Page 1 of Moist!

chapter one

HAYDEN

I’m the nameless character that gets killed before the title screen.

It’s almost fitting. I was always certain that I’d be the pragmatic survivor. Made superior and flippant by the fact I know I’m not the type of person who would go investigate the clearly paranormal, obviously deadly sound alone.

Not to mention that I would never make the mistake of pretending monsters aren’t real.

Nope, instead it’s a mundane, clueless tourist mishap that will be my fate.

How embarrassing.

I try to focus on the rise and fall of my chest as I pick up the pace, forcing my lungs to expand fully. Maybe I can breathe out the panic gripping my heart.

My nervous system isn’t buying the positive self-talk, made obvious by the sweat beading on the back of my neck as my anxiety claws its way up through my stomach and into my throat, rapidly invalidating my attempts to stay calm.

It doesn’t help that my mind has wandered firmly into worst-case-scenario territory. Here lies Hayden, she died how she lived, hyper-fixating on niche mythology, with a poor sense of direction.

I probably don’t want a gravestone, though, do I? I guess I’ll get what I get. Maybe they won’t bother taking my body home, perhaps they’ll scatter my ashes here over the Scottish moors. Small comforts.

Fear jolts me out of my musing, sinking in deeper as a familiar plaque looms in front of me. I’ve just gone in a circle. Fuck.

I’m not sure what to do.

I only planned to walk away a few feet to see more information about the Sphinx. How, or why, for that matter, the whole tour group, including my best friend, would just leave is beyond me.

Surely if Avery thought I’d meant to go off on my own and regroup with them later, she’d have made sure I got my phone out of her bag. Hell of a day to wear a sundress. I cast a glare down at the light green fabric fluttering in the soft breeze. Looking this cute wasn’t worth it.

No pockets. No phone. No money. No clue where I am.

“Fuck me.” I curse to myself softly.

“I’d be foolish to turn down such a tempting invitation, but I’m inclined to think it wasn’t for me.”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the deep, unexpected male voice floating through the air.

It only takes me a second to assess the situation.

He’s a good distance away. He certainly doesn’t seem to want to threaten me.

Though lost in a strange place with a strange man, while clearly playing the role of ‘victim number one’ in the true crime podcast about to be my life, is threatening enough.

My stress level dips a bit as I observe him.

His posture isn’t very intimidating as he all but lounges against the sandstone wall, one leg crossed over the other.

He doesn’t look like he’s dressed for a chase in his tailored suit and nice leather boots either, but I can’t shake the overwhelming feeling that floods me as our eyes collide.

Maybe I wouldn’t hate it if he caught me.

Pushing that entirely inappropriate thought from my mind, I clear my throat to answer him .

“No. It wasn’t.”

I’m tempted to give away more than I should. Fortunately, I manage to clip my sentence short. This strange, albeit beautiful man does not need to know that I’m lost and alone in some back road, under attended, tourist attraction for overenthusiastic mythology lovers.

“Pity.”

The single word sends a shiver of desire up my spine. I should walk away. Every survival sense I possess is demanding that I put as much distance between me and this man as possible. On the other hand, the way his voice seems to reach across the space and caress my skin holds me in place.

He really is quite attractive.

His eyes are warm, accentuated by his soft smile, a nice contrast to the dark beard trimmed close to his sharp jaw that just so happens to be far more erotic than it has any right to.

It only serves to add to the effortless neatness about him.

Bald, dark glasses, well-dressed, with a quiet confidence that clings to his being.

It would be an understatement to say that I like what I see, enough so that I dare to let my walls creep down an inch.

Like all the horror movie victims.

“I’m happy to help you find the group. I don’t bite. Usually.”

I pretend to ignore the involuntary response that elicits and square my shoulders. There’s no reason at all for my thighs to be pressing together right now, or to be thinking of exactly where he might bite me. Self-preservation wins out over my clear need to get laid, thankfully.

“I know where they are, and they know I’m here.”

His mouth quirks in a way that makes my cheeks flare impossibly hotter. I take a moment to silently thank my ancestors that my melanin doesn’t betray my blush quite so dramatically.

“Usually people don’t come down here on purpose.” He raises his palms in mock surrender, the smirk on his lips defined as his gaze returns to mine .

“Well, I did.” I aim to keep my tone even as I turn away from him, focusing my attention back on the little cared-for patterns on the flank of the most recently discovered sphinx. Latin allegedly.

I hope he picked up on my intended dismissal. I hope he didn’t pick up on the fact that the intensity of our eye contact threatened to overwhelm me.

I don’t turn around to see if he’s left. I can feel that he hasn’t.

When the silence stretches out long enough that it would be absurd to think he might still be lounging against the wall, my big mouth betrays me.

“Why wouldn’t people come down here?”

The stupidity of asking when I’ve tried desperately to put on an intimidating bravado isn’t lost on me.

“Pretty sure the draw is the handsome devil’s face, isn’t it? Besides the novelty of a Sphinx statue buried under the moors, that is.”

I release the breath I didn’t even know I was holding at his reply. He doesn’t sound like he’s attempted to close any distance between us.

“Yes, but what’s the point of coming all this way and not seeing every part of him.

He’s magnificent all around.” I don’t bother trying to temper my tone.

If there was ever a time and a place for me to gush over my special interests, it’s here.

Besides, if this random man is off-put by my enthusiasm, who cares?

Strangers giving me odd looks when I get excited and share obscure facts about history and mythology barely even registers anymore. It’s when it comes from those you think love you that it cuts to the bone. It’s not the time or place to think about that, though. After all, I’m over her.

“Thank you, magnificent all around is quite a compliment. I agree with you, too. I’ve yet to find a hidden monument that wasn’t fascinating.

History isn’t nearly as dusty and boring as some like to pretend.

” His voice trails off for a second, and I’m not sure when I made the conscious decision to turn back to him, but I have.

He’s still leaning against the Craigleith sandstone wall near the second exit, completely unaware of what his casual positive comment has done to me.

I can feel the tension leave my shoulders. I might be willing to admit my fears about featuring in a real-life Hostel 2 recreation could be unfounded.

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he stays silent for a moment as his eyes linger on mine before dropping to my lips, making my stomach flutter.

I study him right back.

He seems so perfectly in place here among the clean, sharp lines of stone that jut up around the sphinx, serving as the outdoor museum perimeter.

I assume he’s a local. The shape of his vowels is a dead giveaway, and most visitors are doing far too much walking to strut around in a suit.

Still, his accent doesn’t quite fit in with the people we’ve talked to. Maybe he studied abroad.

“How do you think you’d have fared against a Sphinx?”

His tantalising voice breaks the silence, and I almost feel guilty as I have to drag my eyes back up to his face.

Until I get there and see he’s not looking at mine anymore.

Maybe it was a good idea to wear the sundress after all.

I can’t deny how well it showcases my more than generous curves, if I’m not mistaken, he clearly agrees.

“Riddle-wise? I’d like to think I’m clever enough to make it interesting, but smart enough to know I probably would have failed. At least I’d be a delicious snack.”

I don’t mean to flirt back so directly. Probably.

“I’m certain you would.” He clears his throat, letting his eyes roam lazily over the length of my body for a beat too long, so that the innuendo is clear.

The hot potential serial killer is absolutely flirting back.

I straighten with the thrill it gives me. Somehow, suddenly, my caution seems unnecessary and downright inconvenient.

I must admit, I would like to see this man rumpled and be the cause of it. The feeling only amplifies when he continues.

“Feel like putting your theory to the test?”