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Arwen

B eing a bartender at Alley Katz isn’t the worst job in the world. Yes, I wish I could work someplace where my ass isn’t slapped and groped every night, but at least I make good tips—something I desperately need right now.

I pull on my signature red-and-black lace corset, tightening the ribbons on the back myself. The fabric clinches my waist, a gentle reminder of the curves that draw wandering eyes. I zip the bottom so it hugs me nicely, gliding over my hips and accentuating their thickness, a trait that has become both a blessing and a curse.

With each flick of my brush, I paint stories upon my skin: tales of seduction and survival, masked beneath silky silver hair that cascades down in loose waves. I’ve always had this unusual colored hair, which most people think I’ve dyed myself. I was born with this lustrous silver that almost seems to sparkle at times.

I give myself a once-over in the mirror, ensuring my makeup is flawless—smoky eyes and bold red lipstick, a look that commands attention like a song begging to be heard. My chest tightens as I look at myself, not recognizing the woman I’ve become. How did I get here? I had dreams. I wanted to make something of myself, but here I am fighting for my life every day.

Jarrod wasn’t always like this. When we first met in college, he swept me off my feet with his good looks and charm. His smoldering brown eyes and toned body lured me into his trap. But all good things come to an end, right? It’s like a switch was flipped in him when we moved in together. He forced me to quit school to get a job to pay for everything. Meanwhile, he began wasting away on drugs and alcohol. He lost his medical scholarship, which he blames me for and began taking out his anger on me. The truth was, he got in with the wrong crowd of people at school and that’s when his drug use started. Nevertheless, I’m his personal punching bag when something doesn’t go his way. The first time it happened, he dropped to his knees before me and cried for hitting me, begging me for forgiveness. My heart broke for him so I tried to get him help.

He went to a doctor one time and was diagnosed with “intermittent explosive behavior.” The diagnosis angered him so badly, he threw the psychiatrist’s desk across the room, freaking her out. He ended up threatening to kill her if she ever told anyone what happened and I guess she didn’t because no police ever came to take him away like I hoped they would.

That’s when things went from bad to worse. Now here I am years later, looking at the shell of the girl I once was. Determined to proceed with my plan, I straighten my shoulders and remind myself I won’t die here. I will get out and I will finally have peace.

Taking a deep breath, I slip on my high-heeled, knee-high boots, then turn in the mirror to make sure everything is in place, mentally preparing for the chaos of the night ahead. The music, the crowd, the endless orders for drinks, can be overwhelming. I lean into the mirror to ensure the bruises have been covered well enough, not allowing a single hint of the reality I face each night to seep into the professional facade I have created.

After all, I don’t need more questions than I already get from Kit, my boss and reluctant confidante. She watches me like a hawk before every shift, and though she never openly asks, I can see the concern in her sharp blue eyes. I remember the night I stumbled into Alley Katz, fresh from a bruising incident that left me shaken, and how she offered me a job with a glimmer of empathy. I feel her understanding from the way her gaze softens each time I don my work attire. I often wonder how she knows what nightmares I return home to every night. It’s like she can read my mind, or maybe I’m just not good at hiding it.

Grabbing my bag, I head toward the door as my boyfriend calls out behind me. The sound of his voice slithers through the air, grating against my skin.

“Well, don’t you look like a fat whore. It’s a wonder you make any tips at all,” he sneers as he saunters over to me. Shivers crawl down my spine. I was hoping I could slip out tonight without him noticing since he’d been so drunk this afternoon, making him pass out.

“You know this is the usual uniform for the bar. We need the money, Jarrod. Just let me—”

His laughter cuts through my voice like a serrated knife. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t appreciate being waited on by your fat ass.” He grabs my hips hard, no doubt leaving more marks behind. I wince from the pain, turning my face so he doesn’t see. It will only land me in more trouble.

“Too bad I never made it to medical school. I could slice you up until you were my perfect little doll,” he chuckles darkly. Bile rises in my throat, knowing he still would use his precious knife on me, degree or not. His proclivity to use the blade on me increases by the day. He makes a slicing noise as his fingers trail over me, as though he’s cutting away all my imperfections. I barely eat as it is because there’s no money left after he gets his hands on it. At the thought of food, my stomach grumbles.

“See, you’re always hungry. This is why I limit your food intake or you’d be as big as a house.” He holds his arms out wide, showing me how large I would be.

“Anyways, make sure you earn enough tonight for me to get my weed and pills tomorrow. It’s the only way I can stand the sight of you.”

“Then why don’t you let me go?” I murmur, wishing my voice was stronger. A tear falls to my cheek and without warning, Jarrod’s hand is flying through the air slapping my face. A gasp of pain bubbles out of my mouth, causing his eyes to darken.

“Oh, my little Arwen, you’ll never be free of me. Your holes are still tight and you bring me money, so you’re still of use,” he muses. “Maybe you need to get on your knees right now and show me how thankful you are to have a man put up with your shit.” My breath gets choked in my throat as he presses his hands down on my shoulders.

“J-Jarrod, I’m going to be late—”

I want to yell, to scream that I deserve more than his scorn and disdain, but a lump forms in my throat. In the fleeting silence, I can feel the heat of anger rising, an inferno threatening to engulf my nerves. But I know better, so I grind my teeth instead, swallowing my pride.

“Hmm, saved by the clock I suppose, but be ready to take it in your throat and ass as soon as you get home, my little cum-dumpster.” He roughly slams his fingers into my mouth then pulls me forward.

“I can see that look in your eyes. Don’t ever think I won’t own you in every way, so you better keep coming up with good excuses for those marks. If I go down, I’m taking you with me.” His threat lingers in the air, forcing me to change the subject or he’ll never let me leave.

“I’ll get you your money,” I reassure with a forced smile, hoping it looks natural. I just need a little more cash before I can start over in a new city with a new name. Somewhere he can’t find me. I think of the stash I hid behind a loose brick in my closet. I am so close to freedom I can taste it. The desperation to escape his harm fuels every step I take.

His anger is palpable, affecting the very air around us. He wraps his fingers around my throat, pushing me against the rough wooden door. My heart races, pounding like war drums in my chest.

“You better not be lying to me,” he growls, his voice vibrating with menace. I can feel the heat of his slimy breath against my skin. “I don’t want to hear any excuses this time. If you don’t bring home enough, you’ll regret it. You know what happens when you disappoint me.” Undeniable fear wraps around my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“I’ll get it, I promise,” I wheeze, stars starting to dance in my eyes from the lack of oxygen. My heart races, and I can feel a cold sweat forming on my back. The fear of his wrath is a constant shadow, and I know I have to get away from him before it’s too late.

He shoves me up against the wall and drops his arms, scoffing as he turns away. I swallow, trying to alleviate the pain, and hurry to leave, my head pounding and my breathing shallow. As soon as the front door is locked behind me, tears fall freely down my face. A mix of relief and pure rage churns in my gut. I wish I had a family to turn to but of course I was an orphan. My parents didn’t want me and neither did any of the foster homes. The only thing that got me through the hurt was to lose myself in songs. Singing has always been my passion, almost like it’s ingrained in my very soul. Jarrod can’t stand the sound of it and forbids me to sing at home. He’s always saying it makes him feel weird. I don’t understand why my voice affects him so much. It’s always been a mystery.

The night air feels like a lifeline, and I gulp it in, trying to steady my racing heart. I have to get through tonight. Just a little more money, and I’ll be free. His words feel like poison, wrapping around my heart . “You’ll never be free of me.” They echo in my ears like the tolling of a death knell, and the burning resolve within me grows like a flame fueled by pure terror. The bar might not be perfect, but it’s my escape from him, even if just for a few hours.

As I approach the entrance, the familiar hum of music and chatter grows louder. I slip through the back entrance and greet the bouncer, Jim, as he checks his clipboard and opens the metal door.

“Evening, Arwen. You ready for another late night?”

“Always,” I reply, forcing a smile. Scanning the space, I see the two bartenders that worked the day shift, hustling through the sea of people. This place can get really busy during the weekend and tonight is no exception.

The usual crowd is already here, filling the space with laughter, conversation, and the clinking of glasses. I make my way behind the bar, slipping into my role as if putting on a mask. The night starts like any other, with the usual rush of orders and the comforting rhythm of work. Leaning down behind the counter, goose bumps erupt over my skin when I hear a low, raspy voice in front of me asking for a drink.

“Whiskey, neat,” he orders in a deep, commanding voice that sends shivers down my spine. I look up to see the most vibrant and alluring yellow eyes I’ve ever seen. The older man is huge, even seated, I know he’s probably a foot taller than me. Something crosses his handsome face when I stand and reach for the bottle behind the bar. My hands tremble slightly as I pour the amber liquid into a glass, my thoughts racing.

“Coming right up,” I stammer, trying to sound casual despite the storm brewing inside me. Why is he looking at me like that? I feel like prey caught in a predator’s trap.

He watches me intently, his gaze unwavering, as if I’m the only thing of interest in his world. I can feel heat creeping up my neck, a blush I can’t control. He’s the most striking man I’ve ever encountered. His shoulder-length black hair frames a chiseled face, and the tattoos snaking down his arms only enhance his intimidating yet captivating presence. He’s definitely older than me but I don’t know by how much. He doesn’t have a single gray hair but there’s a dark wisdom that seems to radiate from him.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice smooth yet powerful, pulling me even deeper into this strange connection. He gulps it in one sip, his lips pressing against the rim of the glass, and my heart races as our fingers brush together when I retrieve the glass from the bar. Fire blossoms through my whole body at the brief contact, and I try my best to keep my cool. Holy shit, why do I feel this way? I’ve touched hundreds of patrons, and never have I reacted like this.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he muses.

As I pull my hand back slowly, I gasp when he wraps his fingers around it, sealing me in a bond I never anticipated. Every inch of me is alight, and I know I should pull away, but it feels like my body has a mind of its own, entranced by the warm callouses of his skin caressing the back of my hand.

“I’ve been working here for a while,” I manage to squeak out, desperately trying to remain professional and push away the burning tingle his touch ignites within me. “Guess our paths just haven’t crossed.”

He smiles—a slow, almost predacious grin that makes my heart skip a beat. “What’s your name?” he asks, leaning forward slightly, drawing me deeper into his magnetic pull. “It’s not every day I meet someone as intriguing as you ... Starlight.” His words flow over me like warm honey, wrapping around my senses and affecting me unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

“My name is Arwen,” I reply, the syllables barely escaping my lips as our eyes lock, the warmth swirling between us intoxicating.

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling, sending a shiver through me. “Arwen. A name as beautiful as the stars you’re likened to.”

We stare at each other for a moment, before a voice beside us clears its throat. Kit is standing there, staring at me, an eyebrow raised in question. My face heats, and I duck behind the bar, retrieving a beer from the cooler. I can feel Kit’s eyes on me and my ears grow hot with embarrassment. Why is it that every time I look at this guy, my stomach ties itself into a million knots?

The mysterious man begins to look me over with his heated gaze. Soon, anger flashes in his eyes, causing me to step away, instinctively covering my throat, somehow knowing he can see the marks left from my past. The scars are my enemies, dark reminders of the shackles I wear.

After a few seconds of tense silence, I walk away to help the rest of the people waiting for drinks. I glance back, catching him with a woman hanging all over him, probably ready to buy him the expensive champagne I bet he’s used to. That is if her assets aren’t blocking the bottle. I chuckle to myself, trying to mask my feelings with humor. But with every step I take, I’m left wondering where the fire that blazed so furiously earlier had suddenly extinguished, leaving him stone cold.

Suddenly, the man’s voice cuts through the noise of the bar, “What happened to you?” His tone is rife with concern and a controlled fury that surprises me. “Who did this?”

Tears prick my eyes at his bluntness. I hate being seen as this pathetic human, trapped in an abusive relationship I haven’t found the courage to escape. I try to formulate a reasonable explanation, one that won’t lead to him demanding to know the source of my scars. But before a single thought can solidify, the first tear falls.

His eyes soften as he sees the truth etched on my face. The weight of his gaze feels unbearable, and I know it’s too late—I’ve bared my soul beneath the harsh lights of this clandestine bar. I begin wiping tears off my cheeks as an internal battle plays out behind his hard exterior I sense his restraint, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

“I’m sorry. It’s time for my break,” I stammer, the vulnerability in my voice sharper than I intended. Without waiting for a response, I rush through the back, barreling through the exit. Kit is still managing the bar and will cover for me for a few minutes while I try to compose myself.

Outside, the cool night air kisses my flushed cheeks, and I lean against the wall, desperately trying to catch my breath. Lyrics pop in my head, so I close my eyes and begin to sing to myself. The vibrations of my voice circle around me, pulling me from my despair and lifting my heart. My song washes over me like a wave, calming my mind and body, providing a rare moment of peace against the constant turmoil. Singing has always seemed meditative to me and I guess that’s one positive thing I can hold onto. I hear footsteps beside me and hesitate to glance over, fearing what I might see. My song stops, bringing back the agony. Crying isn’t an option. I can’t allow anyone to see me at a moment of weakness. Jarrod hates when I cry. He won’t let me explain my emotions, it only makes him angrier when I do. So, I’ve learned to hide my feelings. Now I’m out behind the building in a dirty alleyway, alone and shaking. I’m disgusted with the level of despair I’ve allowed myself to fall to in his presence.

“Arwen!” The voice rings out, that same low rumble that floods my mind with thoughts of warmth and danger. “Wait!”

I turn, caught in a moment of hesitation, and there he stands—my mysterious stranger, now devoid of that entertaining woman, his eyes searching for mine.

A sob erupts from my throat. Fuck. Why does this always happen to me? Why is everything falling apart, like this world is determined to kick me while I’m down?

“You can’t just walk away like that,” he demands, frustration and concern intermingling. “Who hurt you?”

I lock eyes with him, searching for an escape, but I feel the gravity of his presence firmly anchoring me. He gently wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him. To my surprise, his touch is reassuring, the gentle caress of his fingers sending a rush of relief and security through me.

“What’s your name?” I whisper, my voice barely escaping me.

“Wilder,” he says softly, contrasting the storm inside me with his calmness.

With each exhale, the stress of the day escapes my lungs until I have nothing left. I lift my face to meet his eyes, only now noticing how close we’re standing, our breaths mingling. An understanding settles over him as his eyes narrow, searching for an answer that my body has betrayed. My cheeks flame, and I want to pull away from his closeness.

“Who did this to you?” he repeats, trailing his fingers over my neck, causing me to involuntarily flinch. Anger flashes in his eyes, but I know it’s not directed at me.

My heart is racing as he stares me down and I shiver as his anger becomes palpable. The black pupils constrict and dilate, betraying his intense emotions. He leans back and closes his eyes for a second, then he exhales, shakes his head, and glances to the side. When he looks at me, his eyes have returned to their natural light-yellow hue.

He swallows hard, as if coming to a decision, then leans back to look at me, eyes unblinking.

“It’s nothing,” I lie, trying to put distance between us.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he demands. “How long?”

“Why do you care?” I fire back, taking another step away. His presence makes my head spin, like I can’t get enough of it, like he has an addicting draw that I didn’t know existed. He gives me an irritated expression, and my eyes widen when the gold in his irises seem to change color and darken slightly. Is that normal?

“Tell me.” His face holds a blank expression, but his tone is dark with a threat.

“Only a couple years...” My gaze lowers, hoping he’ll be satisfied and move on. My mind is playing tug-of-war as the pain rushes back, and Wilder’s reaction intensifies.

“I’ll kill him!” he shouts, startling me. His fists are tight, veins popping. He seems to want to keep me safe. But no, I have to maintain distance.

Why is he so angry? Why does it seem like he wants to help me?

“No. It’s my fault.” I lower my eyes to the ground again, trying to take a deep breath. Jarrod always convinces me that my circumstances are because I’m not good enough. I’m too fat, and I don’t make enough money to support all of his habits.

Tears threaten the corners of my eyes. I’m terrified of what Wilder will do now that he knows my situation. Will he go after Jarrod?

Wilder may be bigger than Jarrod, but I don’t need someone fighting my battles. I’m so close to getting out from under Jarrod. I only need a couple hundred dollars for the bus ticket and enough money to live on until I find a new job.

“You better start talking, and tell me what happened, right fucking now,” he seethes, grabbing my arms. He pulls me in closer and lowers his voice. He’s careful with his tone, but his hold is like a vice. “Arwen, you won’t like how this will end if you don’t tell me who did this.”

“It was an accident—he was mad that the tips were lower than expected. The night was slow, and I couldn’t pull in a lot.” I try to look anywhere but at his handsome face. “But you need to let me go.”

He scoffs, “An accident? How can someone wrapping their hands around someone’s neck be considered an accident?” Wilder’s grip tightens, and I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a fire. “Arwen, you matter to me, even if I just met you. I can’t stand by and let him hurt you.”

“I’m not worth saving. You don’t even know me,” I say, biting back a sob.

He lets me go and runs his hands through his hair, tension practically radiating off his muscular frame. I swallow past the lump in my throat.

“You’re mine now.”

I look at him like he’s crazy and wonder what kind of mind fuck game he’s playing with me. Is it an act to get me to fall into his bed so he can take what he wants? Then what? Dump me at my apartment later tonight and move on to his next piece of ass? What the actual fuck!

“I’m not yours and I have to get back to work.”

“You are, you just haven’t realized it yet,” he retorts with a clipped tone. “This isn’t over, Arwen. He will never lay another finger on you.” His threat rings through the air.

Before I can reply the door opens, bringing a blast of warm air as Kit pops her head out and calls, “Break is almost over. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” she asks, looking over my shoulder at the man behind me.

The warmth from Wilder fades as a chill runs through me, reminding me how exposed I am. “Yes. Thank you.” I turn to look at Wilder, his stony mask firmly in place, only his golden eyes give him away. I follow Kit inside, leaving this beast of a man behind.

Kit stands behind the bar next to me, passing out drinks as I try to distract myself and pick up more orders.

“Be careful with that one,” Kit begins. “I sense a shifter a mile away.”

A gasp leaves my throat. He’s a ... shifter? They aren’t necessarily well liked in town. No wonder his eyes were so intense. The color change wasn’t an illusion like I’d thought.

“He was ... looking for directions,” I lie, my hands trembling with this new knowledge. A glass slips from my fingers, shattering on the floor. A quietness falls over the bar as everyone looks at me.

I rush around the counter and clean the mess, dumping the large pieces into the trash, slicing my hand in the process. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m being scooped up by strong muscular arms and carried to the bathroom.

“Hey! What the hell?” I yelp. “Put me down!” He doesn’t answer, just moves swiftly, expertly navigating the cramped corridors of the bar until he pushes open the bathroom door and kicks it shut behind him.

“I said, put me down!”

Wilder finally complies, setting me on the counter next to the tiny sink. “You’re bleeding.”

He grabs my wrist and examines the small cut.

“It’s nothing,” I protest, trying to pull away.

“Nothing? You’re cut. Besides, you don’t get to tell me what to do,” he mutters, pulling a first aid kit from beneath the sink. His tone is firm, but there’s something tender in the way he handles me.

“Where did you even learn how to patch up a wound? Are you a doctor or something?” I ask, watching him closely. His broad shoulders tense as he focuses on my hand.

“No, just learned a few things along the way.”

“And what does that mean?” Wilder glances up at me, his expression softening, the anger from earlier dissipating for a moment.

“I’ve survived a lot,” he says quietly. A thick silence settles in as he cleans my hand, making my heart race for reasons beyond the sting of alcohol.

“Why do you care? I’m just a bartender. There’s nothing special about me.”

He puts his hand under my chin and tilts my head so that my face meets his gaze. My legs part willingly, a subtle invitation, as he steps closer, wedging me against his solid chest. His eyes linger on my neck, and a shiver works its way down my spine as his hand wraps around my throat—gentle, yet possessive. Nothing like how Jarrod does it. This feels ... hot, erotic, forbidden.

Before I fully realize what’s happening, his lips are on mine. Electric currents race through my veins, igniting every nerve ending. I feel the desperation of the moment, my heart pounding with adrenaline. This doesn’t make any sense and yet I can’t make myself pull away. His kisses are firm, and the scruff from his beard creates a delicious friction against my cheeks. He lets out a low groan and bites my lip.

“Fuck, you taste as good as I imagined,” he murmurs between kisses.

His lips are raw with passion, but their intensity is underlined by something I can’t quite name. Something tempting. It’s like the universe planted this man before me purposely, but I stopped believing in fairy tales long ago. No, reality is harsh and deadly.

“S-stop,” I whimper. “He’ll kill me.”

Wilder growls, pulling back just enough to make eye contact. “I told you already. If he hurts you, I will murder him.” His voice is low, fierce. He presses his forehead to mine, taking a sharp, labored breath. “I won’t let anyone hurt what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours!” I protest, trying to shove him away, but every fiber of my being resists. The heat between us is intoxicating, and I’m overwhelmed by his advances. Wilder tightens his hold, defiance flickering in his eyes.

“So innocent, so sweet,” he murmurs, nuzzling my hair, his hot breath ghosting along the nape of my neck. His teeth graze my skin, sending a thrill coursing through me. He inhales me, like I’m the most precious smelling flower.

“What the hell?” I squirm, flipping around to face him, searching for rationality in his gaze.

“Stop fighting this, Starlight! It’s happening. “

“I ... no... We can’t—”

“This is not a debate.” His voice darkens, filled with a fierce resolve. Wilder’s hand is still on my throat, keeping me locked in place as if he’s afraid to let me go. Almost protectively. My heart is brimming with confusion, excitement, and most alarming arousal.

“What do you want from me?” I implore, attempting to decipher the intensity welling in his gaze.

“Everything, Arwen. Everything .”

“I have nothing left to give,” I whimper. He cups my face, running his thumbs along my cheeks in tantalizing circles. My breath hitches in my chest at the sheer intensity of his gaze. I’ve never been this close to a shifter before. Are they all this ... consuming? I feel like he can see into my soul and it’s both terrifying and comforting. Clearly, I’m not in my right frame of mind because nothing about this makes any sense.

“I can’t do this!” I slide off the counter and storm out of the bathroom, the sound of my heartbeat echoing desperately in my ears.

“Kit, I need to go,” I call out, making her look up with startled eyes.

“Of course, hun. Go, I’ll see you next week.” She smiles brightly, oblivious to my entire world disintegrating. I don’t mention that I probably won’t be seeing her again. I’ve got to get my money and leave tonight.

I grab my purse, almost spilling its contents onto the floor as I rush out the door. Each step feels heavy, and the whole walk home, I feel like I’m being trailed by shadows, an ominous presence lingering behind me. But when I look back, no one’s there.

“Just get home,” I mutter to myself.

I slip through my front door quietly, praying that Jarrod’s asleep on the couch like he normally is at this time. Silence envelops the house.

Maybe he went out? I hope. I rush to the back of my closet and slide the brick aside, revealing my stash—a small fortune I’d been collecting for months, enough to help me vanish. I shove everything else into the duffel bag, fingers trembling as I reach inside, my heart beating frantically.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Jarrod’s voice drips with venom, slithering through the stillness like a serpent. I freeze at the sound, recognizing the tone I have learned to dread. I see the crazy look in his eyes that he gets before he attacks.

“What do you want, Jarrod?” I question, trying to keep my voice steady as I slide the bag behind me.

He glances at the wads of cash in the bag and sneers, “You won’t be needing that where you’re going.” He pushes himself off from the wall and stalks toward me, every step a deadly promise. My stomach twists in fear, and I instinctively step back, hitting the wall. I’m trapped.

“You’re gonna kill me,” I whisper. My breath hitches in my throat as he pulls out a blade, the light glinting off its edge like the fangs of a beast. “Please—”

“You think you can just leave me? After everything I’ve done for you?” He lunges forward, and I scream, throwing the duffel bag at him in a desperate attempt to buy myself a second.

“Get away from me!” I shout, adrenaline surging as I scramble to grab the heavy lamp off my dresser.

He sidesteps effortlessly. “Pathetic, really.” Jarrod laughs, but there’s no joy in it, just a predator’s glee.

“I will not go back to your hell!” I swing the lamp, catching him off guard, the force knocking him back momentarily. He stumbles, surprise flashing across his face.

“You’ll regret that,” he growls, bleeding fury as he recovers.

Just as he’s about to pounce, there’s a loud bang, the sound of the front door splintering open. Large footsteps stomp into the room and I see him, Wilder. His eyes have turned to golden slits as he looks at the scene before him. Everything happens so fast that I stumble onto the ground, curling into myself as I watch the horror play out in front of me.