Shirley
The first wave of heat struck me like a knife sliding under my skin.
I had been leaving the bar late, wiping the last of the night’s smoke and sweat from my arms, when it flared—my hunter’s mark searing as though Elias himself had lit a match beneath my flesh. My knees buckled on the cracked pavement. I caught myself on the wall, but the burn only grew sharper, licking up my neck, spiraling into my skull.
“Not here,” I whispered through gritted teeth, pressing my palm against the mark. “Not now.”
The alley stretched quiet and empty, but my body didn’t care about timing or dignity. My chest heaved, breaths coming short and shallow. Every pulse felt like it was dragging me closer to some invisible cliff where I would topple headfirst into Elias’s control. His voice echoed in memo
