Andromeda

Zade may be Hades, but the dark God has never been known to bow for anyone but his woman.

-H.D. Carlton

Christian Allister

"It's not good to spy on someone, Mr. Generous," a sweet but stern voice calls out, breaking through my reverie. I hadn't even noticed when she turned around. Her long heels tap a rhythmic echo on the floor, her hair billowing gently in the breeze.

She looks stunning. I thought she couldn't look more beautiful tonight, but she proved me wrong. Again. She resembles a goddess descended to slay demons, exuding fierceness, power, and fire. I can feel it, like it's seeping from her bones and filling my every breath.

I remain leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from my fingers. She strides towards me, closing the gap between us, invading my personal space. She doesn't wear any perfume, yet the way my body reacts to her tells me this woman needs none to capture anyone's attention.

She takes the cigarette from my fingers, her hand brushing against mine. A spark ignites, sending a jolt through me, but it disappears as quickly as it came. I crave it again, disappointment settling in my bones. My eyes search hers, silently asking if she felt it too, but her face remains impassive, betraying nothing.

She drops the cigarette and crushes it beneath her heel. I raise an eyebrow, questioning her actions. "Cigarettes and smoke don't sit well with me," she declares, "nor do men addicted to them." The latter part feels directed squarely at me.

I say nothing, merely slipping my other hand into my pocket, knowing she isn't finished yet.

She steps closer, our bodies nearly touching. The heat between us is palpable, a magnetic pull that tightens the air. Her gaze locks onto mine, and the tension thickens, each second stretching into eternity. Her breath is warm against my skin, and I can almost taste the unspoken words hanging between us.

"Care to enlighten me, why did you follow me here, Mr. Generous?" Her tone is stern, and as she crosses her arms over her chest, my gaze involuntarily slips there before snapping back to her eyes. Her voice breaks the trance I momentarily slipped in. There's a spark in her gaze that tells me she's not one to be trifled with.

Returning my eyes to hers, I reply in a nonchalant tone with a shrug, "Nice to meet you too, Miss Wildfire. And it's not good to be so presumptuous about me. I was here for fresh air only." Now one thing is clear: I am officially a big fat liar. Her expression says she doesn't believe an ounce of my excuse, and my oh-so-innocent voice, which I also know very well, is full of deception. My smirk isn't helping either.

She scoffs in return, her expression fully screaming, indicating toward my cigarette, 'So much for getting fresh air.' Her eyebrows arch in disbelief, and her lips curl into a mocking smile. It's good that she doesn't take the matter forward. I won't like to bicker like a child with her in my own hotel.

"Well then, enjoy your fresh air, Mr. Generous." With that, she turns to walk away, her movements fluid and confident, each step resonating with the sound of her heels tapping against the floor. The sway of her hips is almost hypnotic, and for a moment, I find myself captivated by the simple act of her leaving.

But I can't let her go. Not just yet. "Have you heard about Andromeda?" I call out, my voice a bit more urgent than I intended.

This piques her interest. She halts, turning around to face me, her eyes filled with curiosity and a touch of confusion.

"My favorite constellation is Andromeda. Do you know why?" I continue, my gaze fixed on the distant stars above us. She shakes her head in return, her eyes never leaving mine.

"She was the beautiful daughter of Cassiopeia and Cepheus, the king of Ethiopia," I begin, my voice softening as I weave the tale. "Andromeda was chained to a rock as a sacrifice. She was left to be eaten by the sea monster Cetus, a punishment inflicted because her mother boasted about her beauty being greater than that of the Nereids, sea nymphs."

I pause, letting the weight of the story sink in. The night is silent, the stars twinkling like tiny beacons of light against the velvet sky. She leans in slightly, her breath barely audible, waiting for the conclusion.

"Did she survive?" she asks, her voice so small and lacking her usual confident tone that it tugs at something deep within me. I do not like hearing her this way—vulnerable, uncertain.

"Yeah, she survived," I say, turning my head to meet her eyes. 

She looks so relieved by my answer, as if it was her own life story she was listening to. Her eyes glisten with a newfound light, and her shoulders relax. This woman never ceases to amaze me. In her, I see a reflection of Andromeda's strength and resilience, chained not to a rock but perhaps to her own battles.

For a moment, the world around us fades. It's just the two of us, standing under the night sky, bound by an ancient story and a shared silence that speaks volumes. The connection between us feels almost tangible, an invisible thread tying our fates together.

I dig into my coat pocket and take out a card. When I offer it to her, she gives me that confused expression again. "I would like it if you call me Miss Wildfire if you ever wish to meet me. Maybe a coffee won't be such a bad idea." I hand her the card, which contains my contact information.

She takes the card, her slender fingers brushing against mine, and that spark ignites once more, sending a rush of electricity through me. Her touch lingers for a heartbeat longer than necessary, her eyes flickering with curiosity and something deeper, a mysterious allure that captivates me in ways words can't express, as she studies the details on my card.

"It was nice to meet you, Allister," she says softly, her voice like a gentle caress that stirs something deep within me.

My heart skips a beat at the sound of my surname on her lips, spoken with such elegance and warmth. Allister. She may have uttered only my surname, but the way it rolled off her tongue leaves my heart pounding violently against my ribs. It's a moment frozen in time, etched into my memory with indelible ink.

"And you as well," I manage to reply, my voice betraying the turmoil of emotions swirling inside me. I watch, unable to tear my gaze away, as she turns to leave, every step she takes echoing in the recesses of my mind.

Heaven. That's the only word that comes close to describing how her presence, her touch, and the simple utterance of my name by her lips made me feel in that never-forgetting moment. 

As she walks away, her silhouette etches itself into my consciousness—a dangerous allure that refuses to fade. The first time our paths crossed, we were mere strangers, nameless and insignificant. But now, every detail of her—her scent, the curve of her lips, the fire in her eyes—has become indelibly etched into my psyche. Now that I know her, I don't think I will be able to keep myself away from her for long.

I gaze towards the stars lost in my emotions towards Sloane Kingston.

She has a way of unraveling the depths of my soul, exposing the parts that revel in darkness, that find solace in forbidden desires and thoughts. With her presence, she ignites a primal, possessive yearning within me that I never knew existed. It's as if she has awakened a dormant beast, hungry and insatiable, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Her effect on me is profound and undeniable. She stirs emotions and desires that defy reason and logic, tapping into a primal instinct that demands her presence, her attention. The darkness within me, once hidden and controlled, now pulses with a newfound intensity, fueled by the magnetic pull she exudes.

I find myself consumed by thoughts of her, fantasies and cravings intertwining with reality. The line between what is acceptable and what is forbidden blurs in her presence, and I am willing – no, eager – to embrace this transformation she has sparked within me.

It would be good if she takes first step towards me. If she won't take the first step toward me, then I'll drag her into my world willingly.  She isn't mine to keep but I will be keeping all of her to myself anyway.

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Hello everyone! Give your thoughts in the comments about the chapters I have written so far. I am new in this field so all the opinions matter to me, the most. Also do not forget to add this book in your library collections. Also inform me in the comments if you all are ready for more murder details. Let's give Sloane Kingston the justice she deserves.