And that’s when I really look at him.
In any other world, a man like this would never end up in my bed. Tall. Broad. Unapologetically handsome. But here he is, unconscious and bound—and I can’t help but study him like he’s some impossible paradox.
The sharp cut of his jaw, dusted with stubble. That tattoo, dark and intricate, crawling from the buzzed edge of his scalp into the darkness of his hairline—matching the black ink that curves down his neck in crisp, deliberate lines. He looks carved, not grown.
And if he wasn’t a stalker—a very inconvenient stalker of my missing friend—I might even want to lean closer. Breathe him in. Let myself get lost in the heat radiating from those banded arms.
But he is stalker boy. And I am his captor.
And there’s no version of this story where that ends well.
15
Nell
Two cups of coffee in and my fingers are tingling. Classic mistake—there’s a reason I usually steer clear of caffeine, but desperate times and all that.
Still, I’ve had a wildly productive morning while stalker boy snoozed like some shackled prince. I’ve packed everything I might need, convinced the cat to surrender to the carrier with minimal bloodshed, and even managed to take the rubbish out.
I glance around the flat, but there’s nothing here to feel nostalgic about. No goodbyes, no soft edges. Ever since I moved in, it’s been one mess after another—the breakup, the dead-end job, and now Darcy.
Or rather, the gaping absence where Darcy used to be.
I’m ready to get her back. Ready to burn down anything in my path if that’s what it takes.
And I won’t lie—I’m more than a little curious to take a deeper dive inside stalker boy’s house. I don’t think I’ve everstepped foot in a place that expensive without someone checking my badge first.
The bed creaks, and I whip around instinctively. He’s stirring, blinking blearily up at me, confusion etched into every line of his face. His bruises are starting to yellow at the edges—healing, slowly. About time.
By the time he sits up, he’s already clocked the suitcase, the cat carrier, and the change in my energy.
“What… is all this?” he asks, voice rough, wary.
“Good news,” I announce, far too brightly. “I’m letting you go. Thought about what you said last night and—shockingly—I’ve decided you had a point.”
His eyes narrow, tracking from me to Boomerang’s smug little face. “Right. Sure. But that doesn’t explain… this.”
He gestures to the packed bags with more concern that necessary.
“Simple,” I say, lifting my chin. “If what you told me is true—if Manticore really hunts in pairs—then I’m not exactly safe here, am I? So, I figured… safety in numbers.” I smile sweetly. “Hope you don’t mind guests, stalker boy. I’ll try not to redecorate.”
“No. No. Absolutely not. That’s not what I meant,” he says, already unravelling. “Yes, I said I’d protect you, but I don’t run a damn hotel. You can’t just… decide to live with me!”
He throws a nod at Boomerang, now purring smugly from his crate. “Especially withthatthing.”
“Don’t be mean,” I say, holding his stare. “Besides, if you want out, you’ll agree to my terms.”
My heart stumbles in my chest, tripping over the silence as he weighs his options. If he refuses… what then? Keep him tied up indefinitely, hoping Manticore loses interest before they track me down?
The thought makes bile rise. I’ve always handled being alone—worn it like armour—but now, with Adam still out there and Manticore supposedly closing in, solitude feels like a death sentence.
His house feels like the safer bet.
“Fine,” he mutters at last, the word reluctant and gravel-edged. “But you stay where I tell you, and out of my way. Got it?”
I nod like it’s no big deal, like we do this every day. Look at us—teamwork. We’ve come such a long way since the rolling pin.
“Deal,” I add, beaming—way too obviously, way too brightly.
