IMOGEN'S POV
I sat in my car outside the steakhouse for ten minutes, gripping the steering wheel and telling myself I could still drive away. Isaac was back at the house with his mother, probably making up for lost time. Joseph was at school, safe and surrounded by his friends. I had given them both what they needed today. Now I had to deal with what I needed.
Or what I thought I needed. I wasn't even sure anymore.
The restaurant was the kind of place Elijah loved. Dark wood, leather booths, the smell of expensive meat and older expensive men making deals over whiskey. I spotted him immediately when I walked in. He was sitting in a corner booth, already nursing what looked like his second or third drink. I could be wrong.
He looked up when I approached, and something in his expression made my stomach clench. There was a hunger there, a satisfaction that told me he'd been expecting me to come. That he'd known I would.
"Imogen." He stood to greet me, reaching for my hand.
