And then, just like that, there she is.
Alena.
Long dark hair nearly touching her thighs. Skin so pale you can see the veins beneath. Eyes that cut through you like an X-ray. She isn't just a woman—she's something else. A creature you'd expect to find in the heart of a dark forest, waiting to drag you to your death.
And you would always go.
She steps out, and something primal in me recognizes the danger: this woman could ruin me.
And I'd thank her for it.
The most magnetic, beautiful woman ever born. At least, to me.
That creature is my best friend. My only family. The one person I can cry in her arms with, be a child with, surrender everything to. Seventeen years of friendship made that possible.
The sedan pulls away.
I don't relax. Not yet.
"Oh my God!" one of the women in front of me screams. "Alena Lupus!"
They rush her like she's prey. My chest tightens.
The famous horror writer. Films made from her books. Rumors everywhere: "She sees ghosts." "She talks to the other side." "She dreams the stories she writes, but they're real."
I never knew how the rumors started, but they're true.
She was found abandoned as a baby in a Transylvanian forest. She grew up in orphanages across Romania—a ghost without a past. Maybe that's why we clicked: two orphans carving out space in a world that didn't want us.
To everyone else, she's a riddle wrapped in black—an impossible face, catlike eyes that never give anything away.
To me? She's a treasure. She's air.
No one knows how many nights I've held her close as she cried, terrified by a dream. The scratches that appear on her skin after missing a book deadline. All of that would break tabloids, but for now, it only breaks me.
I can't protect Alena from all that, and it makes me feel small. I'd die for her without a second thought if it meant she'd find peace.
But right now? Right now I need to protect her from getting mobbed by fans. And from the possibility that somewhere in this crowd, someone's watching me. Someone sent by Klaus to remind me that he knows exactly where I am.
Who I love.
What I'd burn the world to protect.
"You're late," I say, pushing through the small crowd toward her.
She looks at me with that Balkan stare that says, don't start.
"And you're standing in the rain choosing to pick a fight. What matters more—your speech or this argument?"
I glare at her, fury and something softer underneath.
"You look like shit, by the way." She slips off her gloves as we step inside.
She rises on her toes. I bend down. She gives me a kiss on the cheek—standard procedure, but I can't keep my eyes from closing. Her lips are cold from the rain, or maybe just cold. They taste faintly of smoke and something darker.
Her scent hits me. Smoke, cold rain, that thing only I know is there.
I hate how it still lives under my skin.
