Page 6 of Lover Forbidden (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #23)

Allhan, stop!”

Lyric tripped and flipped her way through the salted slush and frozen snow of the alley, knowing full well that it was going to be a miracle if she didn’t break all of her ankles—because surely she had more than two if she was still upright.

“Allhan, hold up—”

With a squeak, she went full modern dance, her rhythm chiropractic, her sense of balance far outstretching her coordination.

The damn Louboutins were somehow backup, though, the spiky heels like stakes on a tent, anchoring her even as she blew all around.

Meanwhile, Allhan spun to a halt at the head of the lane, the crazy wind billowing his baggy shirt out from his soda-straw body, his frizzy hair remaining utterly unaffected by the maelstrom.

“Are you okay?” he shouted as he ran back for her.

As soon as he was in range, she grabbed on to his arm and yanked her heel out of its hold in the slush. “Yes, sorry—”

“Here, lean on me.”

Grabbing on to his other shoulder, she went wisdom-tooth extraction on her stiletto, and then settled onto some salted pavement.

“Look, I’m sorry about my manager. She just is—”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Allhan shrugged. “I’m used to people being like that with me. It really isn’t a problem.”

Lyric opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she cleared her throat. “Were you meeting someone here?”

His eyes drifted away. “No.”

“Then why did you come?” When he didn’t immediately answer… that was clearly the answer. Especially as his face tightened with a fragile composure. “Oh… it was for me?”

“I’ve got to go.” Allhan started stepping back. “Have to be at work. Very busy.”

The cold wind swirled around them, and she had a sudden thought that she had missed it. Somehow, she’d missed the crush he’d developed on her. Then again, though she’d never been cruel, she had certainly never seen the male properly.

And lately, she’d come to know what being invisible felt like.

Reaching out, she took his trembling, thin hand. “Allhan, thank you. For coming. I’ve been feeling alone.”

“But you have all those people.” He glanced at the tail end of the wait line in surprise. “Here to see you.”

“They’re not… real.”

Neither am I anymore , she thought.

Abruptly, he tugged his hand back and turned away. “Gotta go. See you later—”

“Wait.” Except what could she say? “Hold on a sec—”

“You are embarrassing yourself, right now. And me , too.”

As Marcia’s voice cracked like a whip, Lyric knew exactly why the male had gone into retreat mode.

Shaking her head, she didn’t even bother to look at her manager. “Gimme a minute.”

“ No .”

Lyric wheeled around and loomed over the woman. Narrowing her eyes, she gritted out, “ Yes. ”

Then she once again took off after Allhan through the snow and ice.

There was no dematerializing for a pretrans, and that meant he’d either Ubered here or been dropped off by someone—and considering he didn’t hang with anybody, he was clearly headed out into the wilds of Caldwell where he might or might not be able to get a car on a cold night like this.

And if anything happened to him?

“Allhan!”

“Get back here!” Marcia hollered.

Off in the lead, Allhan glanced over his shoulder at the woman and started flat-out running. Which meant Lyric started running. Which meant Marcia started running.

It was like something from a fucked-up rom-com, two women in high heels, one guy gunning for his life to get away, all of them slipping and sliding down the dark alley in the dirty city snow.

And because the “zany hijinks”—which were feeling really desperate, actually, on all accounts—needed to be witnessed by a crowd of astonished strangers, the wait line congregating in the blue-and-green glow of Bathe’s entrance checked that box as that peanut gallery pulled a collective pivot.

Instantly, the for-the-most-part-female congregation recognized Lyric— OMG! It’s HER! —and order broke apart as they grabbed their phones and rushed forward to take pictures.

As Allhan got to the head of the alley, he skipped right through the gathering gate of people, but as Lyric closed in, she knew she wasn’t going to get away with that kind of magic trick—so she started in with the sorrys way ahead.

“I’ll be right back!” she told them, waving her hands. “Thankyou’scusemethankyou’scuse me—”

Give her a football and she was a Heisman candidate as she threaded through the spaces between the young human women, dropping apologies as fast as her feet were poking holes in the crusty slush with those heels.

As she broke through and burst out onto Market Street, the wind lashed at her and her long blond hair tangled around her face.

By the time she got the strands free from her eyelashes, three things were true: Allhan was gone.

She was in the middle of the four-laner with cars honking and swerving around her.

And what the hell was that screeching sound?

The noise was so loud that it cut through the roar of the icy gusts and the high-pitched fuck-you of the horns.

Spinning around, she looked up.

The purple billboard was mounted on the roof of the old-fashioned building diagonally across the intersection, and even though it had been secured with metal supports, the panels had been caught by the powerful wind and were ripping free.

Had ripped free.

It took only a split second to calculate where the impact was going to be as gravity took over what the gusts had started—and that logo and the face that went with it were the punchline to the fact that Lyric was standing at ground zero.

Or maybe they were a message from the universe that her priorities were going to kill her.

Lyric hauled ass.

Digging into the crusted hump between lanes, she rechecked the sky as she tried to avoid being crushed.

The Resolve2Evolve logo was getting bigger by the second, the face of the woman at the head of the movement on a zoom-in that was downright deadly.

Ducking the eye contact, Lyric changed directions in hopes of getting out of the line of fire, heading for a brightly lit construction site and a gaping group of men in orange vests and hard hats inside a fence.

But it was like the damn thing was coming after her.

In the mirrored windows of the building that was being renovated, she saw the billboard zeroing in on her in the wash of aqua light from Bathe’s facade—and also got a good snapshot of herself running for her life in the shimmering dress she loved so much.

And then there were all the people from the wait line screaming while the cars hit their brakes and careened into snowbanks, lampposts, and storefronts.

The only thing she didn’t see was her savior.

Out of thin air, there was suddenly a mammoth man right on her. He grabbed her waist, spun her off her feet, and curled his massive body around her in a protective tuck—

The crash was so loud, her ears rang, and there was a whoosh! of cold air with all kinds of debris falling like weird snow.

After that? Just breathing.

Hers. His.

She took a deep breath—

“Are you okay?” the man asked in a low, deep voice. Which was oddly quiet.

Before she could respond, a glow surrounded them, like something in the universe had preordained both the near miss and their meeting—

Nah, it was just a delivery truck fishtailing while it tried not to run them over.

It was then that the man started to straighten. And straighten. And… there was also some cursing. Then again, he was holding the entire billboard over them as well as half its ugly-duckling strands of scaffolding.

With one arm.

As he released her so he could put two hands into the effort, she was transfixed.

The face staring down at her from what surely was outer space was something she instantly committed to memory, from the low brows to the strong jaw to the lips that were tight with exertion.

It was… a harsh, hard face. One that reflected age, without showing the passage of years by way of wrinkles or thinning hair.

Old eyes. Ancient… remote… eyes. In the visage of a man in his prime. And they bored into her, a different kind of headlights.

“Who are you,” she whispered.

What she got in return was a grunt, as he somehow picked up the load and swung the entire billboard above his head, knocking off his hard hat.

Resolve2Evolve. With the famous brunette’s face big as an SUV, her smile wide as a doorjamb.

Lyric cursed to herself. Attempted murder by the very thing she was pursuing—or being pursued by, depending on the way you looked at it.

Before she could start her thank-yous, the man walked off with the damn thing in an impossible display of strength for a human—and what do you know.

The crowd that had surged forward from the wait line parted in awe for him as he headed for the side of the street.

After he dumped the signage out of the way on the curb, he seemed to pause to take a look at the imagery, his head tilting to the side as if wondering, What the hell?

Then again, he was not Valentina’s core audience, for sure. And hey, his moment of confusion turned into Lyric’s advantage because she could take him in properly.

His hair was dark and fairly short, with no particular style, and his reflective bib and work boots were likewise worn from hard use, as if he pulled a lot of hours at his physical job and didn’t worry about anything other than the functionality of his wardrobe.

No parka, which meant his incredible arms showed like it was August, not January, the muscles wrapping thick and corded around heavy bones.

Was that steam rising up off his skin?

Yet he’d smelled clean, and as the wind whipped around again, the subtle spice of his scent tickled into her nose and drowned out the mix of perfumes, body sprays, and hair product wafting up from all the women with the cellphones—

Marcia jumped through the garland of gawkers. “Oh, my God ! You’re alive !”

For a split second, Lyric wondered who the woman was talking to. But then she was tackled in a hug, and the waterworks were ridiculous. Like they were sisters who’d been separated by a world war, and there was an Oscar nomination in play.

Then again, they did have an audience, and as the crowd let out a collective awwwww , those phones swung back up.

Ah, yes. Content.

“You almost died !” Marcia announced. “We need an ambulance ! Someone call nine -one- one !”

Lyric glanced back at the man who’d saved her.

He was returning to the construction site, his strides long as a mile, his bare shoulders shifting with a roll of coordinated muscle, his hands relaxed by his sides—like he hadn’t just thrown all that weight around.

Across the back of his bib, the words “Wabash Construction Co., Ltd.” were an arch that had plenty of room given the size of him.

Look at me, she thought at him. Stop and look at me again.

When he did no such thing, she felt cheated. But come on, it wasn’t like they knew each other—

“It’s a miracle, Lyric of Lyrically Dressed,” Marcia cried out, “that you’re still alive—”

“Oh, shut up, Marcia,” she muttered as she shucked the woman like a bad coat.

Then she took two steps over, bent down… and picked the man’s hard hat up out of the snow.