Chasing Shadows

PROLOGUE

The world has two kinds of people—the hunters and the hunted. And sometimes, the hunted become prey long before they even realize it.

London-Midnight

The city pulsed with an eerie kind of silence. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, swallowed by the humid air clinging to Isla Carter’s skin. She tightened her coat around her, quickening her steps.

She shouldn’t have been here.

Neon lights flickered along the deserted street, their glow reflecting off puddles from the evening’s rain. The upscale part of the city had long since quieted, leaving only the shadows to move freely in the night. Isla glanced over her shoulder. Empty. But the unease curling in her stomach whispered that she wasn’t alone.

Just a few more blocks.

She clutched her purse tighter, her heart pounding a little too loudly for comfort. Isla had never been the reckless type, but she’d made a mistake tonight.

Her best friend, Ava, had begged her to come out for drinks at a high-end club—one of those exclusive ones where power reeked in the air, and men in sharp suits watched women like they were already bought. Isla had hesitated. She wasn’t the kind of girl who belonged in places like that. But Ava had been persistent, and Isla—too soft-hearted to refuse—had agreed.

She should have trusted her instincts.

The moment they stepped inside, she’d known she was out of place. Gilded chandeliers. Dark leather booths. A low hum of conversations laced with dangerous promises. The weight of gazes that lingered just a little too long.

And then there was him.

He sat in the farthest booth, a presence that didn’t demand attention—it commanded it. The shadows played tricks with the sharp angles of his face, but even from across the room, Isla felt the quiet power rolling off him in waves.

Damien Blackwood.

She didn’t know his name then. Didn’t understand why the air had shifted when he looked at her.

But now, hours later, as she walked alone through the dark streets, she felt that moment as if it had left a brand on her skin.

A whisper of movement behind her snapped her out of her thoughts. Isla spun around, breath catching in her throat.

Nothing.

The silence pressed in too thickly, the air suddenly too heavy. The city never felt this empty.

Then—a footstep.

Not hers.

Her pulse spiked. Isla took a slow step back, eyes darting around. The alley to her left was too dark. The street ahead stretched too far. Trapped.

Another step. Closer this time.

Fear clawed up her spine as she turned to run—

A hand shot out from the darkness, gripping her wrist. Isla gasped, but before she could scream, a rough voice rasped in her ear.

“You shouldn’t be out alone, princess.”

The grip was tight—too tight. Panic flared.

“I—I don’t have anything, please—”

A low chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not after your wallet.”

Ice slithered through her veins. Isla struggled, yanking at her arm, but the man was stronger, dragging her toward the alley.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Let me go!” she cried, voice shaking.

The man smirked. “That depends. You gonna scream for me?”

Isla opened her mouth—

Then the grip vanished.

A harsh thud followed by a strangled gasp. Isla stumbled backward, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

The man who had grabbed her was now against the wall, a forearm pressed against his throat.

And standing in front of her—him.

Damien Blackwood.

Up close, he was even more terrifying. Dressed in all black, his tailored suit barely wrinkled despite the violence in his stance. His presence was suffocating, his sharp jaw clenched as he leaned in close to the struggling man.

“You had three seconds to let her go,” Damien murmured, voice like velvet laced with steel. “You wasted them.”

The man choked, clawing at Damien’s arm, but there was no mercy in the way he held him there.

Isla’s knees felt weak.

This wasn’t a rescue.

This was something else entirely.

She should run.

She should thank him.

She did neither.

Instead, she stood frozen as Damien finally released his grip. The man collapsed to the ground, coughing violently. Damien didn’t spare him a second glance as he turned his attention to her.

And when their eyes met—

The world tilted.

His gaze was unreadable, dark as the night swallowing them whole. But there was something else lurking there, something that made her chest tighten.

Isla didn’t know it then, but she had just stepped into the orbit of a man who would ruin her.

A man who had already decided she was his.

Damien took a step closer. Isla inhaled sharply.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, intimate, as if they weren’t standing in the middle of a crime scene.

She shook her head. “I—I think I should go.”

He studied her for a long moment, then—without a word—shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

It was absurdly warm, smelling of leather, danger, and something distinctly him.

She should refuse it.

But the way he looked at her made refusal feel impossible.

Then, in the softest voice, he murmured—

“Next time, Isla, don’t walk alone.”

The way he said her name—like he had known it all along—sent shivers down her spine.

And as she stepped away, her heart racing, she knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t the last time she’d see Damien Blackwood.

It was only the beginning.