Chapter Three – The Devil’s Texts
741 Words
My hand trembles as I stare at the screen.
Unknown Number: You look beautiful in black, little ghost.
The café spins. My pulse hammers so loud it drowns out Lyra’s voice, the chatter, the clinking cups.
How?
I glance up. Damien hasn’t moved. He’s still lounging in the booth, his massive frame draped in shadows, one arm stretched across the backrest like he owns the place. His phone isn’t in sight.
But I know it’s him.
Who else would call me that? Who else would dare?
Another buzz.
Unknown Number: I like the way your lipstick smudged when you sipped your coffee. It makes me wonder how messy you’d look on your knees.
My breath catches. Heat slams into me so hard I squeeze my thighs together under the table, desperate, ashamed.
I drop my phone face-down, my cheeks blazing, praying Lyra doesn’t notice the way my entire body just flushed with fire.
“Are you even listening to me?” she huffs, waving a manicured hand in front of my face.
“Yes,” I lie, though my voice cracks.
No, I’m not listening. I’m drowning. Drowning in him.
Another buzz.
My fingers twitch, betraying me. I can’t resist. I flip the phone back over.
Unknown Number: Don’t bother pretending, Seraphina. I know exactly how wet you are right now.
My stomach drops. My pulse stutters. My skin burns.
I jerk my head up, eyes snapping to him.
Damien is still smirking, his gaze locked on me like he can hear every ragged thought, like he’s inside my body, inside my mind. He doesn’t need to check his phone. He knows my reactions without even looking.
It’s madness.
It’s obsession.
And it’s working.
I shove my phone into my purse and stand abruptly, nearly knocking over my coffee. “I need air,” I mutter to Lyra, ignoring her protest as I hurry toward the door.
The bell chimes when I push outside, cool air smacking my overheated skin. I suck in a breath, clutching my bag to my chest—
And freeze.
He’s already there.
Leaning against the black car, cigarette between his fingers, Damien Kade looks like sin dressed in shadows. His gaze drags over me slowly, deliberately, before his lips curl into that wicked smile.
“Run all you want, little ghost,” he says, voice deep and smooth, like velvet soaked in gasoline. He takes a slow drag, eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll always catch you.”
My throat goes dry. “You’re insane.”
He exhales smoke, the curl of it drifting between us like a promise. “Insane for you, maybe. But that doesn’t change the truth.” He flicks the cigarette away and pushes off the car.
Each step he takes toward me feels like a strike against my will. My body is screaming to move, to run, but my feet stay rooted in place, frozen by the gravity of him.
When he stops in front of me, I feel caged. His scent—leather, smoke, danger—wraps around me, intoxicating and suffocating all at once.
His hand lifts, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch is feather-light, but it scorches me.
“You feel it too,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate, meant only for me. “That ache in your chest. The heat between your thighs. The hunger you try to deny.”
My lips part, but no words come out.
He leans closer, his mouth grazing my ear. “You can lie to yourself, little ghost. But you’ll never lie to me.”
A shiver runs down my spine, my body betraying me as I sway the tiniest bit toward him. His smirk deepens, victorious.
And then, just as quickly, he steps back.
The loss of his heat is a blow, leaving me trembling, hollow, craving more even though I shouldn’t.
“Go back inside,” Damien orders, his voice sharp now. “Finish your coffee. Pretend your world hasn’t already changed. But remember this, Seraphina…” His gaze hardens, black fire burning in his eyes. “From the moment I saw you, you were mine.”
And then he’s gone—sliding into the black car before I can blink, the engine roaring as the vehicle pulls away.
I stand there on the sidewalk, trembling, breathless, furious at him. Furious at myself.
Because God help me, I want the devil who wants me.
- Writer
