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I need to stay focused. I need to figure out what she’s hiding, but standing here, watching her, all I can think about is how much I want to be closer to her. It’s a dangerous game, mixing personal feelings with professional duty, but it’s a game I can’t seem to avoid.
She moves, running her fingers through her wet hair, and I feel a pang of something deep and unwanted. Longing, maybe, but definitely frustration. I want to reach out and touch her to make her see me standing here, but I can’t. Not until I know what she’s hiding.
Aria, why are you so impossible?
My mind races, each answer spawning a dozen new questions. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me. Focus, soldier. But even as I try to steady my breathing, her scent lingers in the air—a constant reminder of why I’m here. My resolve wavers, torn between duty and desire.
As she turns away, still oblivious to my presence, I know I have to make my move soon. I can’t keep standing here, lost in my own thoughts, while the truth slips further away. As much as it annoys me, I can’t deny it any longer—I’m falling for her, and it’s driving me crazy.
She does something unexpected. She grabs the keys off the island and pauses, her body tensing as if she just remembered something important. Her eyes flicker with an emotion I can’t quite place. Fear, maybe? Or is it determination? Whatever it is, it sends a jolt through me. She’s struggling.
She turns on her heel and heads back upstairs. I watch through the crack in the door as she disappears. A few moments later, I hear the telltale hiss of a spray can, and then I smell…nothing. Scent suppressant. So that’s her game. She’s trying to cover something up, but why?
She emerges from the stairs, her wet hair now tied back, and I see the tension in her shoulders as she makes her way to the kitchen. She grabs her bag and the keys again, hesitating for just a moment before heading out the door.
This is my chance. I need to follow her and see where she’s going, but more than that, I need to understand her. This isn’t just about uncovering a secret anymore, it’s about getting closer to the woman who’s consumed my thoughts.
I wait until she’s out the door before slipping out behind her, careful to keep a safe distance. She gets into Quinn’s car and drives off, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding and mind racing. I should be heading to the rally, my duty clear. But Aria’s behavior has set off alarm bells I can’t ignore. My hand instinctively brushes against my concealed weapon—a reminder of the responsibilities I’m choosing to sideline. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that following her is the more crucial mission right now.
I grab the keys to my motorcycle and stay far enough back to avoid detection as I follow her. She drives with a sense of purpose, not the aimless wandering of someone unsure of their destination. My mind spins with possibilities. Is she meeting someone? Is she in trouble? The questions gnaw at me, each one more urgent than the last.
After a few minutes, she pulls into a small parking lot in front of a shop I don’t recognize. I park a few spaces away and watch as she steps out, her posture tense and movements quick. She heads inside, and I catch a glimpse of the sign.
Nightshade Remedies.
What the hell is she doing here?
I can’t just go in, so I park and open the compartment on my bike. I have extra surveillance supplies. Grabbing a tracker, I walk over to the car and casually stick it to the exhaust before heading back to the side of the building.
She emerges a few moments later looking stunned and hurt, tears glistening in her eyes.
I have to fight every instinct I have not to rush over to her, gather her in my arms, and hold her until she feels better.
I don’t move, even though I hate seeing her like this. Whatever is going on, it’s tearing her apart.
Instead, I wait until she pulls away before heading into the shop. Nightshade Remedies is a study in contradictions. Dust motes dance in shafts of sunlight filtering through grimy windows, yet there’s an undeniable charm to the cluttered space. Simple wooden shelves groan under the weight of ornate jars and mystical trinkets, creating an atmosphere that’s both mundane and magical.
“Zane,” a woman greets me, her voice filled with a knowing tone that sends a chill down my spine.
I freeze. How the hell does she know my name? The woman before me is striking, with long dreads cascading down her back and black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She exudes an aura of mystery and power.
“Welcome to Nightshade Remedies,” she says, her voice smooth and melodic. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Expecting me?” I repeat, skepticism lacing my tone. “How do you know who I am?” My hand instinctively moves closer to my concealed weapon, ready for anything.
She smiles enigmatically. “I know many things, Zane, including the fact that you’re here because of Aria.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to gauge if she’s bluffing or if she truly possesses some sort of supernatural insight. A familiar ache pulses in my chest, reminding me of the last time we thought we’d found our fated mate.
No, I won’t fall for that again. Aria. “What did you tell her?”
“Only what she needed to hear,” she replies, gesturing for me to follow her deeper into the shop. “Come sit. I sense you have questions of your own.”
Reluctantly, I follow her to a small table adorned with an assortment of crystals, candles, and tarot cards. She motions for me to sit across from her.
“I didn’t come here for a reading,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “I came to find out what you told Aria.”
Never in all my thirty-two years have I spoken with a psychic, and I refuse to now.
