Silver Crescent Shadows

Chapter2

A Dangerous Encounter

Emma POV

Wealth smells different —crisp bills and cold ambition undercut by designer colognes so thick they almost seem tailored to suffocate anyone who dares breach their owners’ personal space.

The King's Man Ball. Even the name stunk of pretension. Twice a year, Ravensvale’s finest emerged in their fanciest plumage to show off and showboat, gauging success in handshakes and backdoor whispers. I wasn’t here tonight by choice — my boss had practically begged me to join him, since his wife had come down with the flu. “Just smile and nod, Emma,” he had said. "These connections matter."

I’d prefer to count grains of sand in the Sahara.

Crystal chandeliers threw prismatic light across the ballroom as I took refuge in a corner table, observing the social choreography with detached fascination. Women in jewels on necks that could feed a village for years laughed too loudly at things that weren’t funny. Men in perfectly tailored suits of predatory smiles that never reached their eyes.

Silverware, I would argue, is innocent of whatever crime you are mentally accusing it of.”

The silky voice snapped me from my thoughts. My knuckles had whitened around the silver fork I’d been unconsciously holding like a weapon. I looked up, disbelief coursing through me when I found familiar eyes staring back at me.

Elias Donovan stood next to my table, sinfully gorgeous in a gray suit that fit wide shoulders with immaculate angles. His dark hair was drawn back from his face, striking sharp cheekbones and a subtle curve of lips that suggested secrets.

A week since he’d discovered me bleeding in the forest. A week of wondering if I’d dreamed the whole thing.

“Maybe guilty by association,” I answered, finally feeling my V.O. as I placed my fork down with deliberate care. "Being part of all... this."

“Then I implore you to show mercy to the defenseless utensil,” he said with a dramatic bow that forced an uninvited smile out of me.

He looked me over for a moment, something running behind his eyes. “Well, how quaint to find you here, Emma. “If this would-be revealer would direct your belles lettres mind to date, which of our illustrious captains of industry are you accompanying tonight?”

The smile faded as suddenly as it had arrived. "Excuse me? Do I seem like some add-on to be ‘accompanied’ with?’

A look of alarm crossed his features as he registered the ice in my tone. "That's not what I—"

But I was already pushing past him, the silk of my borrowed red dress whispering against his suit as I walked to the bar. I knew rationally I was overreacting, but tonight had already rubbed my nerves raw before he’d even showed up.

I sensed his eyes track me across the room. A fixture of identical black suits, at that, in which I would have found him well-suited to the job were it not for the fact that he ran around with a bow tie hanging from his collar, which was alarming enough to make me look back two or three times -- and when I did he was already engaged -- somehow being invited into the fold by two guys who made him look like their son, even though he was the son. And even while muttering snarky nods to whatever it was they were saying, keeping his eyes locked on mine.

Typical. Just another entitled man who thought women were there for decoration. I’d been a fool to think he was different because of one odd night.

Nineteen years in Ravensvale, and I could have counted my friends on one hand, with fingers left over. My childhood had been a life of just me and Mom, whose body was slowly falling apart on account of the complications from my birth that had never healed properly. After she died, I was sent off to Aunt Elise — my mother’s mirror, except for eye color, a cruel twist that meant my tormentor wore my savior’s face.

Each beer Elise drank stoked her anger at the niece who had “killed” her sister. Every drunken night we came home to verbal lashings or worse. My father — whoever he was — a hazy silhouette on my family tree. Some guy from a bar, who had wanted nothing to do with his spawn — though Mom had seen him on and off in her last years.

The “bastard girl who murdered her mother” — that was my legacy at Ravensvale High. 4 years of hell, then I escaped to minimum wage freedom.

“A gorgeous woman shouldn’t look that unhappy.”

A guttural voice grated across my memories. I blinked, and suddenly realized I had wandered down a dimly lit hallway and was lost in thought. The sounds of the main ballroom had faded to a distant hum.

A quick scan confirmed my suspicion — I was alone with the owner of that voice, a man whose smile belied the hunger in his eyes.

“Just getting some air,” I said, casually running my hand up my thigh, where my switchblade was strapped in its garter holster. “The crowd was becoming claustrophobic.

"I noticed." He loomed forward, breathing heavy with cologne. "I followed you."

His confession sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Under the faint overhead light, I could now see his face clearly — conventionally handsome but damaged by something predatory. What was even creepier was a strange reddish glint in his irises that could not be explained by the lighting.

"Now that we have privacy...” He licked his lips, his gaze traveling down my body with such naked lust that I could almost feel it like a physical touch.” The bulge in his pricey trousers made his intentions clear.

Before I could respond, he caused the space between us to disappear, locking my wrists behind my back in a grip that felt unrealistically strong. I twisted, trying to get away, and he just held me tighter.

“It ends one of two ways,” he said, alcohol thick on his breath. “Either you let go and a good time is had by all, or you keep resisting and I have a good time. Your choice, sweet thing."

My back connected with the wall as he pushed on me, the hard proof of his arousal grinding into my gut. Revulsion crept up my throat as he trailed damp kisses down my neck, the free hand starting to gather up the fabric of my dress.

Force wasn't going to work. His weight surpassed my own by at least eighty pounds, his strength bordering on superhuman. I didn’t, though; I just made my body relax instead, pushing back on him with a calculated moan.

A flash of surprise crossed his face, replaced instantly by smug satisfaction. “ knew you’d be a wild one as soon as I saw that ass swinging back and forth in that dress,” he huffed, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure for a moment.

In that moment of distraction I spun in his slackened grip, turning him around so quickly that we switched places and his back hit the wall. My fingers located the switchblade, unsheathing it with habitual accuracy.

“You weren’t wrong,” I purred, keeping up the seductive ruse as long as I could. "I am so into this."

Before he could grasp what was happening, the blade plunged deep into his thigh. I wrenched it once and pulled it free, hot blood immediately pouring through his designer pants.

His howl of pain reverberated eerily in the narrow corridor — a sound too guttural, too animal to have emerged from human vocal cords. He held his leg, blood leaking between his fingers as he scowled up at me.

“You’ll pay for that, b***h,” he snarled, and in that moment, I could have sworn his teeth looked wrong — too sharp, too many.

I stepped back, cleaning my blade with a cocktail napkin before putting it away again. My heart pounded in my ribs as I looked around for witnesses, but there were none.

“Can’t wait,” I bluffed, voice firmer than I felt, then turned and walked — not ran, walked — back toward the party’s lights and noise.

And as I melted into the crowd, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched — not just by the man I’d left bleeding in the hallway, but by something else. Something old and slow going.

Something hungry.