Page 28 of Stalked By Seduction and Shadows

I turned slowly, and Uriah’s eyes widened a hair. “Uh, just wanted to make you aware that we have a spy down in one of our designated torture and killing zones.”

I lifted a brow.

He grinned. “He’s in the castle dungeon. You look like you needed a pick-me-up.”

This did lift my mood. I quite loved torture as a pastime, but the gradual breaking of spies and double-crossers specifically was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

Uriah stepped closer, and the sudden fall of his smirk and probing curiosity in his eyes made me want to punch him in the throat.

“What’s going on with you?”

I stared at him. Unblinking. “Care to be more specific?”

He watched as the shadows bled from my skin in an inky mist, unperturbed. “You’ve been extra broody lately. Like your existential musings spun out of control, and you’re trying to untangle the philosophical mess you’ve created.”

Uriah appeared pleased with himself and his mildly creative jab.

“Rest assured, Uriah, my musings remain firmly under my control, just like the rest of Aristelle.”

He opened his mouth and started talking, but I didn’t hear a word of it.

Because the room suddenly filled with a familiar scent—berries, summer heat, storms, and something sinfully sweet that melted like butter on the tongue. All decadence, all pleasure, yet the unmistakable taunt of darkness and sex.

I spun around, and my blood turned to ice.

16

SCARLETT

From the moment I woke, I’d felt the same stomach-dropping, euphoric buzzing under my skin that I’d felt the day before.

Fate.

I was meant to be here. I could feel it, even if it didn’t yet make logical sense. I was looking for Isabella, but I couldn’t shake the intuition that there was something else I was searching for—something I’d thought I’d find with Jaxon out in the dry lands—but might’ve been here in Aristelle all along.

My stomach was empty, and I knew I couldn’t survive on the bag of dried nuts and bread I’d packed for much longer.

The apartment was as tiny and bare as I remembered. I stepped out into the living area, where a cramped kitchen flowed into a space big enough for a few pieces of furniture and a small dining table. I wondered how much I should bother investing in my new home. I needed basics, like bed linens and towels. But if I wanted to make the space anything more than inhabitable, let alone cozy and pleasant to be in, I needed a job that provided enough for both rent and furniture and décor splurging.

Could I survive in a minimalist, drab living environment? Sure. But I much preferred to live surrounded by comfort and great taste.

My guts twisted into knots. My subconscious mind had apparently already decided I would be here for a while—that I was to settle in this foreign, treacherous place I never thought I’d live to see.

Finding Isabella, as well as allies to aid in my rescue mission, would take time. Getting comfortable here was both reasonable and advantageous to my purpose.

And with the reminder of my purpose, I sprang into action. I rinsed off in the shower with a bar of soap I’d packed, and I brushed my hair. I tried to remember what the city dwellers had been wearing last night. I’d been too exhausted to commit most of it to memory, but I remembered many women showing a great deal more skin than I was accustomed. I heard Isabella’s voice for a moment, telling me that I didn’t want to dress like them, especially not here.

Then I heard Jaxon’s voice, calling Isabella cruel and useless, a sister who only used me and couldn’t care less if I lived or died.

A war played out in my mind, and guilt was the strongest, prevailing force. I threw on a casual, soft knit dress that clung to my curves but covered most of my chest and hung just above my knees. When I put on a few dangling silver necklaces, I heard Isabella whisper that I looked like I was trying too hard.

But that was one thing I remembered from my walk down my new street last night—that everyone in the city was trying, striving, reaching. They were glowing with unhindered radiance, talking as if they wholeheartedly believed in every uttered word, dressed and made up as if they were going somewhere important, carrying themselves as if everything they did meant something so much grander.

I wouldn’t stand out here. Not like I did in Crescent Haven, not in the way my sister hated so much.

“Cute boots,” a young woman with shoulder-length ice blonde hair and bangs said when I walked into the witch-owned bakery next to my new apartment building. She was leaning over the bar, deep in conversation with the older woman on the other side. Their features were too similar for them not to be related.

“Thank you,” I said, tentatively smiling. I glanced down at the sleek black ankle boots with a slight heel I’d chosen. Warm and comfortable, perfect for autumn.

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