It’s her. Aria. She’s standing just inside the doorway, and the sight of her hits me like a body blow. The bar’s dim red light loves her, catching the soft, full curves of her face. She’s wearing a dark, baggy hoodie, but it’s a piss-poor disguise for the reality of her body, a reality I’ve only ever guessed at from a distance. Up close, it’s a revelation. The generous swell of her hips, the promise of the soft stomach and full thighs beneath the fabric. She’s not built like the other girls in here—all sharp angles and jutting bones. She’s an armful. She’s a goddamn woman, and the fact that she’s trying to hide it makes the confirmation, seeing her in the flesh the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.
My first thought is disbelief. I must be drunker than I thought. I must have conjured her from the sheer force of my obsession, but I’m not, and she’s real. She’s here.
My second thought is a fierce, primal, possessive thrill that roars through me, hot and absolute. She came to me. For years, I kept our worlds separate—the watcher and the watched. Now she has crossed the line. She has walked into my church, my den, my hell. The game hasn’t ended; it has irrevocably changed. The ghost has come to haunt the monster.
I watch her, unmoving, letting the moment stretch. Her eyes are wide, taking in the scene; The dim, red-lit squalor. The leering faces. The sheer, oppressive volume of it all.
She’s terrified. I can see it in the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her hand is still hovering near the door, ready to flee, but she’s not fleeing. She’s holding her ground. My god, the effort it must be taking.
A couple of guys at a table near the door notice her. Of course they do. A woman with a body like that—soft and real—stands out in this place. Their sleazy, appraising gazes slide over hercurves and one of them nudges his friend, a low, predatory grin spreading across his face.
A switch flips in my head, and a cold, red fog descends. The noise of the bar fades to a dull hum. All I see are the leering eyes of the man at that table, and my hands begin to ache with the need to gouge them out. The thought isn’t justMine.It’sMine, and they are dead for looking.
That’s all it takes. I push my glass away and slide off the barstool. The hunt is back on.
I move through the crowd, and people get out of my way. They always do. They know my face, they know the trouble that follows me like a stray dog. I keep my eyes locked on her. She hasn’t seen me yet. Her focus is on the overwhelming chaos of the room.
I stop a few feet in front of her.
“Lost, little ghost?” I ask, my voice a low rumble under the music.
Her head snaps toward me. Her eyes widen, and I see it all; recognition, shock, and that beautiful, beautiful fear. It’s like watching a match flare in the dark.
“Cassian,” she breathes, my name a wisp of sound.
“In the flesh,” I say, giving her a slow, deliberate smirk. I let my gaze drift over her, from her wide eyes down to her tote bag clutched in front of her like a shield. “Big, scary world out here. You could get hurt. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to wander into strange places?”
She swallows, her throat working. “This is a bar, not a warzone.”
“Depends on the night,” I counter, my smirk widening. I take a step closer, invading her space, closing the gap until the choice to touch her is an inevitability. My hand finds the small of her back, and the reality of her is a jolt that travels right up my arm. She’s not a ghost at all. She’s solid, warm, and soft. My palmsinks into the curve of her, and my fingers itch with the need to grip her hip, to pull her flush against me so she can feel exactly what the sight of her does to me. Her entire body goes rigid at the contact, she inhales a sharp breath. She doesn’t pull away. I guide her through the crowd, away from the door, deeper into the heart of my territory.
People watch us pass. They see her, soft, pale, and curved, a creature from another world. They see me, my hand on her back, my expression a clear warning.Keep your distance. This one is mine.
I lead her to a small, secluded booth in the back corner, shadowed and away from the main crush of the bar. It’s the best seat in the house. It’s my seat. I slide onto the worn vinyl on one side, and nod to the other. “Sit.”
She hesitates for a second, then slides into the opposite side of the booth, as far from me as she can get and places her tote bag on her lap like a shield.
“So,” I begin, leaning forward, my arms on the table. “You were curious.”
She just nods, her eyes darting around the dim, graffiti-scarred walls of the booth.
“You know, for a girl who says she wants to be left alone, you have a funny way of showing it,” I say, my voice laced with amusement. “Walking into my favorite bar on a Friday night. It’s almost like you were looking for me.”
“I wasn’t,” she lies, her gaze finally meeting mine. The spark of anger I saw in the stairwell is back. “I was just… walking.”
“Right. And you just happened to walk in here.” I lean back, feigning casualness. “You’re a terrible liar, Aria.”
Before she can respond, a shadow falls over our table. It’s the guy from the front. He’s tall, beefy, and has the vacant, aggressive eyes of someone who’s had four too many beers.
“Well, well. Look what we have here,” he slurs, his gaze fixed on Aria’s chest. “You’re a little too pretty to be hiding in the corner, sweetheart. Why don’t you come have a real drink with me and my friends?”
Aria freezes, her face paling. The rage is gone before it even begins, replaced by something much colder and quieter. My mind goes clear. I can already feel the satisfying crunch of his jawbone under my knuckles, see the spray of blood on the cheap wood of the booth. It’s not anger anymore. It’s purpose. He touched what is mine with his eyes, and now he has to be broken.
“She’s busy,” I say, my voice dangerously quiet.
The guy scoffs. “I wasn’t talking to you, asshole.”
I slowly turn my head and look up at him. I don’t raise my voice, I don’t get up. I just look at him, and I let him see the absolute, murderous promise in my eyes. “This is your one and only chance to walk away,” I say, my voice a blade in the darkness. “If you take one more breath in this booth, I’m going to break your fucking jaw. Do you understand me?”
