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I should’ve known better than to let my guard down.

The lights are back on, but my body is still wired for survival—heart racing, skin crawling, muscles taut and ready to run. We’re closing up shop early since the power went out, and it’s not expected back until after the storm passes. The generator is barely enough to keep the essentials running for an hour, so Donovan, the owner, told us to call it quits.

My monster may be gone for now, but it’s still dark out. Sunrise isn’t for another two hours.

Fuck.

I hover just inside the threshold, hands buried deep in my hoodie pocket, trying to work up the nerve to step outside. The generator hums in the background, doing its best impersonation of normal. But nothing about tonight is normal. Not after what just happened. Not after the way he touched me.

He’s not toying anymore.

He’s hunting.

And he’s hungry.

I glance toward the dark parking lot again and do the math in my head. I could pack tonight. Be gone before tomorrow. I’ve done it before—ghosted entire towns with nothing but a backpack and a burner phone. I could head south this time. Somewhere with noise and streetlights and enough people to blend into.

It wouldn’t be hard.

But this time, it wouldn’t be easy either.

Because this time… there’s someone to leave behind.

My stomach twists, a tangle of guilt and something far more dangerous—attachment.

Hudson.

He was too close tonight. Too warm. Too kind.

And I let him be.

Dammit, Parker. You should’ve known better.

Another gust of wind rattles the metal exit door, and I flinch before I can stop myself. I hate how easily fear slips its way back under my skin. How I’m already imagining the headlines: Girl Caught in Storm – Found Dead in Ditch . No one would think twice. Just a tragic accident.

But then I hear the jingle of car keys and look up to see Hudson walking out of the break room. The overhead light casts a halo around him like some kind of stupid, ironic angel. His hoodie is half-zipped, his hair a little messy, and the familiar knot in my chest pulls tighter.

Five minutes in a car with him is safer than twenty minutes in the dark with what’s waiting for me.

And after that… I’ll disappear. I’ll lure the monster away. And Hudson will be safe.

“Hey… Hudson?”

He pauses mid-step, eyebrows lifting when he sees me twisting my fingers into the hem of my hoodie. His face softens, just slightly. It always does when I let something real slip through.

“Would you… mind giving me a ride home?”

He blinks. “Wow. That sounded like an actual question.”

I almost roll my eyes, but there’s no bite behind it. His voice isn’t smug—it’s surprised. Maybe even a little pleased. Like he’s glad I asked.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice quieter now.

I nod, even though I’m not. Not even close.

He tosses his keys in the air and catches them with a grin. “Yeah. C’mon. I got you.”

Something in my chest eases—and tightens all at once.

“I owe you,” I murmur, trailing after him.

“You can pay me back by letting me pick the music.”

There’s only one car in the tiny employee lot—a Jeep. My brows lift. I’d pegged Hudson for the flashy sports-car type, something sleek and impractical, not a rugged Jeep. It actually looks like it’s seen real adventures, mud-splattered tires and all.

I glance sideways at him.

Maybe there’s more to Hudson than I thought.

The wind gusts suddenly, sending my braid whipping across my shoulder. Cold seeps through my hoodie, making me shiver involuntarily as my eyes dart nervously around the darkness. It’s quiet—too quiet—but at least his heavy, icy presence from earlier seems to have receded.

Thank fuck.

Still, my thighs clench at the memory of his shadows climbing my skin, of the phantom touch still burning in places I don’t want to acknowledge. I shove the thoughts away and bolt for the Jeep just as Hudson unlocks it. I jump in, slam the door, and immediately flip on every dome light. I even click on my phone flashlight and leave it glowing in the cupholder like a talisman.

The rush of bright, artificial illumination calms my racing pulse. Somewhat.

“You... okay there, Snow Pea? You’re acting even weirder than usual,” Hudson says, climbing in beside me. For once, his voice isn’t teasing or flirty—it’s genuinely curious, almost gentle.

I give him a half-hearted glare for the nickname, but it’s weak at best. He doesn’t know what it means. What it does to me.

Still, he deserves something. A sliver of honesty.

“I don’t like the dark,” I say at last, voice small.

He raises an eyebrow, probably expecting more. But to his credit, he doesn’t push. He simply nods and starts the Jeep, waiting for me to rattle off my address that’s only a few blocks away.

It’s quiet as we pull out onto the empty street.

Creek Haven is picturesque, charming, safe. A single main street houses all the local businesses, from a small hospital to the police department. Quaint houses line neatly paved roads, lush trees framing the quiet neighborhoods.

It’s the kind of town you’d see in a Hallmark movie, currently deserted at three in the morning. Even with the strong wind shaking up the trees around us, the town looks peaceful.

People here live without fear, blissfully unaware. But I know better. Safety is a lie, especially when the night has claws.

My eyes flick across the darkened houses, all blacked out from the power outage. The storm has passed, but the town feels… hollow. Like the calm before something worse.

I’ve just started to breathe again when Hudson curses under his breath and swerves sharply.

“Fuck! Did you see that?” he shouts, breath ragged. “Some idiot dressed in black was standing in the middle of the road!”

Heart hammering, I glance back, dread pooling in my stomach as a shadowy figure dissolves into the darkness. The chill returns, heavier this time—like cold hands wrapping around my throat.

He’s still watching.

And I know that feeling.

It’s the kind that slithers in before things start to break.

I open my mouth to tell Hudson to slow down, but before I can get the words out, a loud pop-pop-pop cracks from my side of the Jeep.

Hudson swears and yanks the wheel, slamming on the brakes. We jolt forward in our seats as the Jeep screeches to a stop, the tires grinding into the wet pavement.

“Fucking hell, what was that?” he mutters, flinging his door open and stepping into the wind. I barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. He circles the Jeep, cursing under his breath—until he stops cold.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, kicking at one of the tires. “Both flat. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

My stomach drops. My fingers curl into fists.

This isn’t a coincidence.

It never is—not when it involves me .

This is my fault. All of it.

It’s always been like this. Every time someone gets too close—my monster finds them. And they die. Maybe not right away. Maybe not right in front of me. But they always end up gone.

My roommate. My neighbor. My dad.

And now Hudson.

The guilt is a weight I can’t shake, making it hard to breathe. I should’ve walked home alone. I should’ve lied. I should’ve done anything but pull him into my orbit.

I open my door, stepping out into the cold night, my voice tight. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll walk the rest of the way. Sorry about your tires,” I say, determined to distance myself from him.

“Wait, what? Two tires just shredded at once. Gerald’s shop doesn’t open for hours. I can’t even get a tow right now—” He checks his phone, frowning.

A shiver races down my spine, colder and sharper than before. My pulse quickens, panic clawing up my throat.

P A R K E R.

Fuck. He’s coming. We need to get out of here.

A loud crack splits through the night, sharp as gunfire.

My gut twists.

I don’t need to look. I already know.

This time, I’m not the target .

He’s pissed. And he’s going after Hudson—to punish me.

He always targets someone else when he’s furious.

Instinct kicks in, honed from a lifetime of running, of clawing my way out of near-death again and again. I don’t think—I move .

I throw myself into Hudson’s side, tackling him to the ground into a controlled roll, just as a massive branch tears free from the tree above and slams down exactly where he’d been standing. I barely have time to register our rather intimate position—me straddling him—before another wave of dread skitters down my spine.

“Holy shit! How did you?—”

“Move!” I shout, dragging him upright by the arm, already pulling him backward before the next branch crashes to the ground beside us.

Hudson doesn’t ask questions.

He runs.

We sprint through the dark, boots splashing through puddles, breath ragged and burning. I take the lead, feet pounding the pavement, heart slamming against my ribs as the storm howls louder behind us.

My house is so close, but it might as well be miles away. He’s gaining. I feel it—the thickening of the air, the pulsing weight of his rage chasing us.

Hudson is just behind me. Solid. Quick. So very alive.

Please, let him stay that way.

We reach the porch. I leap up the steps?—

—and freeze.

No. No, no, no.

The shadows are waiting.

They rise from the wood like smoke, slithering up my legs, cold and possessive, silk-wrapped in malice. They curl around my thighs, up over my hips, fingers made of darkness kneading into the flesh of my ass.

My breath stutters. My body betrays me.

A whimper slips past my lips, soft and high, and I hate the way it sounds—needy, like a moan. Like I want it. Heat floods my core, terrifying and shameful and wrong .

Because it feels good.

And it’s him.

Not Hudson— him .

My monster.

I stumble as the shadows tighten around me, nearly losing my balance, and catch myself against the porch railing. My hands shake as I scramble to the keypad, jabbing in the code with a frantic urgency, while the darkness slithers further up.

We burst inside. Light explodes around us—the warm, steady hum of my backup generator kicking in like clockwork. Every bulb in my entryway flickers to life, chasing shadows into corners and away from my body.

“Hudson, close the doo?—”

But then his voice spills in from behind us, smooth but soaked in venom.

“I am famished , my sweet Snow Pea,” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. “Come out and play. The taste of your lover’s fear as he meets his end will be absolutely exquisite.”

The color drains from my face.

Lover.

He’s not bluffing. He never bluffs.

I hiss, shoving past Hudson and slamming the door with every ounce of strength I have left. The lock clicks into place like a final nail in a coffin.

And then I collapse.

My back hits the door and I slide to the floor, my chest rising and falling in quick, panicked bursts.

Across the room, Hudson stands frozen. Disheveled. Wide-eyed. His chest heaves, each breath shallow and loud in the silence. Mud streaks his jeans, and there’s a twig caught in his hair. He looks like he’s been pulled out of a nightmare—and he has.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stares .

Good. I couldn’t explain this even if I tried.

The worst part?

I can still feel him. My monster’s touch lingers on my skin like heat from a brand. Possessive. Angry. Intimate in ways he’s never been before.

And my body—god, my body —responded to his touch like it belonged to him. As if it missed him.

I squeeze my arms tighter around my knees, trying to hold in the trembling. My mind reels, caught in a storm of panic and disgust and the undeniable flush of arousal I don’t want to acknowledge.

What the actual fuck is wrong with me?

I risk a glance at Hudson. He’s still staring, jaw slack, his expression distant like he’s buffering—like his brain hasn’t caught up to what just happened.

I wait for the questions, the accusations, the anger—something. But nothing comes. He just stares, breathing heavily, eyes glazed with shock.

I recognize that look. Once upon a time, it had been mine too. But years of survival have dulled any shock I could feel. Now there’s only reaction, reflex, instinct.

And guilt.

Because this is what happens when I let someone in.

I drag myself to my feet, legs shaky beneath me. I don’t speak. Just head to the kitchen on autopilot, reaching for routine to keep from crumbling. If I can’t fix the horror clawing under my skin, I can at least fix a sandwich.

Famished. That word echoes through me, bitter and mocking. That’s something we, unfortunately, have in common tonight, my work break having been interrupted.

As I start pulling ingredients from the fridge, the guilt crashes back. Sharp and consuming. Hudson should’ve never been part of this. He was just… there. Kind. Persistent. Interested in me.

And now he’s marked.

I spin too fast, reaching for the drawer to grab a knife—and nearly slam into Hudson, who’s suddenly right behind me.

My heart skips a beat.

“What… just happened?” he asks, voice raw, like he hasn’t quite caught his breath. “What the fuck was that?”

I flinch.

So, we’re at the questions part.

Of course we are.

I force myself to keep my tone even. “Sit down, Hudson. I’ll make something to eat and answer whatever I can.”

He obeys without hesitation, sinking into the kitchen chair like his knees gave out. He doesn’t look away from me.

“How did you know those branches were going to fall on us?”

I sigh and drag a hand down my face, smudging mud across my cheek. The weight of it all presses down on me like an anchor in the sea.

Maybe I should lie.

But I don’t.

“Because… he’s done it before. I’ve learned to recognize the signs and anticipate them.”

Hudson’s brows knit. “ He ?”

I let the question hang in the air between us while I focus on the food. Sandwiches feel stupid now, but I make them anyway. There’s something grounding about the rhythm of it—bread, ham, cheese. It gives my hands something to do other than shake.

Without thinking, I reach for the mustard. Some part of me—muscle memory, maybe—goes through the motions. I pop the cap and drag it across the slice of bread, not in the usual pattern, but looping, spiraling instead.

I don’t really know why I’m doing it, but it’s as if I can’t stop myself now that I’ve started. Like I’m in some sort of trance—my body moving on its own, the mustard flowing in patterns I didn’t consciously plan. The act of doodling itself feels like a compulsion, something outside my control.

I stare at the spiraling design for a moment, my breath catching. The mustard swirls across the bread in tight, looping patterns—an intricate series of curves that feel almost... purposeful. It doesn’t look like something I would do. The lines are too deliberate, too exact.

For a split second, I swear I see the design flicker, a faint, unnatural glow pulsing from it. My heart skips a beat, and I blink, but the glow is gone, leaving only the strange markings on the bread.

What the hell is happening?

Absently, I grab a knife to cut the sandwich, shutting the drawer with my hip. My brain’s still stuck back on the porch—on his voice, his touch, the way Hudson looked at me like I’d saved him and terrified him all in the same breath.

Then the knife slips.

“Shit,” I hiss, jerking my hand back as a bright bead of blood wells up on my fingertip. It’s not deep, but it’s enough to sting. I look down, and the blood spreads across the bread, smearing the mustard design. The red soaks into the spirals, darkening the strange pattern I didn’t mean to make.

I glance toward Hudson. He hasn’t noticed. His eyes are far away, brows furrowed in confusion. Still in shock.

Good. I don’t need him panicking about a cut on top of everything else.

I grab a clean slice and start over, slower this time. More deliberate. Ham. Cheese. A straight swipe of mustard. Something normal in a night that’s gone completely off the rails.

Then his voice cuts in, low and hesitant.

“Why did he think I was your lover ?”

Startled, I squeeze the mustard bottle too hard, splattering it everywhere.

I gape at him. “You… you heard him? His voice?”

Hudson nods once, slow. “He said it like he knew. Like it was true. ” His voice dips, rough with disbelief. “I didn’t see anyone out there, but it felt like he was standing right there. ”

No one’s ever heard him before. Not my father. Not any roommates. Not any exes. No one. It’s why everyone’s always dismissed me as disturbed or unstable.

Fuck. This changes everything. Something shifted tonight when my monster whispered to me in the bakery… when he touched me in that new possessive way, like I was his.

I let him sit with the question while I finish his sandwich with numb fingers and slide it toward him. He doesn’t grab it. Just keeps looking at me like I’m a puzzle—or a warning.

And I don’t blame him.

“What was that, Parker?” This time his voice dips with the question, the meaning different, and the look in his ocean-blue eyes holding…more.

Shit. He knows. He saw my fucked up reaction to the shadows. And he’s about to find out how much more fucked up I really am.

I open my mouth—ready to explain, to word-vomit the entire truth I’ve spent years trying to swallow—when a shrill beep-beep-beep slices through the silence

The smoke detector.

Hudson jolts to his feet. “What the hell?—?”

A sharp, acrid scent floods the air. Not smoke, not exactly. There’s nothing visible—no haze, no flicker of fire—but the scent is there. And it doesn’t smell electrical or like something left in the oven.

It smells like burning earth and hot metal. Like sulfur and scorched bone.

Like something dark just licked its lips and smiled.

Hudson grabs a dishcloth and starts fanning the alarm while I whirl around, searching for something—anything—that would’ve triggered it. The oven is off. The burners are cold. No candles, no scorched crumbs, nothing smoldering in the trash.

I sprint through the house, checking every room—the living room, the hallway, the bathroom. All well-lit. All untouched.

And still, the scent lingers.

After several tense minutes, it starts to fade, dissolving into something faint and almost… sweet.

Like it’s pleased.

Again… What the fuck?

What the hell is going on tonight?

This has gone from scary to outright terrifying, and my gut twists with dread. Clearly, my monster’s learned new tricks while I was growing complacent this past year.

Hudson finally gets the alarm to shut off. The sudden silence makes the ringing in my ears worse.

I turn back toward the kitchen—only to stop dead in my tracks.

My heart stutters once.

Twice.

Hudson’s sandwich—still untouched—isn’t the problem.

It’s the other one. The one I bled on.

Half of it is gone, a perfect bite missing from the exact part where my blood soaked in. The bite is too perfect, too deliberate—like someone tasted it, as if they were savoring it.

As if they were meant to.

And beside the plate, drawn in neat, swirling mustard cursive, is a single message:

Thank you for the snack, my Beholden.