Page 41 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

Nothing. No movement. No sound.

People in the crowd around me share a mix of glares and concern.

“Sorry,” I stutter out.

The light changes, and we move as a mass to the other side. I’m one of many continuing in the same direction.

That is, until we reach the next intersection and someone scoops an arm around my waist.

“Keep walking,” a gruff voice whispers in my ear.

Chapter Twelve

“Keep walking,” a gruff voice whispers. The man behind me is big—so big that the street lamps behind us cast a shadow in front of me.

Is Wick this big? It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him in person.

My stupid heart feels a stab of guilt that I don’t even know his height anymore. I know what he looks like, sure, but right now, I’m trying to figure out if the man behind me is my mate or someone with ill intent.

And yes, I recognize the irony of that conundrum.

“You can have my wallet,” I whisper when we come to another intersection. “I’m broke, but there’s a few hundred on the card.”

But the man makes no response. I attempt to peek over my shoulder to figure him out.

“Eyes forward,” he growls.

Shit.

It isn’t Wick.

Wick wouldn’t shove me along. He’d snatch me and leave. He has no reason to let me find another escape.

A wide palm traps the nape of my neck and directs me into a club. Deafening bass assaults me when I open the door. I don’t like having my senses stripped of me. I won’t be able to hear his demands.

The bouncer greets us and holds his hand out for my card.

Fingers squeeze my neck, the message clear.

Give the man your ID.

I do as asked, and movement close to my back sends shivers echoing across my skin. I try to turn my head again, but his thumb is harsh on my neck.

It’s not Wick. It can’t be.

The hand urges me into the hallway to a dance area.

Fear spirals and makes my eyes dart side to side. I try to catch the bouncer’s eye, but he’s already looking to the next rowdy group in line.

I’ll wait until we’re in the crowd and then slip away or scream for help.

My unknown assailant directs me onto the dance floor. People around us swell and sway with the beat of some pop-house remix. There’s a call and response I don’t know, and I use the opportunity.

“What do you want?” I yell.

The warm, smoky laugh in my ear is familiar.

“You,” Wick growls in my ear. He twirls me around and captures me in a kiss.

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