Page 54 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
"These are incredible," I mumble around a mouthful of gooey chocolate.
He raises an eyebrow. "Don't sound so surprised."
I swallow and grin. "Sorry, it's just... you don't strike me as the baking type."
"There's a lot you don't know about me, little hellcat." His tone makes it clear this is both an observation and a boundary.
I take another cookie, savoring the sweetness while gathering my courage. "So," I begin, unable to resist my reporter's instincts. "Since we're both awake, want to fill me in on what's really going on?"
Ghost's eyes narrow at my question. He turns back to the oven, checking the timer with a glance. When he faces me again, he's positioned himself strategically—back to the wall, clear view of all entrances.
"You know I can't give you all the details yet," his voice neutral but firm.
I sigh, frustration bubbling up. "Come on, Ghost. I'm already in this mess. Don't I deserve to know what's going on?"
He crosses his arms, the gesture pulling his shirt tight across his muscular chest. "It's complicated, Alina. And dangerous."
"I think I've figured out the dangerous part," I mutter, rubbing my bruised arm.
He moves suddenly, covering the distance between us faster than seems possible. He's not touching me, but his nearness makes my heart pound.
"Let me be clear," he says, voice dropping low. "The danger you've seen is nothing compared to what we're dealing with. I need to know I can trust you completely before I risk my team with further disclosures."
The air between us crackles with tension. I hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs.
"Okay, what do you want to know?"
Ghost pulls up a stool, sitting across from me at the kitchen island. Despite sitting, he somehow maintains his commanding presence.
"How long have you been a journalist?" His seemingly offhand question lands with weight, but his gaze locks onto me with the intense concentration of a hawk tracking its prey..
"Eight years professionally. But I grew up in a newsroom, so it feels like my whole life."
He nods, expression thoughtful, as though he's mentally filing away what I've just told him. "And what made you choose investigative journalism?"
"I've always been too curious for my own good. Plus, I believe in exposing the truth, even though sometimes it gets ugly."
"Even when it puts you in danger?" His tone sharpens.
My smile fades. "Especially then. If someone's trying to hide something, it usually means it needs to be brought to light."
Ghost's expression remains neutral, but I sense a hint of approval. He reaches for a cookie, breaking it in half with deliberate precision before speaking again.
"Tell me about your family."
I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. But if I want him to trust me, I need to open up.
"My parents run an independent newspaper. They taught me everything I know about journalism and integrity. My grandmother is a civil rights activist. I guess fighting for justice runs in the family."
Ghost nods, his eyes never leaving my face. "And what about personal relationships? Anyone special in your life?"
The question feels invasive, calculated. I tense slightly. "Not at the moment. My work doesn't leave much room for dating."
"Or you're afraid of getting close to someone," he observes quietly, the accuracy of his assessment landing like a precise strike.
Anger flares. "What about you? I don't see a ring on your finger."
The corner of his mouth lifts in what might be amusement, but his eyes remain cold. "Fair point. We all have our reasons for keeping people at arm's length."
