Page 3 of Lured By Shadows

I froze at the edge of the curb, my heart pounding hard enough to echo in my ears. Every instinct told me to stay still and hope he didn’t notice me standing there alone. It was irrational; I knew that, but I couldn’t stop myself from holding my breath anyway. My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as the cold sank deeper into my sleeves.

The rider removed his helmet slowly, as though the backed-up traffic were nothing more than distant noise unfolding around him. He carried himself as if the entire street belonged to him and the rest of us were only passing through it. His presence settled into the mist with a quiet, threatening weight that made everything around him feel smaller.

The moment his face came into view, my breath caught hard in my chest. Not some light, movie-like reaction, but something real edged with caution, sending goosebumps along my arms and sides. He was a complete stranger, yet the way he carried himself set off every alarm in my head. The instinct to run rose fast even as my legs refused to cooperate.

Kidnapping?

The thought was dramatic, probably ridiculous. Ma would absolutely lose her mind if I got kidnapped before my first class. Still, the idea stuck because something about him felt wrong in the best and worst way, and running didn’t seem like it would get me very far anyway. If he wanted to catch me, he probably would before I made it ten steps.

Okay, cool. First day in England, and I was about to end up in a true crime documentary.

He started toward me, each step covering the distance with ease. His helmet hung loosely from one hand while the other remained relaxed at his side, as though blocking traffic in the middle of the morning didn’t matter in the slightest. I swallowed, fighting the tightness in my throat, and pulled my jacket closer, bracing against the cold. My eyes drifted to his tousled hair just to avoid meeting the weight of his gaze.

That caught my attention first: dark and wind-tossed, as though he had let the air shape it during the ride, and somehow it had worked anyway. It framed his face just enough to soften some of the harsher lines beneath. I hated noticing how attractive it looked. Especially when the warmth building low in my stomach made absolutely no sense. Getting caught up with someone like him felt like asking for trouble I didn’t need, yet that didn’t stop the reaction from settling in anyway.

His long-sleeved black shirt hung loose at the collar and hem, revealing flashes of silver chains draped across his chest. One held a cross pendant that caught the gray light with a faint green tint whenever he moved. An immaculate leather jacket clung to his frame, marked with details that hinted at things he would probably never explain. His belt gave a faint jingle with each step, metal fasteners brushing together above dark jeans and boots that looked worn from distance rather than neglect.

Nobody should’ve looked that attractive while dressed like a haunted church.

I stayed rooted to the damp pavement, my heartbeat loud beneath my ribs, caught between the instinct to step back and the pull to stay exactly where I was. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or curiosity keeping me there. Probably both.

“Hello,” he said, extending a gloved hand, the gesture slightly too formal for the moment. “My name is Culver Gregory Scarbrough.” He paused, his gaze flicking toward me as though unsure he had said it right. “Might I inquire as to your name?”

This man sounded one step away from calling me “fair maiden.”

I was even more confused by his voice, deep and steady in a way that settled straight into me. His accent didn’t sound like anything I had heard since arriving here, unfamiliar but carrying a strange weight that felt older somehow. The sound sent a slow sensation down my arms, similar to those ASMR videos I sometimes scrolled through, only stronger and far more real. It was the way he spoke that made it stand out, pulling him out of the present and placing him somewhere else entirely.

And honestly, who even said “might I inquire” anymore?

Was that normal here?

I couldn’t tell if it was drawing me in or completely rattling me.

Even with cars rushing past and wind moving through the trees above us, his voice cut through everything. It settled over me in a way that made the rest of the world fade. A low hum of awareness built inside me, not quite fear but close enough to keep me alert. I pushed it down and fell back on instinct, masking the unease and moving through the moment the way I always did when dealing with someone new.

Cautiously, I reached out and clasped his gloved hand. The leather felt soft against my skin, but his grip sent a chill seeping through me. My fingers brushed his wrist, and it wasn’t the damp cold of the rain but something colder, as though ice had settled into him long ago. I told myself it was just the weather, the mist, or the draft in the air.

As we shook hands, our eyes met.

His were a striking green, almost unreal, the sort that held you in place. A thin break in the clouds let light slip through, deepening the color until it swirled like something hidden beneath dense woods.

Everything else about him told a different story. His skin was pale, nearly drained of warmth, and his expression remained still, impossible to read. Faint shadows rested beneath his eyes, the sort that didn’t come from one sleepless night. It wasn’t fatigue alone. He wore exhaustion as though it belonged to him.

I pressed my lips together, steadying my breath, and managed a small grin. “Name’s Ira. Ira… Grace Loshe. Did you stop to chat with me for a reason, darlin’?” Saying my full name back felt as though it balanced things a little, even if it sounded strange coming out of me.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he lingered, his grip still firm around my hand, as though it meant more than a simple greeting. His gaze moved slowly over my face, studying me in a way that sent unease rippling down my spine. It felt as though he were comparing me to something he already knew too well.

As if I were something expected.

Finally, he released my hand, his voice even and controlled. “Do you attend the university, darling?”

Every warning bell in my head started going off.

It was my first day here, and already I was being questioned by some intense guy who spoke as though he belonged in another century, wrapped up in a whole gothic vibe like we’d slipped into a period drama in the middle of a rainy street. I glanced at the passing cars, noting enough people were around that, if I needed to raise my voice or get out of there fast, someone might notice.

Might.