldn't wait to read the sequel. I didn't realize I had a thing for stalker romance until I read this one.