Page 10 of Fated

He looked like someone pulled straight from the cover of a magazine or, better yet, one of the heroes from my much adored fantasy books. Time seemed to stretch and blur as his piercing eyes locked onto mine, stealing all the breath from my lungs.

Leaning casually against the bar, he had his arms crossed over his chest, exuding an air of cool, unshakable confidence.

His outfit—black cargo pants and a fitted black t-shirt—highlighted his athletic build, the fabric clinging to his broad chest and sculpted arms. His jet-black hair was perfectly tousled, a few loose strands falling over his brow, giving him an effortlessly smoldering look.

His face was flawless with defined cheekbones, a strong jaw, and those luscious lips curving in just the hint of a smirk. But his eyes—those eyes—were something else entirely.

They were a deep, endless black, so dark they seemed to drink in the light, pulling me in and holding me captive. He looked a few years older than me, utterly mesmerizing me.

Without a doubt, he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

It wasn’t until the corner of his lips formed into a small, knowing smile that I realized I’d stopped dead in my tracks.

There I was, frozen in front of the ladies’ room, staring at him like an idiot.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and a jolt of electricity shot through my stomach. Mortified, I quickly looked away and hurried to the bathroom, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat.

After washing my hands, I looked at myself in the mirror, suddenly quite self-conscious. My hand ran through my hair, tousling it and I took a couple of deep breaths. God, what was wrong with me? How had I just stood there practically drooling at a random stranger?

I prayed the man would be gone by the time I’d leave the bathroom.

But as soon as I stepped out, keeping my head low, I barely made it six steps before someone blocked my path. My heart dropped into my stomach, my eyes trailing from the bottom of a pair of black cargo pants all the way up to meet those dark smoldering eyes.

He stood in front of me, hands casually in his pockets, radiating cool arrogance.

Up close, his face was even more striking. His eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, were no longer the black I had first assumed. Instead, they were a mesmerizing stormy gray, depthless and intense, like the calm immediately before a fierce thunderstorm.

My eyes trailed down to his full, sensual lips, my gazelingering far longer than it should have. This was so unlike me—since when did I gawk at strangers, let alone ones who looked like they’d stepped out of my wildest daydreams?

The sound of him clearing his throat jolted me back to reality.

My eyes snapped up to his face, and a flush of heat spread across my cheeks as I realized, with growing embarrassment, that I’d been blatantly staring. Again.

He tilted his head slightly, a spark of amusement in his expression as he studied me. His gaze lingered for a moment before dropping down to my wrist.

A flicker of unease sparked in my chest.

Instinctively, I fought the urge to hide my hand behind my back.

“Those bracelets on your wrist—they’re nice,” he said, his voice smooth and deep, like velvet brushing against my skin.

“Thank you …” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, unsure why the compliment was sending a ripple of unease through me.

“What is your name?” His tone, rich and intoxicating, carried an allure that caused an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“Areya,” I replied softly, my pulse beginning to race yet again.

“Areya,” he repeated, drawing out the syllables in a way seeming both deliberate and unsettling, his tone firm yet strangely captivating. “Take off your bracelets and give them to me.”

My eyes blinked, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a cold, impatient edge that made my stomach churn. His jaw tightened, his piercing eyes seeming to darken further, locking onto me like a predator cornering its prey. My pulse skyrocketed, unease turning to panic.

My gaze darted past him toward the table where Lucy and Tyson sat, laughing and oblivious. What was wrong with this man and why was he asking such a bizarre thing?

One thing was certain—I needed to get away from him. Now.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and stepped toward me, his eyes locked on mine with an unsettling intensity. I fought the urge to step back, gripped by panic and an urge to flee.

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