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I forced my focus back to the upgrades, my fingers flying over the keys, but my mind was on her. The performance was in two days. She’d be there, dancing, her fire on display for a room full of strangers. I’d be there too, in the shadows, watching. And when she inevitably did something reckless—because she would, it was who she was—I’d be there to catch her. Or to break her. I wasn’t sure which anymore.
The demon whispered, its voice a low growl:She’s yours. Take her.
I shoved it down, but it was getting harder to fight. Vivienne Laveau was unraveling me, and for the first time in years, I didn’t want to stop her.
7
VIVIENNE
By the time rehearsal ended, my feet were sore and my bun was falling apart, but I still had adrenaline buzzing under my skin.
I didn’t want to go home.
Didn’t want to ice my ankles, or eat protein-packed ballet snacks, or scroll through Netflix pretending to care about what normal people did on weeknights.
No.
I wanted chaos.
And I knew exactly who to call.
“Jessa,” I said into the phone, breathless, as I stepped out of the building. “You doing anything illegal tonight?”
She grinned without missing a beat.
“I can be.”
A few hours later, we were crammed in her ancient Jeep, engine coughing down East Bay Street as twilight settled over Charleston like a veil.
“Please tell me this plan is as stupid as you made it sound,” she said, foot tapping the gas like she was vibrating with the same restless energy I felt.
“Stupid enough to get a certain someone’s attention,” I said.
Her eyes darted to me, then back to the road. “You mean the hacker Viking with the murder glare?”
“That’s the one.”
Jessa let out a low whistle. “Girl, I knew you had a thing for danger, but damn.”
I didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.
She knew. She always knew.
About the way I sought out storms, craved the edge of control. About the way I was drawn to men with shadows stitched into their skin—soldiers, drifters, artists who burned too hot.
But this was different.
Elias wasn’t just another thrill.
He didn’t flirt. Didn’t chase. Didn’t even seem to want me—except when he did, and it showed in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his eyes tracked every inch of me like he hated himself for it.
That restraint?
That feral tension coiled behind his cold logic?
It got under my skin more than any smooth-talking adrenaline junkie ever had.
He wasn’t my usual type—the ones who burned fast and fizzled before dawn.