She smiled at it, and at the night sky. Like with every painting she did—where her mind took her places—she’d been painting for over an hour, with no recollection of anything but the scene that she painted.
Harlow rose from the chair and stretched her stiff muscles, unable to take her eyes off the creature that sat far below the strange woman, yet still its head came up to her shoulders. It was massive. The idea of keeping a pet two to three times her size was terrifying. But that wasn’t what drew Harlow’s attention.
It was the way it seemed to look directly at her.
Like it knew her.
She shivered, deciding to check her phone. It was nine thirty. As if to punctuate that fact, her stomach rumbled. She could order in for dinner, but the urge to get out and explore now that the initial fright of the city had worn off was too much to ignore.
Today was her twenty-fifth birthday. There was never a better opportunity for her to get out and try to interact with others.
Even if the very idea made her recoil.
This was her fresh start. She’d see what was in the area, maybe meet some people. The Starbucks by her apartment building back in California knew her by name.
She changed into a tight black dress that she saved for special occasions. Harlow grabbed enough money to last her the night and her keycard then set out to find some way to occupy the rest of her birthday.
She didn’t glance back at the painting, but something heavy and ominous seemed to emanate from it when she shut the door. With a steadying breath, Harlow pushed the sensation away and headed out into the bustling night.
Despite the eleven years she spent in California, she found New York City overwhelming, even at nearly nine o’clock at night. Everyone hurried this way and that, and she fought not to let herself get carried away with the flow.
She hadn’t walked far before spying a low-key spot that seemed exactly her pace with signs in black and white that read Rex’s Bar & Grill. The lighting was warm and inviting, and before Harlow could think better of it, her feet were moving toward it.
Groups of people sat at tables outside, talking and laughing. More than a few pairs of eyes slid her way as she pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The aromas of pizza and beer greeted her, along with the familiar sound of AC/DC playing from the speakers.
Not overwhelming.
Comforting.
She shuffled inside, looked for an empty table, and felt her stomach drop when there was none. Several stools at the bar were vacant, but Harlow knew that would be inviting the attention of every man in the building. More and more people had begun to notice her, and her cheeks heated, forcing her to approach the bar and slide onto a stool.
Three seats down to her left was another woman, likely in her forties judging by the creases near her eyes, and a man beside her staring up at one of the TV screens broadcasting some sports channel.
There were four empty seats to Harlow’s right, and beyond that were three men in their thirties, wearing suits, their ties undone. All three had fixed their eyes on her, but she ignored them.
Is there anyone working here? Her mood had already begun to sour. She hated feeling people’s eyes on her, and right now, there were at least twenty pairs trained on her back. It wasn’t something she could explain, and not something she told people, but for as long as she could remember she could sense when someone watched her. And it never ceased to creep her out. The sensation was hot and stifling, like each glance was a hot blanket wrapped around her.
Several people in uniforms passed by the bar, heading into the back and emerging with plates of food, but still no one served the bar.
Harlow was huffing as she began to slide off the stool—as gracefully as one could in a short dress—when a man emerged from the back room. It took everything in her not to let her jaw drop.
The man was stunning, with short, wavy blond hair, and light, glacial-blue eyes. His jaw was square—masculine—his chest broad, stretching his white T-shirt taut. Her eyes snagged on his impressive biceps on display and a trickle of warmth slid through her, heating her blood.
“Sorry, Penny, we don’t have any more of that whiskey but I’ll—” He stopped short, his eyes locking onto Harlow.
Rex
His eyes met the most stunning pair of dark sapphire blue.
Captivating.
Mine.
He blinked, clearing that unwelcome thought as he took in the red-haired beauty standing before him. Her body was lean, with curves that made his cock stir to life. They stared at each other for long moments, and even the blaring music faded into the background.
Recognition bloomed inside him, but he couldn’t place when or where he’d seen her before.
Something deep within his chest urged him to move closer to her.
“You there, pretty boy!” a coarse voice hollered. “Mind getting us another round?” Rex didn’t need to look to know it was the three bankers that came in every Friday night looking for gullible women to take back to their apartments. They didn’t usually bother him, but just now, as he snapped back into the world around him, he wanted to smash their heads in.
“I’ll be right with you,” he said to the redhead who still stared at him, before turning to fill three more glasses with foamy beer from the tap.
He didn’t bother looking at the men or the cash they tossed onto the glossy table-top before he approached her. As if unsure of what to do with herself, she plopped down onto the nearest barstool.
“What can I get you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from betraying any hints of his thoughts, like What’s your name? Would you like me to lay you back on this bar and bury myself inside you?
Shit.
The girl was trouble.
He didn’t understand what it was about her that had such a profound effect on him. He just knew he wanted to wrap his fingers into her fiery red curls and taste the slender, porcelain column of her neck.
“Uhm,” she said, brows creasing, then straightening again. “What would you recommend?”
Her voice was pure silk, the sound caressing something primal in him that made his fists clench and his nostrils flare.
Get it together, Almstad!
He tried on a smile to put her at ease. “You look like the cocktail type. How’s your tolerance?”
She shrugged, eyeing the bottles lining the walls. He could tell she was young, but she didn’t have the typical lost look people had when they’ve never been to a bar before.
“How about a Long Island iced tea?” he suggested.
She chuckled then, the musical sound going straight to his cock. “Sure.”
Rex’s smile widened at the way her smile seemed to make her radiate an ethereal light. He shot her a wink before getting to work making her drink. When he turned his back to her, he felt her eyes on him.
Spinning to face her again, he was once again struck by her otherworldly beauty as he set the glass in front of her. “What’s your name, lovely?”
Pink stained her cheeks, and he fought a groan. Damn, she’s sexy.
“I’m Harlow.” Her plump lips wrapped around the straw as she sipped the potent cocktail. He forced his gaze away from her mouth.
“I’m Rex.” He extended his hand.
Her head cocked to the side as she slid her dainty hand into his. The warmth of her spread through him. All too soon, the simple touch was over.
“Do you own this place?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Used to be my dad’s.”
She looked around the pub with awe before training her striking blue eyes back on him. Then they narrowed. “You don’t look much older than me.”
Rex shrugged. “I’m twenty-six.”
Harlow nodded before bobbing her head to the beat of a Guns N’ Roses song as she pulled another long sip from her straw. The tense set of her shoulders had relaxed, and she genuinely looked at ease speaking to him.
O
ther people had filled the vacant stools and were calling out their drink orders. Fortunately, Hayley had appeared and was already pouring beer into crystalline mugs. She was a sweet girl, only twenty-two, and though she wasn’t the most attractive girl he’d ever seen, her impressive rack brought her in plenty of tips, which of course made her all too happy to fill in while he chatted with Harlow.
“It’s my twenty-fifth birthday,” Harlow said over the cheers from a table close by.
Rex blinked, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. “Today is your birthday?”
She nodded, smiling.
“Then what the hell are you doing here?” He’d said it jokingly, but her smile slipped.
“I just moved here…today.” She polished off the last of her iced tea so he fixed her another one.
“Seriously?” He couldn’t help but wonder why she’d moved on her birthday and why she was alone. As he set the new beverage in front of her he said, “I’ll be right back. You need something to eat.”
She didn’t protest, but he could tell the drink was beginning to work its magic because she danced in her seat. Suddenly images of her dancing on the bar in her tight black dress flashed in his mind, drawing a gravelly rumble from his chest.
He placed an order with the chef and swiped a basket of curly fries to take with him. When he reemerged, she was looking down at her phone, lip-syncing the lyrics to a newer song he didn’t know. He wondered if she was messaging a guy.
A flash of something hot and ugly streaked through him, and he pushed it away. He’d never felt possessive of anyone in his entire life, and ten minutes in the girl’s company made him feel like he had some sort of claim to her.
No, it was more than that.
There was something tangible within him that linked her to him.
Which sounded crazy, obviously, because that was impossible. But as he stroked that invisible thread, her head whipped up, eyes bright and wide.
As if she’d felt it too.
He smiled tightly as he set down the basket of fries in front of her. “So, what made you move to this overcrowded city?”
Harlow stowed her phone and sighed. “I’m an artist. Well, I was an art teacher back in California and I hated it. So, yesterday, I packed up my crap and walked out.”
Rex rested his forearms onto the tacky bar top, leaning close enough to breathe in her scent. Something fruity mixed with perfume.
It was intoxicating.
A buzz without the alcohol.
“An artist?” he forced himself to say.
She nodded. “Do you like art?”
He didn’t, but the lie rolled from his tongue before his brain had the chance to catch up. “Sure. Paintings mostly—I’m not a sculpture guy.”
Harlow laughed and took another sip. “Don’t worry, I don’t do sculpting. Here, I’ll show you some of my work.” She pulled out her phone again and tapped the screen several times before turning her phone for him to see.
They clearly weren’t real-life paintings.
There were beaches with black sand, a blood-red ocean, and multiple suns. A forest with four moons shining through the rugged tree trunks. He noted with a flicker of something heavy in his chest the number of times she’d painted a dark, shadowy figure in various settings. All of her work was beautiful and so full of detail, it hurt his eyes.
“You have an impressive imagination,” he remarked, and she blushed again. “Do you have anything for sale?”
“I just finished one, but I don’t have a picture of it. I usually list them for auction. They always sell within the hour.”
Rex’s brows shot up. “How much do your paintings normally sell for?”
The color in her cheeks deepened, spreading down her neck and stretching up to the tips of her ears.
“It depends. A couple thousand, sometimes more, but it’s always an anonymous buyer—” she cut herself off, as though she’d said too much.
The air thickened suddenly.
Great. It figured that a woman this beautiful and this talented would have fled her home, carrying secrets. Who knew if she was even unattached?
She cleared her throat. “So, you grew up here?”
Rex shook his head to clear it and he straightened up. Don, the chef, called his order, but he didn’t move to retrieve it. “Yes. Well, not here in New York City. I grew up a few hours north.”
Her eyes brightened with interest. “Really? Me too.”
This time Rex cocked his head. “Binghamton.”
Harlow’s eyes widened. “I went to West Middle School. I’d just started at Binghamton High when my…” Her gaze fell to her lap. “When my parents died.”
Rex sucked in a silent breath. “There was a car accident like ten years ago. A family was killed. I remember, it was a big deal. The car had caught fire and flipped off a bridge.”
Harlow’s pale skin became ashen. “Yeah, that was…how it happened. My sister and I left right after.”
Rex ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. “It’s weird, though. I was pretty sure the reports said four people died. The parents and two girls.”
Harlow blinked in confusion. “No, it was just my parents.”
He shook his head again. “Yeah, you’d know better than I would. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just can’t believe we have the same hometown.”
She gave him a small smile that did nothing to unknot the tangled mess in his chest.
His uncle worked for the police station, so he remembered the article clearly. His mother had cried for the two girls who’d died far too soon. Binghamton High had held vigil for the freshman girl and her older sister, who’d recently graduated.
But he wasn’t going to press any further.
“Hey, I’ll be right back,” he said then disappeared again. A single frosted white cupcake sat on a cream plate with a red candle speared in the center, unlit. Don had found a candle, per his request, yet the color choice made him laugh. Rex grabbed a lighter from his office and walked back out.
His heart sank when he saw Harlow standing as if she was about to leave. Her attention lifted to him, then shifted to the cupcake, and her sad expression faded. Like clouds dissolving to reveal the brilliant sun behind.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said with a laugh, sitting down once more on the stool.
Rex shrugged. “It’s your birthday. I’m sorry again for being a dick. That was insensitive.” He set the plate in front of her and lit the candle with his lighter.
The flame danced on the wick as she closed her eyes for a moment. When he realized why, his lips split into a wide smile.
An artist that makes wishes on candles.
She was a dazzling star compared to the dull city he called home.
When her eyes opened, they seemed brighter. Then she blew out the candle, leaving a curling, writhing tendril of smoke in wake of the flame.
“Hey, gorgeous. Lemme buy you a drink.” The male voice snapped Rex from his trance, his eyes moving to the man that leaned next to Harlow. Way too damn close. He was lanky and dirty looking. Rex wasn’t even sure why the guy had been allowed into his bar.
Her lip curled, no doubt smelling the liquor on his breath. “No thanks,” she said disinterestedly.
The guy’s lips formed a sneer. “Aw, come on, babe, just one drink.”
Rex’s reaction was too quick to track, even for himself. Suddenly, he had the loser by the scruff of his shirt, hauled up onto the bar, their faces inches apart. Rex growled, “She told you no. Now get the fuck out.”
Harlow sat frozen as the guy in his clutches struggled drunkenly to break free. Rex released him harshly, making the scrawny man stumble back several steps.
“Whatever, man. No pussy is that good.”
The words had Rex seeing red, but suddenly Harlow’s voice broke through the haze before he could move. “Stop! It’s fine.”
He focused on her, his fists
clenched as if that would keep any accidents from occurring. Heat roared through his blood and his nostrils flared. The man shook his head as he headed for the door.
Harlow got to her feet and pushed away from the bar. Her eyes had shuttered closed, all brightness extinguished.
“I have to go. Nice to meet you, Rex.” She stalked away.
“Wait, Harlow, please.” He walked around the edge of the bar and followed her, catching her elbow just as she reached the door. A breath of the cool night air stirred her fiery red curls, pulling up her scent to him. “I can’t stand assholes that can’t take a hint. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I should get to bed. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“I’d like to see you again.”
Her lips parted, but she hesitated.
“Can I give you my number at least? It can be lonely being in such a massive city without knowing anyone.” He offered a smile, hoping to put her at ease.
It worked, and her shoulders relaxed. “Sure.” She pulled out her phone and Rex recited his number.
“Send me a text if you feel like it. I’m free tomorrow if you’d be up for dinner or something.”
Harlow smiled. “Thanks.”
He released her with great reluctance and with the door open, he whispered, “Happy birthday, Harlow.”
She turned and smiled.
Then she was gone.
Arian
Arian raked his claws through the flesh of the earth, wishing it spilled blood the same as humans. Longing to tear through bone and sinew drew an agitated huff from his snout as he felt a presence prowling through the silent forest. It hadn’t been enough that eleven years of careful planning had gone to shit in one fucking day; now Oricus was back.
Close.
Too damned close to her.
If ever there was a time Arian abhorred his curse, it was this moment.
Fog thick and suffocating rolled between the large trunks, nearly masking the outline of the form that took shape in the distance. Others flanked the beast, none of them bothering to hide their steps any longer. They knew they had been spotted. Not that Oricus or his clan cared if they were seen.
Marked for Darkness Page 3
