Page 4 of Twisted Souls (Twisted Souls #1)

Zara

The darkness and wind whipped around me, and I felt the familiar falling sensation before landing on something hard.

“Fucken hell,” A rough male voice rang out.

Not something. Someone. My eyes flew open as an arm wrapped around me from behind, pulling me against a solid chest. They pinned my arms, pressing me so tightly against their chest that I could barely move. How was this person so strong?

“How did you get into my tent?” the gruff voice growled into my ear, the chill of metal pressing against the base of my throat.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. Panic surged through me as my eyes darted around the dimly lit space. The air was thick with the scent of damp canvas and smoke. My heart pounded against my ribcage as I took in my surroundings. A desk cluttered with scattered papers stood haphazardly to one side, a cot on the other. The tent’s entrance loomed in front of me, and the coarse, familiar fabric of the walls pressed in on me as I felt a sickening jolt of realization.

“I don’t believe you,” the male growled again into my ear, his voice vibrating through his chest. His arm was hot against my bare skin, and the sensation reminded me what I wore—or rather didn’t wear. The male suddenly inhaled sharply, and I felt him tense as if he had realized the same thing.

“Why don’t you have clothes on?” he grumbled, and his grip loosened around my body. “Did Julian send you?” He sighed, pulling the blade away from my throat.

As soon as the blade lowered, I threw my head back with all my strength, hitting him square in the face. His grip faltered, and I tumbled to the floor, landing roughly. The male let out a startled yell of surprise.

“What did you do that for?” he shouted.

I sprinted toward the tent entrance, but something solid slammed into me from behind, sending me sprawling onto the ground. A massive body pinned me down, and I struggled desperately beneath their weight.

“Just because I do not require your services doesn’t mean you can attack me—twice, I might add.” His tone was sharp and edged with irritation.

Services? Servi…He thought I was a prostitute! “I am not a prostitute! You pig, get off me!” I struggled beneath him, the cold, unyielding ground pressing into my skin.

He let out a sharp laugh. “Pig?”

“Yes, pig. Get off!” I bit out in frustration.

“If you aren't a uh- certain kind of lady, then why are you in my tent, wearing no clothes?” The male retorted, his tone now laced with amusement.

I didn’t respond. How could I? I didn’t have an answer.

He let out another annoying, breathy chuckle. “I'll get off you if you promise not to run or hit me again, and we can talk. But if you try anything else, I'll use my dagger, and there won't be a warning this time. Deal?”

“Fine. Now get off me .” I panted, still straining against his weight on top of me.

I could feel his intense stare burning into my back as he gradually eased off me and stood. Slowly, I pushed myself into a sitting position, wincing as the pain in my back flared with the movement. The impact from being tackled had left a dull throb that radiated through my shoulders and spine, making each shift a jolt of discomfort.

“Did you have to tackle me so hard?” I grimaced, brushing off dirt from my exposed skin.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he countered, and I rolled my eyes at his lighthearted tone.

I managed to get to my feet and spun around to confront him, but the words caught in my throat when I saw his face clearly for the first time. He was- well, he was beautiful. He was massive and probably the most handsome man I had ever seen. His dark, inky black hair hung over his brow but seemed to shorten on the sides. One white strand ran across the side of his sharp, angular face and fell slightly above his emerald eyes, which seemed to pulsate with streaks of yellow. His gaze ensnared mine, and my mouth parted as I took him in. I had never seen eyes like his before, and…he was smirking.

I quickly snapped my mouth shut and narrowed my eyes on him. He wore thick, dark trousers with a glossy leather overlay that gleamed faintly under the light. His shirt, made of rich, dark silk, seemed to absorb every shadow in the room. The fabric’s deep hue was like woven night, tucked neatly into his waistband. Soft and airy, it clung just enough to hint at the muscular chest beneath, with the top few buttons left undone. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. One was adorned with intricate, swirling emerald tattoos that seemed almost alive in the dim light.

The male brushed a hand through his sleek black hair, causing the white strand to fall forward over his forehead once again. I realized he was evaluating me, and I watched as his eyes swept down my body in an assessing manner.

“My eyes are up here, asshole,” I snapped, my hands instinctively moving to cover myself. His gaze shifted back to mine, though it did so with a deliberate, almost reluctant slowness.

“You could be a gentleman and offer me a shirt or a blanket to cover up with,” I said coolly. “Or was I right in calling you a pig?” I snapped, and his brows shot up, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

He walked toward me, his gaze unwavering. When he was close enough to make me uneasy, he began unbuttoning his shirt at an agonizingly slow pace. I swallowed hard, and he smirked down at me. “You are quite feisty, little stalker,” he practically purred, his eyes traveling down my body once more.

Stalker?

“Are you always this cocky?” I asked, oddly rooted to the spot. He didn’t respond, but continued to slowly unbutton his shirt, untucking it from his pants. “Also, I’m not a stalker. I don’t even know who you are.”

His smirk widened into a grin, and he threw open his shirt, sliding it off his broad shoulders and holding it out toward me.

I reached for the shirt, making a concerted effort not to let my gaze linger on his now-exposed, mid-section. The tattoo on his right arm wound up to his shoulder and across the top of his broad sculpted chest, its swirling lines forming intricate designs that I couldn’t quite make out.

A flush of heat crept into my cheeks, but I refused to let this male see it. I willed my expression to remain steady, holding his gaze.

“Hasn’t it been you lurking just out of sight these past few weeks?” he mused, and a chill ran down my spine. “I recognize your scent,” he added.

My scent? I scrunched up my nose. Did I smell?

“I've been curious about who has been able to get past our wards and get so near me without detection.” He took another step closer, leaving only inches between us.

Wards? What the hell was he talking about?

“I’m not stalking you,” I said firmly, pushing my hands against his chest to create some distance.

He didn’t move an inch, and I was met with unyielding resistance. My eyes betrayed me, wandering down to his sculpted torso, leaving me momentarily speechless. No wonder he didn’t budge—he had more muscles than I could count.

Wincing, I pulled my hands back and glared up at him. “For the last time, I don’t even know who you are, or where I am, for that matter.”

“Right.” He flashed me another cocky grin, the kind that made my fists clench with the overwhelming urge to wipe it off his ridiculously handsome face. His eyes sparkled knowingly, as if he could read my thoughts and took quiet pleasure in my discomfort.

“You know,” he drawled, “for someone so desperate for a shirt just moments ago, you don’t seem all that eager to put it on.”

My face flushed with heat as I angrily wrapped the silky black shirt around myself. The scent of citrus and cedar filled my nostrils, making me momentarily lightheaded. Great—he was not only infuriatingly attractive but also smelled amazing. Who the hell was this guy?

I folded my arms and shot him a defiant ‘there, happy now’ look, which made him chuckle.

“Black looks good on you, little stalker.” His lips curved into a sensual smile that took my breath away.

This guy was trouble, plain and simple. How was I supposed to get any answers from this arrogant, cocky asshole? I took a cautious step back to put some distance between us and drew a deep breath.

He didn’t take his eyes off me as I moved back, but he made no effort to close the distance again.

“Where am I?” I asked, hoping for some concrete information.

“In my tent,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Clearly.” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “But where exactly is your tent? Where am I?”

“You’re in my camp,” he repeated, maintaining his smug smile. He folded his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying this.

I shot him a flat look. “And where is your camp located?”

“What makes you think I’d share that with you?” he retorted, his expression hardening as he seemed to remember I might pose a threat.

He shifted on his feet, and I instinctively took another step back, the subtle change in his gaze making me uneasy. I cursed myself for it, determined not to show any sign of intimidation, even if I couldn’t help feeling a little unsettled.

“At least tell me your name,” I demanded, planting my hands on my hips and leaning forward slightly.

Dimples appeared on his cheeks as he flashed me a wicked grin. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Is this some sort of game to you?” I shot him a frustrated glare, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

Challenge sparked in his eyes, but before he could respond, a gust of wind surged around me, and darkness started to shroud my vision. Wind pulled at my clothes, and my hair whipped wildly around me.

The stranger’s eyes widened in alarm as he lunged toward me, but I was already gone.

*

The room spun, and suddenly, I found myself back in front of my bathing chamber. I looked down and realized I still wore his shirt, the rich, dark silk draped over me. The scent of cedar and citrus lingered on the fabric, serving as the only tangible evidence that this had really happened and wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.

“What in the holy gods.” A voice rang out from behind me, and I spun around in alarm to find Cynthia standing near the door. Her eyes were wide, and she looked paler than usual as she looked at me from across the room.

“Cynthia! What are you doing here?” I rushed toward her, but she raised her hands, stopping me.

Her mouth moved as if to say something, but no sound came out. She quickly masked her emotions, but her eyes were filled with questions as if she were trying to piece together some kind of puzzle. Cynthia cleared her throat. “You weren’t here.” She pointed to the spot where I stood. “And then you were… but when I came in, you weren't, and then—like the world split open—you suddenly appeared.”

“I know, I know. But you have no idea how relieved I am that you saw it,” I said, exhaling in relief. “Now, you won’t think I’m crazy when I tell you what’s been happening.”

She stared at me, wide-eyed and still in shock.

“Come on.” I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the chairs in front of the fire. I plopped her into one and collapsed into the other.

“All right… go on.” She gave me a weary look, but I could see the curiosity in her eyes. I launched into the story, telling her about how I’d been disappearing into strange places—about that night and how I ended up falling practically naked on top of someone.

Cynthia listened intently, her mouth hanging slightly open as she took it all in. “Who else knows about this?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“No one! Well, you now. I thought I was going crazy! I don’t know what’s happening to me, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I mentioned to Winnie that I was having nightmares, but that’s all she knows—or thinks she knows.”

“Did you really fall on a guy naked?” She cracked a grin.

“I had my underwear on!” I groaned, burying my face in my hands, peeking out between my fingers. “But yes, and it was so embarrassing.”

“Is that his shirt?” Cynthia reached out and grabbed the fabric, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yep.” I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face and glancing down at the soft, silky material.

“Wow, he must be massive. Was he good-looking?” She smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s not important,” I grumbled, turning away as she grinned from ear to ear.

“Oh, so he was! He must’ve been really sexy to have you blushing like that!” She squealed, and I leaned back into the chair, looking up at the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

We both burst into girlish laughter.

“Have you ever heard of anything like this before?” I asked, the dread creeping back into my chest.

“Yes, all the time,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, but her face quickly turned serious.

“I keep thinking the next time I’ll appear on the edge of a cliff or something and fall to my death.” I chuckled lightly, trying to downplay the fear.

“Oh Gods, that hasn’t happened, has it?”

“I'm here, aren’t I?” We exchanged grins. “No, but it happens whenever it wants. I don’t even think it’s me doing it. It’s like some sort of magic, but if it were my magic, I’d be able to control it, right? But I’ve tried—and it’s like it has a mind of its own.”

We both sat in silence for a moment. Cynthia looked uneasy and shifted anxiously in her chair.

“What if it happens in front of other people? My parents? The whole damn kingdom at the ball?” I could hear the panic rising in my voice. “What are they going to think? I’ve been lucky so far, but it’s happening more and more.”

“Didn’t your mother give you some sort of tonic for your nightmares?” Cynthia asked nonchalantly.

“Yes, but I don’t think a sleeping draft is going to stop this.” I said, sighing and running my hands through my knot-infested hair.

“Maybe, but it might be worth trying,” Cynthia said sympathetically. I shrugged, and she eyed me anxiously, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “We’ll figure this out together, promise.”