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Chapter One

Asha

I f someone told me that one day I’d be the reason the world ended, I’d tell them they were full of shit and needed to lay off the sauce. But I couldn’t deny it anymore as I struggled on the floor in a familiar dark room, my face and clothes covered in my own blood. Tomorrow, the world would end because I wasn’t strong enough to keep my soul.

I woke from a dream I didn’t remember, my heart an erratic thump against my chest. A shuddering breath left my lips as I sat up, relieved to be alive. I might not remember what happened, but my body sure did. Sweat pooled underneath me and my pulse raced in my ears. All the signs of a panic attack with no memory as to why. I wanted to run, but from what? What had been chasing me? Why did it feel like I still needed to get away?

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I checked the time on my phone. It was only minutes after three in the morning. Clicking the screen off, I wiped my wet forehead before stealing a look over my shoulder at the other side of the room. I could barely make out the door. For some reason, it felt darker. Like something waited in the blanket of night. I sunk fingers into my hair and breathed out the residual fear clawing at my throat.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a stupid fucking dream.

For months, every night was the same. I woke up in a state of panic at the Devil’s hour. Every time I fought the urge to run for my life—like I’d die if I didn’t—but I couldn’t understand why. I didn’t know why it felt like something was chasing me. And every night I was covered in sweat, heart thundering, throat bone-dry as if I’d been screaming; all with the oddest sensation that someone was watching and waiting, ready to end the game we played. I’d always find myself peeking over at the same corner of the room, but no one was ever there.

No one was waiting.

On my feet, I headed for the kitchen. The only thing that made me feel better was a cold drink. I intentionally chose not to keep one next to my bed so I had to walk off the sensation of a nightmare I couldn’t remember. I tied up my recently-dyed cherry-red hair into a messy bun, fixed my baggy night shirt and shorts, and made my way down the hall after tripping over the rug I insisted on buying.

The moonlight coming through the window in the kitchen was just bright enough to guide me over, and I went straight for the fridge when I finally turned the corner. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a loud rap shook the window over the sink. I gasped and jerked my eyes over to it, catching sight of a raven outside the glass. Or was it a crow? I couldn’t tell the difference, but I’d decided it was a raven because it scared the crap out of me enough times for it to be a messenger of death.

The little jerk cawed at me before flying away.

“Don’t you ever sleep, you damn bird?” I muttered angrily, chastising it with a glare even though it was already off to do whatever it was birds did at three in the morning. Birdy booty calls? At least one of us was getting some right now.

I’d somehow made friends with a raven over the last few months. Weirdly enough, Emily never mentioned it and thought I was certifiable for thinking a bird was stalking me. Every time I talked about it, she told me I needed to get dicked down—because that was Emily’s solve-all suggestion for anything—and I’d pretty much stopped pointing it out to her.

But the damn bird was always somewhere nearby, in a tree or perched on a windowsill. It’d greet me on my arrival home or on my way out the door by either cawing at me in its “Look at me!” sort of way or tapping its beak on glass until I looked over. But this was the first time it came to me in the middle of the night.

Maybe Emily was right. Maybe I did need a good hot-and-heavy interlude with a stranger to take the edge off.

Calming my racing pulse with a few deep breaths, I turned to get a drink and then get the hell back to bed. I had to work in the morning, and my boss was unforgiving about yawning around clients.

Just as I leaned over to get the usual bottle of water, the door to our shared bathroom behind me creaked open before stopping. I shot a look over to it, catching the last bit of movement. Even the shadows around it seemed to shift and move on their own. Straightening my spine, I stared into the ominous darkness, the urge to run rushing over me again.

“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts…” I mumbled under my breath, humming the theme song of Ghostbusters to pretend I wasn’t scared. “Do your worst, phantoms!” I called out to the dark like I wasn’t crazy. Totally normal to yell at nothing. “Go haunt someone who cares,” I added when nothing responded, and it was just me—the crazy lady—standing next to a dimly lit fridge like it was a lifeline, convinced my ridiculous speech would scare off whatever poltergeist had wandered through our apartment.

A figure appeared in the kitchen archway, and I held my bottle out like it was a sword, stumbling backwards and screaming, “Get back, fiend!”

“Asha, who are you yelling at? It’s three in the damn morning,” my roommate complained, coming into the kitchen with her eyeliner smeared under her eyes and her lipstick smudged to one side of her face. Her blonde hair was defying several rules of gravity, and it was evident in her sleepy stare she’d only just gotten to bed.

I pressed the bottle to my mouth, hiding my grin. “Ems, what the hell happened to your face? Did my girl get lucky? Oh. My. God. Is he here? Did he just hear all that? Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Calm your tits, woman. I don’t think a nuclear bomb could wake this one up. He was practically dead after I was done with him, anyway,” my cute roommate gloated, cutting her mischievous eyes over to where her room was. “Wait, you screaming banshee, this isn’t about me. Why are you in here exorcising ghosts when you should be in bed? Bad dream again?”

Giving me the usual look, Emily came over in nothing but a big t-shirt and pair of socks before stealing the bottle right from my hand. Or weapon, depending on who you asked. She helped herself to a few gulps then handed it back to me. I’d complain, but it wouldn’t matter if I did. The girl did what she wanted, and honestly, I admired her for it.

“So, spill the tea? Do you remember it this time?”

Shaking my head, I downed the rest of my drink before tossing it into the recycling bin. “Not one bit. I’m starting to think I need therapy.”

Throwing her arm around my shoulder, Emily walked me back to my room. “Oh, Ash, that’s what alcohol and meaningless sex are for. I keep telling you, you need a night out with me. There’s no greater therapy than rubbing up against a stranger and getting white-girl drunk.”

“That’s what alcoholics say, Ems.”

She pinched my cheek before kissing it. “We’re not thirty yet. We can still pretend it’s perfectly okay. Come on, just do yourself a favor. Let loose. Leave the scary ghosts at home and come out with me tomorrow night.”

My eyes narrowed on my best friend, the much-too-old-for-it party girl. “Haven’t you been out the last three nights? Aren’t you tired? Don’t your bones ache from overuse? Are you hearing colors and tasting words yet?”

“I swear, I don’t know how we’re friends with you acting your age and all. We can sleep when we’re dead, Ash.” And with that final unhelpful nugget, Emily left me standing at my door so she could be late for her job another day.

I sipped the cocktail Emily bought for me before heading onto the dance floor to find herself a new victim. I leaned against the bar, a little uncomfortable with how packed the club was tonight.

I’d window shop for an hour and hopefully find someone decent enough to take home for a sexy romp to scratch the itch. If not, I’d head back to the apartment with a buzz and spend a little time with one of my book boyfriends. Either way, I’d make the most out of getting this dolled up to go out.

Tomorrow was my day off, so I didn’t need to worry about being late, or Mr. Big Boss Asshat complaining about how I looked like death walking. Mark really did know just the thing to say to woo a girl, always pointing out the flaws in my appearance or suggesting I try to wear more makeup or sexier clothes. Or my personal favorite, how I looked like I needed to sleep better. It was obnoxious, but he was the grandkid of the company owner, so if I wanted to keep my job, I needed to deal with his sexist bullshit.

The things a girl does for a paycheck.

The guy beside me tapped my shoulder. Mistake number uno. “Hey, pretty lady. You here alone?”

Pretty lady? Ugh, spare me this shameless playboy torment.

The second I looked over, I wished I hadn’t. The dude was a raving poster bro for every stereotypical version of a bad lay. The asshole was pretty, I’d give him that, but too damn arrogant about it. Guys like him didn’t have to work for it, and most times, they preferred their prey ignorant and barely legal.

I’d been told too many times to count that I didn’t look my age when I put effort into my looks. How sweet, right? Every girl dreamed about being told they looked two steps from the grave until they slathered on some concealer and eyeshadow.

Gross compliments and pet names aside, these narcissistic frat boys took whatever pleasure they wanted and didn’t give a shit about whether or not their partner got off. Which meant he wasn’t worth my time. I didn’t wear these ridiculous clothes and paint my face with expensive-as-shit makeup I stole from Emily to be some guy’s sex toy.

A girl had standards.

“Yeah, no.”

“What?”

I motioned to him, nibbling on my straw with a smirk. “You look like a walking red flag, and not in a good way. I’ll pass, thanks. I don’t have the bail money this month for putting you in your place when you forget what the word no means.”

The blonde bro opened his mouth, ready to argue, but I’d already taken my drink and my “pretty lady” ass the other direction. Safe from retaliation, I let loose a breath. It wasn’t the smartest idea to insult a strange guy I didn’t know, especially when I hadn’t trained in over a year.

I used to workout daily and practice several styles of martial arts. After one of the girls in my fifth-grade class was attacked by a predator, my overly religious parents, worried I’d be tainted before marriage, put me in self-defense classes so I, the potential victim, could be burdened with the responsibility of keeping myself safe.

Probably the only time those religious zealots got it right.

I might not agree with the idea of putting the onus on young girls and women to do something instead of— I don’t know —raising our men to see them as people rather than objects, but I fell in love with how powerful it made me feel. I even went on to compete in several tournaments during college.

But with my terrible work-life balance, I never had time anymore. Granted, the muscle memory of it never truly left a person, so if it came down to it, I’d still be better off than some poor, helpless woman without a history of kicking ass.

Once upon a time, I went through a vigilante phase. A few brushes with the law nearly put me in juvie. They didn’t take too kindly to my approach of getting even in the name of justice. Said I needed to leave it to the law to punish the criminals. But their justice wasn’t as just as they claimed. Guys like Bad Lay back at the bar always had their daddies pay off their misdeeds, or they got away with painting the woman as a drunk whore.

Our voices didn’t matter.

I’d seen it enough to know that if he attacked me, I was on my own. Either I let him take what he wanted, or I break a few ribs. The type of person I was, I’d break the ribs and ask Emily to sweet talk me out of a charge later. She was a damn good lawyer despite her partying ways, and I’d relied on her a little too often to step in when my mouth got the better of me. Of course, she was also my biggest fan and did it every time with a smile and wink. I was starting to think she enjoyed the drama of it all.

Peeking over my shoulder, I made sure Bad Lay wasn’t following and made my way through the crowd. I’d finish my drink and get a much-deserved buzz. After, I’d dance away the horrible feeling of Bad Lay’s eyes skating down my body. Then, I’d find someone who didn’t talk— like, at all —and bang one out so I could get on with my life.

The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen came out of a sea of gyrating bodies when the music changed and the crowd started to yell their approval. Her ethereal blue gaze caught mine before she headed straight for me.

Her waist-length golden-blonde hair was a wavy cascade down her pale shoulders, and every limb was gorgeously long and perfect. Every part of her body glittered beneath the strobe lights as she sashayed towards me. I didn’t move the entire time she closed in on me like I was her prey. I barely caught what she said to me as she pushed past, but I could’ve sworn she told me to “Go home, Asha. He’s looking for you.”

Did she just say my name?

My drink splashed over my exposed cleavage when her arm swiped mine. Turning my head quickly, I lost sight of the strange woman. My skin prickled, left electrified in her absence like she dragged static with her everywhere she went. It didn’t appear she’d been swallowed by the crowd. If anything, it was as if she disappeared into thin air. But that wasn’t possible. People didn’t just disappear. Maybe I’d already had too much to drink.

Blinking away my confusion, I looked down at my chest. So much for finding a stranger to fuck. Apparently, I’d be washing my shirt as best as I could and then going home tonight.

I’d chosen a white, low-dipping top tucked into a high-waisted, black-and-silver flannel skirt, so my lacy bra was on full display. Some asshole would be convinced I was asking for it. So, sadly, my night was over. Whatever attention this wet-shirt situation attracted, I didn’t want any part of it.

Guess the strange woman got what she wanted. This chick was heading home. I wasn’t sure who the he she referred to was, but unfortunately, that guy would have to find someone else to set his sights on.

Cursing the heavens because I didn’t want to be sticky and smell like booze for the walk back to my apartment, I headed for the bathroom after leaving my cup on one of the tables. Grumbling, I instantly regretted letting Emily talk me out of wearing a jacket. “For the plot!” she’d always yell whenever I’d argue that it wasn’t sensible to be this cold or half-dressed for a one-time lay. But she was a lawyer, so Emily always won the argument.

I weaved through the crowd, dodging bodies and guys who thought I’d be a good target being the helpless maiden I was. But when I finally made my way through, I caught sight of someone who looked totally out of place. The second our eyes met, my pulse panicked, and I froze to the spot.