Page 11 of Stalked By Seduction and Shadows

So now with the born and the turned feuding, we were left with a far more dangerous game than our war. A game of shadows and deceit, of sneaky power grabs, and shows of force—a delicate balancing act of hatred, lies, and ever-slipping control.

Human trafficking was one of our games, a twisted game at that. The born held underground auctions of unique, attractive humans, whose blood tasted sweeter than shifters or witches, purer and more untainted. Humans also put up less of a fight.

Scouts were here in Crescent Haven, searching for high-value marks.

Which meant they might not have known it yet, but they were here for Scarlett.

Using my magick this way wouldn’t have worked with vampires. They would’ve seen through my shadow glamour immediately. I didn’t have much time before the shifters and witches saw through it either, especially given the sheer magnitude of my power that couldn’t help but seep through my skin.

My eyes were trained on the two human scouts from Aristelle. They weren’t hard to find, given their refusal to dress down no matter how ridiculously out of place it made them. I rolled my eyes. If they thought their sleek, wealthy attire made these village folk look at them with envy and admiration, they were even bigger idiots than I’d already suspected. These mortals only glanced at them with contempt. As they should’ve.

If it wasn’t hard enough to keep myself hidden in the corner of this tavern using a thin veil of trembling shadow magic, Little Flame—Scarlett—decided it was time to grace us all with her presence.

Her unbelievably distracting presence.

I had to stop myself from dropping my glamour as my eyes locked on hers—big, bright, and shockingly blue—so powerful that they could’ve brought me to my knees. Matched with her full, pouted lips, her dark brows and thick, full head of dark hair… goddessdammit, I, the other patrons, and the traffickers had no other choice but to give her every ounce of our undivided attention.

Twenty-three and no longer a child, her scent had changed. It had deepened and grown sweeter, darker, so sinful and powerful that I had to completely block it from my perception.

As I watched her slowly weave through the bodies to the back of the bar, I became conscious that I was running my tongue over my left fang and then my right. I quickly closed my mouth, clenching my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. My eyes drifted to her exposed thighs, the divine shape of her ass under her burgundy dress.

I quickly looked back up.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You.

Maybe staring at her perfect curves was the better move, because now that I was watching her face again, it felt as though my entire world had been thrown off its axis. Like my skin was burning and my lungs were full of ocean water as I struggled to breathe or think or remember what the fuck I was doing here in this mortal tavern.

Staring greedily, possessively, at a woman I used to watch when she was a child.

I took a step back and hit the cool stone wall, horrified and disturbed. I needed to get out of here and as far away from her as possible.

I’d been right the last time, when she was seventeen and I’d said what was supposed to be my final goodbye. I knew I shouldn’t have returned to this place while she was still alive. I should’ve followed that sound intuition and not my irrational, vile compulsion to see her.

It was clear that Scarlett had already been spotted and marked as soon as she’d stepped through the door. The blond scout whispered to the dark-haired one. I had to clench my fists and close my eyes to keep from tearing through my glamour and ripping both of their throats out before a single mortal could scream.

She was safe, I reminded myself.

I would kill them before they could tell a single vampire about this human girl, this living embodiment of desire itself. I would torture information from their sly mouths, taking my time with it, and then I would watch the light drain from their greedy, unworthy eyes. Or maybe I’d pluck them out so they couldn’t see what was coming next, which device I was going to use on which of their body parts.

I was exceptionally good at inflicting pain. Enjoyed it, too. Thoroughly. Which was half the reason Mason calling me a mental masochist was so damn ironic.

I’d been making a concerted effort to focus on the visions of violence behind my eyes rather than the perplexing, entrancing woman working the tavern, but my resolve was soon crushed in her small palms.

If I was ever close to her, I would tower over her, eclipse her with my size.

If she ever saw me, I would terrify her in every way imaginable. My imposing stature. My strength. My inky, thorny tattoos that wrapped around my fair skin and melted into shadow magick at my command. My dark hair and eyes, cutting gaze and even sharper fangs.

My thirst for blood and pain.

Her blood. Her pain.

Arousal spread slowly from my core and outward, and soon my pants were uncomfortably tight.

I bit down on a curse.

I was sick and twisted in more ways than I could count, carrying a list of sins long enough to damn me to the underworld for far longer than an eternity.

But this?

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