“What the fuck?!” I scream toward the dark, moonless sky.
Part of me is insanely furious about his blatant violation of my body, but another part, admittedly a bigger part, is furious because Ezra fucked up something that could have been amazing.
He seems certain I’ll come crawling back to him.
Like hell I will.
Setting aside the fact that he broke into my home, Ezra is clearly insane.
He thinks he’s billions of years old? I mean, yeah, he’s older than me by a few years, but a billion-year age gap is ridiculous.
Now the shadows? I can’t explain that.
Maybe it’s a shared delusion? What’s the term? Folie á deux?
I don’t know and I don’t care.
It’s time to put this strange brief chapter behind me and focus on more important things, like my virtual shop proposal and my date with Jameson.
Ezra Aster is nothing. A mistake. A fever dream.
And worst of all?
I still want him.
Every fucked-up, brutal, goddamn perfect piece of him.
Aurora
Three days.
Three fucking days since Ezra, and I’m still just as pissed as I was that night.
There’s no denying the magnetism. The wildfire heat.
But how the hell am I supposed to forgive him?
My heart aches a little when I wonder why he didn’t go about this the right way and just ask me out on a fucking date.
Whatever. I have a date with Jameson tonight—the man who texted me into oblivion for three days straight. To his credit, though, he kept everything PG with only slight undertones of innuendo.
The woman in the mirror stares back as I drag the flatiron through her wild hair. She looks tired. A little sad. And pissed off enough to keep things interesting.
After the bookshop, Jameson feels almost boring.
He’s currently giving guided tours in the area for a friend of Eve’s. Jameson seems kind and adventurous, loves animals, has a passing knowledge of local flora, and is totally handsome on top of that. Which would normally be enough, if my mind weren’t still hooked on the shadowed bastard haunting my dreams.
Even if dream-me kicks him in the dick every damn time.
Over the past few days, nothing too strange has happened.
No eyes watching from the woods. No shiver down my spine.
And I’ve actually slept. Like, real sleep. Deep, peaceful, emotionally stable sleep.
Not at all haunted by the memory of teeth on my throat and a voice in my ear promising filth and blood.
See? Nothing weird at all. Totally normal.
