Page 4 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
My attacker pins me with devastating efficiency, one knee between my legs, the other pinning my right arm. His large hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing yet, but the threat is unmistakable.
I stare up at my captor, heart hammering against my ribs. He's dressed in tactical gear—black from head to toe, face obscured by a mask. Only his eyes are visible.
And what eyes they are. Striking blue, almost luminous in the low light. Cold. Calculating. Assessing my every movement.
Get it together, Alina. Look for an escape.
I try to twist free, but his grip tightens just enough to make me freeze. His massive hands immobilize me completely, the solid weight of him pressing me into the floor.
"Don't," he warns, voice so low it's almost a growl.
That single word shouldn't affect me the way it does. A rush of heat floods my body, pooling low in my belly. My breath catches—not from fear alone.
What the actual fuck, Alina?
His scent surrounds me—sandalwood and something untamed—a masculine essence that makes my pulse quicken despite the threat. My body responds with a mind of its own, nipples tightening beneath my shirt, breath for reasons that have nothing to do with survival.
This is NOT the time. He could literally kill you right now.
I try to focus on escape routes, on self-defense moves, on anything but his weight against me. The way his thigh presses between mine. The controlled power in the hand at my throat.
What the hell is happening to my body? I'm getting hot for someone who could literally end my life in seconds. Talk about fucked up priorities, Alina.
His head tilts slightly, studying me with those piercing eyes. In our struggle, my hoodie has fallen back, revealingmy face to the faint light coming through the dirty windows.
Something changes in those blue eyes—a flicker of... surprise?
His grip on my throat adjusts, thumb pressing against my pulse point, and my life literally in his hands.
I lie beneath him, stunned not just by the threat but by my body's shameful response to it, unable to form a single coherent thought.
When he speaks, his voice is deep, dangerous. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?"
two
Kade
Fuck.
The hood falls back, revealing a woman beneath me. Long brown waves spill across the dusty concrete floor. My grip on her throat loosens slightly, but I maintain control.
Years of training keep my expression neutral despite the surprise—and something else I refuse to acknowledge.
Her pulse races beneath my thumb, a rapid flutter like a trapped bird.
Clear green eyes stare up at me, defiant despite the fear I can sense. I keep my weight distributed precisely—enough to immobilize without crushing her.
A subtle scent rises between us—peony and delicate rose—so unexpected in this industrial setting that it momentarily disrupts my focus.
Not the generic fragrances, which most operatives would avoid. Something deliberately feminine, almost... distracting.
"Who are you?" I repeat, my voice low, controlled.
Her body shifts beneath mine—testing boundaries, seeking weakness. The friction of her hips against me sends an unwanted jolt through my system. I adjust my stance, creating enough distance to neutralize that particular... complication.
She's civilian. The realization hits with certainty. Her technique is textbook self-defense class, not professional training. But her eyes... they're scanning, analyzing. Intelligence there. Dangerous intelligence.
"I got lost," she gasps, voice strained against my hold. "Wrong building. I'm supposed to meet the property manager at Bayside Storage. This looked similar..."
