Page 5

"Dahlia, are you okay? That doesn't sound normal, even for someone who's been in a dry spell as long as yours."

"Thanks for the reminder," I mutter, returning to my chopping. "And no, I don't think I am okay. Something's wrong with my body."

"What do you mean?"

I pause, trying to find the words. "I've been feeling off for weeks now. Hot flashes, heightened sense of smell, weird cravings. And now this... uncontrollable arousal. It's like my hormones are completely out of whack."

"Maybe you should see a doctor? Or run some tests on yourself, since that's what you do anyway."

"Maybe," I admit. "I've been so focused on the Crimson Plague research; I haven't had time to…"

I hear something drop from somewhere in my apartment, and it cuts me off mid-sentence. I freeze with my knife suspended in mid-air.

"What was that?" Emily asks.

"I don't know." I keep my voice low, straining to hear any other sounds. "I think someone's in my apartment."

"Dahlia, call the police!"

"I'll call you back," I whisper, ending the call before she can protest.

I set my phone down silently and grab the knife, holding it in front of me. My heart pounds against my ribs as I edge toward the doorway of my kitchen. The layout of my apartment means anyone coming in would have to pass by to reach me, giving me at least a chance to see them first.

The hallway is dark, just as I left it. I strain my ears and catch the faintest sound of breathing that isn't mine.

"I have a weapon," I announce, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "And I've already called the police."

No response...

I take another step forward. "You picked the wrong apartment to…"

A hand clamps around my wrist with lightning speed, twisting until the knife clatters to the floor. Before I can scream, another hand covers my mouth, and my face is pressed against the wall, my cheek smashed against the cool plaster.

"Don't scream," a deep voice says against my ear. "I'm not here to hurt you. If I let go, will you stay quiet?"

Like hell I will. I kick backward, aiming for his shin, his knee, anything, but he shifts, and catches my leg with his own, effectively trapping me.

"Please," he says, his voice dropping lower. "I just need to talk to you. My name is Onyx. I don't want to hurt you."

Something in his tone makes me pause. I stop struggling, my chest heaving against the wall.

"I'm going to let you go now," he says. "Don't scream."

The hand over my mouth slowly releases, and he backs away, giving me space to turn around.

I whirl to face him, pressing my back against the wall for support. The man, Onyx, is huge, towering over me with broad shoulders that block out the light from the kitchen. In the dimness, I can make out his features. He has long, dark hair that is pulled back into a ponytail, and his eyes seem to reflect light like an animal. Plus, he's fine as fuck.

"What the hell?" I spit out, my voice shaking with anger. "Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?"

"I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "This was the only way I could meet you alone."

"There's this thing called a phone. Or email. Or literally any other method that doesn't involve breaking and entering." I snap. My eyes dart to the knife on the floor. He notices and kicks it away with his boot.

He shakes his head. "It's too risky. People are watching you."

"Yeah, apparently!" I gesture wildly at him. "What do you want from me?"

His expression hardens. "I want your cure."