Seraphina’s POV
My heart hamred against my ribs as the footsteps behind quickened. The sound echoed off the narrow buildings lining the street, creating an eerie chorus that made my skin crawl.
*Move. Just keep moving.*
I clutched my grocery bag tighter, the plastic handles cutting into my palm. The bread was getting squished, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting ho. Getting sowhere safe. Getting away from whoever was following .
The streetlights cast long shadows between the buildings, creating perfect hiding spots for anyone who wanted to stay unseen. But I could still hear him back there. Still feel his presence like a weight pressing against my spine.
I turned right at the next corner, hoping to circle back toward the main street where there would be more people. More witnesses. More safety.
But the footsteps turned too.
*Shit.*
My hands were shaking now, making it hard to keep hold of the grocery bag. The peanut butter jar rattled against the loaf of bread with each step. Such normal, everyday sounds. Nothing like the terror pounding through my veins.
The footsteps sped up.
*Run.*
The thought hit like lightning. I dropped all pretense of casual walking and broke into a sprint, my sneakers slapping against the wet pavent. Behind , I heard a grunt of surprise, then the sound of heavier footsteps giving chase.
*He’s following. He’s actually following .*
I turned left into what I thought was another street, only to realize too late that it was an alley. A dead-end alley with brick walls on three sides and nowhere to go but back the way I’d co.
Where he was waiting.
I spun around, pressing my back against the cold brick wall, my grocery bag falling to the ground with a wet thud. The man appeared at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the streetlight behind him.
He was bigger than I’d thought. Broader. The kind of size that ant trouble for soone like .
"Hey there," he called out, his voice slurred and rough. "No need to run, sweetheart."
The sll hit then—alcohol and sothing else. Sothing sour and unwashed that made my stomach turn.
"I... I was just heading ho," I managed, my voice coming out higher than I wanted. "I don’t want any trouble."
He stepped closer, and I could see his face in the dim light. Stubbled cheeks, bloodshot eyes, a smile that made my skin crawl.
"Neither do I," he said, but there was sothing in his tone that suggested the opposite. "Just thought maybe we could talk. Get to know each other."
Another step closer. I pressed harder against the wall, wishing I could lt through it.
"I really need to get ho," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "My... my husband is waiting for ."
The lie ca automatically, desperately. But the man just laughed.
"Husband, huh?" He looked around the empty alley. "Don’t see him anywhere."
*Think. Think!* Without Ayla, I couldn’t rely on supernatural strength or speed. But I still had my brain. I still had words.
"Look," I said, forcing myself to sound calm. Reasonable. "I understand you’ve been drinking. Maybe you’re just looking for soone to talk to. But I’m not the right person. There are bars a few blocks over. Lots of people who’d be happy to chat."
He tilted his head, studying like I was a particularly interesting puzzle.
"You’re pretty," he said, ignoring everything I’d just said. "Really pretty. Bet you don’t get told that enough."
My throat went dry. "Thank you, but I really do need to—"
"What’s the rush?" He took another step, close enough now that I could see the broken blood vessels in his eyes. "Night’s still young. We got ti."
I edged along the wall, trying to put so distance between us without making it obvious. "My husband gets worried when I’m late."
"Your husband," he repeated, and there was sothing mocking in his voice now. "Where’s your ring?"
My heart sank. "I... I don’t wear it when I go out alone," I lied. "Safety precaution."
"Smart girl." His smile got wider. "Very smart."
The grocery bag at my feet rustled in the wind. "What do you say we go sowhere more comfortable?" the man said, his voice taking on that too-friendly tone that sent ice through my veins. "I know a place. Real nice. Quiet."
"No." The word ca out sharper than I intended. "No, I can’t. I won’t."
Sothing flickered across his face. Annoyance. Impatience.
"Co on, sweetheart," he said, his voice losing so of its false friendliness. "Don’t be like that. I’m trying to be nice here."
I pressed my palms flat against the brick wall behind , feeling for any crack or gap that might give leverage. Anything I could use. But there was nothing except cold stone and the growing certainty that this was about to get much worse.
The man reached into his jacket pocket, and my blood turned to ice. Was he reaching for a weapon? A knife? Sothing worse?
But when his hand ca out, it was holding a small bottle. Liquor, by the sll that wafted toward when he unscrewed the cap.
"Want so?" he asked, holding it out toward . "Might help you relax."
"I don’t drink," I said quickly.
"Course you do." He took a swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Everyone drinks."
He moved closer again, and this ti I couldn’t back up any further. The wall was solid behind , trapping in place.
He reached out with his free hand, and I flinched away so hard I scraped my back against the brick.
"Don’t be shy," he murmured, moving even closer. The alcohol sll was overwhelming now, mixed with sweat and sothing that made my stomach heave.
His hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and warm and completely unwelco.
"There we go," he said, his fingers tightening on my shoulder. "That’s not so bad, is it?"
His face was inches from mine now, his breath hot and sour against my cheek. "You got beautiful eyes," he slurred. "Real beautiful. Like green glass."
I tried to pull away, but his grip on my shoulder tightened.
"Now, now," he said, his other hand coming up to touch my face. "No need to be difficult."
His thumb brushed across my cheek, and I jerked my head away so violently I hit it against the brick wall. Stars exploded behind my eyes, but the pain cleared my head enough to think.
"Don’t worry, sweetheart," he said, his voice a parody of comfort. "Uncle Dave’s gonna show you a real good ti."
His hand moved again, this ti trailing down my arm with a familiarity that made my skin crawl.
"Little thing," he repeated, his voice thick with alcohol and intent. "Want to play?"
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