My Darling Arrow

by A. Kent, Saffron

  “I’m creative.”

  “And definitely dangerous.”

  “Oh, you’re in for such a surprise, trust me.”

  “Does it come with a little bow tied around it? Your surprise.”

  His eyes aren’t on my face when he says it or purrs it actually. They are somewhere down below. On my stomach, to be exact. And after a second, I realize why.

  It’s because my dress has a bow wrapped around my waist.

  It’s a lacy thing, my dress. White and covered in embroidered blue flowers that ends mid-thigh, paired with matching blue ballet flats. When I put this on earlier tonight, I thought it was girly and cute and perfect for a secret night out with my friends.

  But right now, with the way he’s staring at my bow and the ruffled hem that skims my bare thighs, my cute dress turns into something indecent.

  Something that you wear behind closed doors. Something that’s meant to be stared at and devoured and ripped to shreds by a guy whose intentions are as dark as his skin is glittering.

  Perv.

  “No, it comes with long nails and sharp teeth,” I tell him with a sweet, mocking smile and a chirpy voice.

  He lifts his eyes and drawls, “Well then I’ll be over here, sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to unwrap it.”

  Okay, I lied. Again.

  I can’t do this. I can’t sound casual and breezy and unaffected. When he is being so purposefully intense.

  I don’t know what his game is, but I want him gone. And the only way to make it happen is to find out what he wants. Why he sought me out.

  Knowing him, he came here to ruffle my feathers, make me squirm. Which is fine. Really.

  Let him do what he came here to do.

  Because the sooner he does all of that to his satisfaction, he can leave and I can move forward to forgetting this terrible coincidence.

  “As much as I’m enjoying talking to you,” I burst out as my nails scrape against the liquor bottle. “I don’t have time for this. So let’s do it.”

  “Let’s do it,” he says flatly.

  I widen my stance, shift on my feet like a fighter, getting ready to throw in punches. “Yeah. Let’s do this thing so you can leave me alone.”

  He watches my feet for a second, notices my stance before asking in a low voice, “Are you sure?”

  I raise my chin and wave my hands. “Yes. Come on. I’m ready.”

  “Okay.” He nods, his eyes hooded. “Where do you want it?”

  “What?”

  At my question, the air turns hot.

  I don’t know how he does that, turn the air around us so dense and opaque with just one look. But it’s always been this way.

  He always makes it harder for me to breathe.

  Like he’s suffocating me and I love it because he does it so sweetly.

  He gestures toward the wall that I’m standing against. “Yeah, where do you want it? Here, up against the wall? Or in the backseat of my car.” He doesn’t give me the time to respond to his statement. “It’s been two years but I remember how much you seemed to love writhing on my leather seats. And if I’m being honest, I’d love to see that again. But lady’s choice, of course.”

  “What… I…”

  My mouth is in the process of forming confused, dumbfounded words when I get his meaning. His stupid innuendo.

  He’s talking about sex.

  The fucking asshole is talking about sex because I stupidly said, let’s do it. That’s it, isn’t it?

  Ugh. I’m an idiot.

  But! The motherfucking nerve of him!

  “You’re funny,” I snap. “And delusional. If you think I’m letting you touch me ever again, you need your head examined.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Because it’s never happening. So say what you came here to say and leave.”

  He looks at me thoughtfully. “Hmm. I’m not so sure you want me to leave though. Because this feels like a dare and you know how much I like those.”

  I clench my teeth while I debate throwing this bottle at him. “It’s not a dare, it’s reality. Touch me and lose your teeth. So you really need to leave now.”

  Instead, he smiles, his ruby red, cruel and gorgeous lips, stretch up in a curve as he takes a step closer and I press my back into the wall. “You’re not making it easy though.”

  “Not making what easy?”

  He takes another step toward me as if to act out his next word. “Leaving.”

  “Get away from me or I’ll punch you, okay? I’m not kidding.”

  He dips his face toward me, his voice going even lower while I’m over here, squeaking. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll start getting ideas.”

  “What ideas?”

  “That you’re flirting with me.”

  I swallow as my skin starts to feel tight, restless. Swollen.

  God, why? Why does he have to be like this?

  Seductive and stunning and so freaking consuming.

  Why does my body have to react to it?

  He broke our heart, you stupid body. He betrayed us, remember? We were in pain for days. Weeks.

  We still are…

  “Oh my God, you are delusional,” I tell him, fisting my hands.

  Reed shakes his head slowly, his eyes glittering with challenge. “You know you don’t have to try so hard with me. You want me to touch you, Fae, just say the word.”

  Fae.

  And just like that, I stop breathing.

  I stop shaking. My restlessness evaporates and I freeze.

  I freeze in a time two years ago. When he used to call me that.

  His white mustang was his baby and I was his Fae, short for Fairy. It’s because of my blonde hair, blue eyes and a pocket-sized body but with long, graceful, dancer’s limbs.

  His words, not mine.

  I’m not pocket-sized. I’m an average 5’ 4 ½”. But like a foolish girl that I was, it used to make me happy. It used to make me smile that he had a special name for me. I had a special name for him too but I’m not going there.

  I’m never going there.

  I take a deep breath, clutch my whiskey bottle and look him in the eyes.

  “Hey, Reed.” Deliberately emphasizing his name, I smile with my mouth but my eyes are lethal; I can feel it. “I know it’s been two years and all but my name is Calliope Thorne. People also call me Callie. And if I’m being honest, I’d rather you not call me anything at all. But asshole’s choice, of course.”

  He smiles too. Not the full-blown smile from a few seconds ago but a fraction of it. And like me, his mouth might be smiling but his eyes are grave, intense, heavy with our shared past.

  “Calliope Juliet Thorne,” he murmurs. “I know what your name is, Fae. I also know what my name is. Do you?”

  My breaths escalate.

  They swell and crash inside my lungs when I think of his name, his full name.

  Reed Roman Jackson.

  This time when I go back in time, I can hear my own voice, my sixteen-year-old smiling voice, telling him, I’m Juliet and you’re Roman. And everybody knows that Roman is just a different version of Romeo. So that means we’re Romeo and Juliet. Which also means that we should probably stay away from each other. Since they both die and all…

  If only I had taken my own advice and stayed away from him.

  It’s in our very names, our fate. Our catastrophe. Our destruction.

  “You said that our names made us Shakespearean, star-crossed lovers,” he says, bringing me back to the moment. “A teenage tragedy. And I told you that they didn’t. Because what did fucking Shakespeare know? To me, you’ll always be Fae. And to you, I’ll always be Roman.”

  That’s what I used to call him, Roman. Not Reed.

  Because back then I was a fool. I thought he belonged to me like I belonged to him.

  So like arrogant, defiant lovers, we gave each other secret names, names only me
ant for us: Roman and Fae.

  What a stupid idea to call each other by different names.

  What a stupid fucking thing: first love.

  One minute it’s life and the next, it’s death.

  That’s what it felt like when he broke my heart. That I’d died and so in this moment, I pull myself together and straighten my spine.

  It’s hard but it needs to be done.

  When you fall in love with a quicksand of a guy like him, you need to be strong.

  Your heart needs to be made of iron and your spine needs to be forged out of steel so you can look him in the eyes and tell him, “I remember. I remember everything. I remember everything I said to you and everything you said to me. And that’s why I know that we are a teenage tragedy. Because you made sure of that, didn’t you?” I clench my teeth for a second because I feel a pain starting up in my chest, traveling up to my jaw, my temples, stinging my eyes. “So get away from me because I wasn’t kidding about you losing your teeth. Reed.”

  For a few seconds after I’m done, it feels like I haven’t spoken at all.

  Because he doesn’t move. In fact, he bends down toward me even more.

  Our eyes are connected, his gaze calm and scrutinizing while mine is wide and fearful of his intentions. A microsecond later, I feel something happening, something slipping from my fingers before he straightens back up.

  It’s my bottle. He stole my whiskey from me.

  I fist my empty hands. “Give it back.”

  Again instead of obeying me, he throws his head back and swallows down a huge gulp of my whiskey. Asshole.

  When he’s done, his red lips glisten and his face sparkles like the moon. “See you around, Fae.”

  And then he’s gone and I can breathe.

  But it’s not as glorious, to be able to breathe, as I thought it would be.

  Because with every breath that I take, I think of him.

  I think of how beautiful he is, how gorgeous. How he looks like a prince. A hero. And how it’s all a façade.

  Because he’s anything but a hero. He’s a villain.

  A gorgeous villain.

  Two years ago, Reed Jackson betrayed Calliope Thorne and broke her heart. So she stole his most prized possession – a white mustang – and drove it into the lake for revenge.

  Now, Callie is stuck at a reform school while Reed is off at college, living his life without repercussions.

  Until he comes back.

  With him comes back all the feelings that Callie has been trying to bury: anger and heartbreak.

  But most of all, desire. At the sight of his beautiful but lying lips and his gunmetal gray eyes that still taunt and smolder when he looks at her.

  Whatever though. It’s not as if Callie is ever going to fall for her ex-boyfriend again. Or let him corner her in a bar one night and touch her, kiss her…

  Neither is she going to kiss him back. Or worse, sleep with him.

  Because that would make her naïve and foolish.

  Oh, and also pregnant.

  And there’s no way Callie is ever going to get pregnant at eighteen and with Reed’s baby, no less. The guy she hates.

  The guy who taught her all about heartbreak. Who might look like a gorgeous hero but really is the villain of her story.

  Coming 2021

  Add to Goodreads

  These Thorn Kisses

  (St. Mary’s Rebels Book 3)

  Add to Goodreads

  Hey, Mister Marshall

  (St. Mary’s Rebels Book 4)

  Add to Goodreads

  If you enjoyed Arrow and Salem’s love story, I’d be eternally grateful if you considered leaving a review.

  Want more Salem and Arrow?

  Click here to get an Extended Epilogue.

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  Thank you so much for reading Arrow and Salem’s story. I hope you enjoyed it and maybe you saw a little bit of yourself in it somewhere. At least, that has always been my hope with the stories that I create.

  I can’t believe that it’s almost been a year since I wrote one of these things, acknowledgement, I mean. I never thought it would take me so much time to finish this story but it did. There were times when I thought I probably wouldn’t see the end of it because things were so hectic and my creativity was burned out.

  I’m glad I stuck to it though. I’m glad I could see Arrow and Salem and myself grow with every draft I wrote and every revision I made.

  Since 2020 has been such a weird year, I didn’t want to do a standard acknowledgment that I’ve always done. The following people deserve more – much more – than a mention. If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t be writing this section at all.

  First and foremost, my husband. I always say that he’s the reason I’m doing this. He’s the reason I’m in this industry and that I have stayed so far. If it were up to me, I would’ve quit and moved on. And this book literally wouldn’t be possible without his support.

  It was the height of COVID when I was writing this and New York was the epicenter. I was scared and anxious and my juices weren’t flowing at all. But I had a deadline (at least, mentally) and I had to deliver. If it were not for Mr. Kent listening to this story over and over, chapter by chapter, conflict by conflict, I would never have figure out why Arrow was being so difficult. I never would’ve figured out why the hell he doesn’t just kiss her and be done with it. It was him who figured out Arrow’s character for me. Heroines I understand, heroes give me a lot more trouble. And stuck together in our apartment, Mr. Kent was the one who got the brunt of my crazy creativity. So THANK YOU. Thank you for listening to me, for being my sounding board, for helping me figure out why some things in the story were slow and why some things needed to shine more than the others. Thank you for telling me that what I do is magical – even though I always have trouble believing you – and that you love me more because I’m such a tortured artist. Haha! This book is both my baby and yours. I love you more than I can ever say.

  The next person I want to thank is a fellow writer and my friend, Bella Love. When I finished the story, I told her that I wanted to scrap it and tell everyone that this story isn’t happening after all. But she told me to send her the manuscript and once she was done, she told me that I was crazy. That Salem was the sweetest bad girl I’d written so far and reading this book was the highlight of her day. Thank you so much for pulling me off the edge. I adore you.

  Melissa Panio-Peterson, for being the other half of my brain. It’s spooky how similar we are in our thoughts and how you can read me and what I envision creatively. Thank you for being an expert in all things SAK. After publishing a handful of books, I have realized that one of my biggest concern is always to deliver on my brand, on what readers expect of me and MPP is my SAK brand checker. Haha! Thank you so much for supporting me and believing in me and understanding what I do with my work.

  The next on the list are these lovely people that I’ve found through accident and now are a part of my team:

  Dani Sanchez of Wildfire Marketing Solutions, thank you for not freaking out on me when I kept telling you that this book won’t be out for a while and when that while turned into almost a year.

  Leanne Rabesa, my editor and fact checker, the one who tells me when I’ve fucked seasons up and when I have impossible character ages. Thank you for telling me that Salem’s age was wrong and that Arrow needed to be older than what I’d originally made him.

  Najla Qamber, my cover designer, thank you for not ditching me when I kept changing my vision of the cover on you. Thank you for putting those gorgeous lips on the cover. If anyone could do it and portray the sexiness and angst of the book, it was you.

  Virginia Tesi Carey, my proofreader, thank you so much for being so flexible when I kept changing dates on you. I was so embarrassed to be doing that; a
deadline is a deadline even if self-made and I never break it. But man, this year was such a crazy ride. Thank you for sticking with me always.

  Writer of bad romances. Aspiring Lana Del Rey of the Book World.

  Saffron A. Kent is a USA Today Bestselling Author of Contemporary and New Adult romance.

  She has an MFA in Creative Writing and she lives in New York City with her nerdy and supportive husband, along with a million and one books.

  She also blogs. Her musings related to life, writing, books and everything in between can be found in her JOURNAL on her website

  www.thesaffronkent.com

  There’s a line in the town I live in.

  It’s invisible, this line. It’s also paper-thin and razor-sharp.

  But it’s there.

  For about nineteen years, I’ve lived on one side of it. On the south side. It’s the side with hardworking and honest people, but we don’t have a lot of money. We have run-down buildings and shabby front yards and houses that creak and shake in a strong wind.

  The north side is that of the rich and the powerful. It’s the side with big houses, mowed lawns and expensive cars.

  It’s the side I absolutely hate for a variety of reasons. But I’m not getting into that right now.

  I have a mission, a very important mission.

  For the past six months, I’ve been living on the topmost corner of the north side. Not by choice, mind you. But by circumstance.

  I’ve been calling an estate called The Pleiades my home.

  It’s named after the constellation of seven stars up in the sky. Probably because the palace-like mansion that sits on this estate has seven towers.

  And tonight, my mission is to break into it. The mansion, I mean.

  Well, to be honest, if you know the code of the service entrance, is it really breaking and entering?

  I don’t think so.

  It’s more like punching in the code and entering. Something I do every day.

  The only difference is that every day I do it in broad daylight. But right now, I’m doing it under cover of darkness with my stealth mode on.