Be Careful Who You Trust
I kept walking. Even after Dorian disappeared into the trees, even after my heartbeat stopped trying to punch its way out of my chest, I didn’t stop. My boots found the dirt path again, but every snap of a twig, every rustle of wind through the brush, felt like a phantom brushing against my skin. He didn’t hurt me. Not physically, anyway. But the way he looked at me—that hunger wrapped in smugness, the kind of gaze that made your body forget it had a voice—unsettled me. Dorian had always been a menace, a bully, the kind of male who pushed buttons just to see what you’d do. But tonight was different. He hadn’t just been teasing. He’d been hunting. And I hated that a part of me froze. Not because I was afraid. But because I wasn’t. I dug my hands into my jacket pockets, fingers closi
- Writer
