As Thane and Eve flirt over the table, Aurora sighs and opens her phone.
I weave a thread of my Umbraeth up one of her legs, skimming the fabric, careful not to press too hard.
Her scent washes over me. Honeysuckle and sunshine, warm and deliriously sweet, laced with something untamed just beneath the surface.
My formless self curls in her lap, slipping beneath the table where the light doesn’t reach.
Here, I can be still. I canlisten.
I believe in privacy—yes, even monsters believe in things like that—but I’m curious about what’s got her so damn captivated.
It only takes a moment to realize this little vixen is reading a book on her phone. I recognize the familiar cadence of a fantasy romance novel—words flowing, tension building, the inevitable unraveling.
She’s on book five of this particular series. It’s by far the best one. I should know. I’ve read the series. Twice.
What? Don’t look at me like that.
Fantasy romance gets mocked, but let’s be honest. Some of the best-crafted worlds and most ruthless characters are hiding between those smutty pages.
Even a man-eating monster can appreciate that.
As she flips through the pages in this loud bar, I question just how innocent my little lupine really is.
Fingers sliding into wet heat.
Lips wrapped around aching cocks.
Savage, brutal fucking.
Her scent shifts, then darkens. And I swear I can feel it in every wisp of my Umbraeth.
Fuck.
She smells like honey and want, thick with something wild. I want to chase it to the source, bury my mouth between her thighs, and taste what’s mine.
She shifts in her seat, thighs pressing together, trying to drown the fire licking through her veins.
She doesn’t know I’m here. Doesn’t know I’m watching. But she feels me. Heat radiates off her skin, a delicious contrast to the cool darkness I inhabit.
My shadow coils around her waist, barely there. She tenses as a breath catches in her throat.
My non-existent fingers itch to trace the curve of her hip, to press, totake. I could slide through her warmth like smoke, wrap around her throat, and press until she gasps something I’d never give back.
But I don’t.
I fucking can’t.
Instead, I let my Umbraeth rise, curling over her collarbone, a breath against her frantic pulse.
I don’t touch. I don’t take.
But it’s so easy to imagine pressing deeper.
To imagine what she would do if I did.
She shivers anyway, an unconscious action, and I swear to every god I don’t believe in—if I break, I’ll drag the whole goddamn world down with me. I’m holding on by a fucking thread.
I curl around her shoulders, matching the rhythm of her breath. My shadows tighten, just enough to tease, to warn her she’s not alone. The goddess stiffens, her fingers tightening around her phone.
