Lena's hands shook as she locked Moonlit Brew's door, the bell's jingle too loud in the empty dark. Crestwood's streets were dead at this hour, but her skin prickled like someone was watching. She'd felt it all night, eyes on her, heavy, unblinking. Not the usual drunks or late-night creepers. This was different. Like a weight that made her heart race and her breath catch.
She tugged her coat tighter, glancing at the alley where she'd heard that crash earlier.
Something about it had set her nerves on edge, like the air itself was wrong. Shaking her head, she started toward home, her sneakers scuffing the pavement. Get it together, Lena.
Just another long shift.
But it wasn't. She'd felt him before she saw him. A man-tall, broad, all sharp edges and
shadow—standing across the street when she'd tossed out the trash. He'd blended into the dark, but his eyes... they'd burned, gold and fierce, pinning her in place. She'd frozen, her pulse hammering, not from fear but something else. Something that made her want to step closer, even as every instinct screamed to run.
He was gone when she'd blinked. Now, hours later, that feeling lingered, like he was still out there. Watching.
The café's neon sign buzzed behind her as she hurried down Main Street. Crestwood wasn't big, three stoplights, one bar, and a whole lot of nothing, but it felt smaller tonight, the shadows thicker. She passed the hardware store, its windows dark, and cut through the park to shave ten minutes off her walk. Dumb, maybe, but her apartment's heat was spotty, and she wanted her blanket and bed.
Halfway through the park, she saw him again.
He was at the café's counter this time, in her memory, clear as if he'd never left. She'd been wiping down the espresso machine when she'd caught him staring through the window. Black hair falling into those gold-flecked eyes, a jaw that could cut glass, and a presence that sucked the air from the room. He hadn't come in, just stood there, hands in his pockets, like he was deciding something. Her hands had fumbled the rag, coffee grounds spilling everywhere, and when she'd looked up, he was gone.
"Who are you?" she muttered, her breath fogging in the chilly air.
A twig snapped behind her. Lena spun, heart lurching. The park was empty—swings still, benches bare, but the hairs on her neck stood up. She clutched her bag, picking up her pace.
The path curved toward the streetlights, and she focused on them, willing herself calm. Just her imagination. Just…
A hand grabbed her arm, yanking her back.
Lena yelped, stumbling as a man loomed over her, his breath sour with beer. His hoodie was grimy, his grin worse. "Wallet. Now."
Her stomach dropped. Crestwood wasn't Chicago, but she'd grown up dodging trouble.
She fumbled for her bag, playing along, while her other hand slid to the keys in her pocket.
"Okay, okay, just... here."
He sneered, stepping closer. "Faster, sweetheart."
She didn't get the chance to swing. A blur—dark, massive, slammed into the mugger, knocking him to the ground. Lena staggered back, her keys clattering to the pavement. The new figure moved like a storm, all muscle and precision, pinning the mugger with one knee. A low growl rumbled from his throat, not human, not animal, but something that made her freeze.
"Don't touch her," the figure snarled.
It was him. The man from the café. His voice was gravel and steel, his broad shoulders tense under a dark jacket. He didn't look at her, his focus locked on the mugger, who whimpered under his grip. Lena's breath hitched. Up close, he was bigger than she'd thought, six-five, maybe more, with a raw power that made the air hum. His eyes flicked to her for a split second, and that same jolt from earlier hit her, like a spark tying her to him.
Then he moved. Fast. Too fast. He hauled the mugger up, slamming him against a tree with enough force to crack bark. The guy gasped, clawing at the man's arm, but it was like fighting a wall. "Leave," the man said, voice deadly quiet. "Or I break you."
The mugger nodded frantically, tears streaming. The man, her savior, her watcher—released him, and the guy bolted, tripping
roots as he vanished into the dark.
Lena stood there, heart pounding, keys forgotten on the ground. He turned to her, and the streetlight caught his face—sharp cheekbones, a faint scar across his brow, and those eyes, gold and unyielding. She should've been scared. She wasn't. "Who are you?" she demanded, voice steadier than she felt.
He didn't answer. Just stepped closer, slow, like she was a skittish animal. His scent hit her—pine, leather, something wilder, and her head spun. She backed up, bumping into a bench, but her body didn't want to move. It wanted him closer, which was insane.
"You're hurt," he said, glancing at her arm where the mugger had grabbed her. His voice was softer now, but it still vibrated through her.
"I'm fine." She rubbed her wrist, more to break the spell than anything. "You didn't answer my question."
His lips twitched, almost a smirk, but his eyes stayed intense. "Kael."
Kael. It fit him, hard, primal, like a blade. She opened her mouth to say more, but he tensed, head snapping toward the trees. A low curse slipped from him, too quiet for her to catch.
Before she could blink, he was gone, melting into the shadows like he'd never been there.
"Kael?" she called, her voice echoing. Nothing.
Just the wind and her own ragged breathing.
Lena stood there, adrenaline fading, leaving her cold and confused. Her wrist throbbed faintly, but it wasn't pain that kept her rooted. It was him, Kael, his eyes, his voice, the way her skin still tingled where he'd looked at her. She shook it off, grabbing her keys from the ground. Get home. Forget this.
She started walking, faster now, the park's exit just ahead. But something pulled her back, a glint in the grass near the tree where Kael had pinned the mugger. She hesitated, then crouched, her fingers brushing something wet.
Blood. Not hers. Not Kael's.
Her stomach twisted as she followed the trail to the tree's base. The mugger's hoodie was there, torn, discarded in his panic. She nudged it with her foot, and it fell open, revealing the ground beneath. Claw marks—deep, jagged, like something massive had raked the earth.
Not human. Not a dog.
Her breath stopped. She stumbled back, heart slamming against her ribs. Those marks weren't there before. Were they?