Prologue

The night was heavy with silence. The world outside lay still, wrapped in the hush of midnight.

The trees beyond the house stood tall and solemn, their twisted limbs reaching into the sky like clawed fingers. But something moved within the darkness.

A shadow detached itself from the forest's edge, gliding forward with predatory grace. The air stirred in his wake, thick with something unearthly, something unseen.

Her night visitor had crossed her threshold.

Inside, Rose lay curled beneath soft sheets, the moonlight slanting through the window, casting silver strokes across her bare shoulders.

She was still, lost in dreams, her breath a soft, rhythmic melody against the hush of the night.

The loose fabric of her almost see through shirt clung to her curves—thin straps slipping from her shoulders, her short shorts riding high on her thighs.

A vision of vulnerability and his demise.

The shadow moved closer.

He did not need light to see her. He had memorized every detail of her long before he had stepped into this room.

But seeing her now—so near, so unguarded—ignited something deeper. Something dangerous.

His breath was slow and measured, though hunger coiled within him like a beast barely held back by its chain.

He lowered himself near the bed, his presence an echo in the dark room. The air around her thickened, responding to him, beckoning.

The sheets shifted slightly, and as if sensing him in the depths of her sleep, Rose stirred.

The delicate fabric that shielded her slipping lower across her body before falling off completely. As if even the object knew not to stay between him and beautiful obsession.

He exhaled sharply, gaze traveling the soft expanse of her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her breath.

Temptation was a whisper, urging him closer. He could feel the familiar warmth of her skin against the chill of the night.

A hand hovering just above her skin close enough to feel the warmth coming off her yet so far away to quench his rising desires.

Fingers scaling every curve of her body. Her softly rising and falling bosoms strained under the fitted fabric inviting him, his fingers lingered before moving to the exposed tummy from where her shirt was lifted.

His eyes and fingers now hovered over her inner thighs, looking soft, supple and so milky, he could take a bite. But he watched.

He did not touch.

Though he wanted to.

In him the fire raved, one caress, one kiss, one lick. She wont mind... she never has.

All in the right time...

Her visitor raged within, yet remained still, a sentinel in the dark. Her shadow. Her silent spectre.

Instead, when he finally touched it was with one flawless rose.

Deep crimson, its petals lush and full, rich with the scent of something heady, something forbidden. Just like her. 

As the thin strand of control felt near snapping under the strenuous longing, the visitor twiddled the long stemmed rose across his daft fingers before he placed it beside her pillow with careful reverence.

He will only go this far... for tonight.

Then, leaning down so close that his breath caressed Rose's slightly parted lips, mingling with hers, he whispered, "Seraphina." His voice melodious yet the calling haunting.

Her body tensed. A shiver ran through her, goosebumps rising across her skin as a sigh slipped past her lips.

Then, with a startled gasp, her eyes flew open.

Rose sat up in bed, heart hammering against her ribs. The room was empty.

Her door stood ajar, a dark maw leading into the quiet hallway beyond. The air felt different. Weighted. Almost sentient. Her breath hitched as she scanned the shadows, searching, knowing what she would find.

Nothing.

But something was here.

Then she smelled it.

The scent engulfed her like a shroud, curling into her lungs, pressing against her skin.

Dark and smoky, laced with something rich, something dangerously enticing. Woodsy, like damp earth after rain, but edged with something sharper—intoxicating and wild.

It wasn't just a scent. It was an invasion. It smothered her, owned her senses, wrapped itself around her like unseen hands.

Her breath trembled out of her lips, her hands clenching the sheets as a chill coursed through her body, colliding with something warmer—something that made her skin prickle in a way that was not just fear. Rose rubbed her thighs together and whimpered.

What in the god's name has happened to her?

Slowly, her gaze fell to the pillow beside her.

With racing heart she jumped out of her bed and backed away from the crimson on her sheets as if it had burned her, blood curdling scream hanging low at her tongue. Almost.

The rose.

A full bloom, deep crimson against the pale fabric, vibrant and alive as if plucked just moments ago.

Like... he had stood right there. Right where she lay now, in a room dark and alone... with him.

Her fingers twitched, instinct screaming at her to reach for her phone, to call the cops, to run out of the house, to do something. Her rational mind rattled against her skull, demanding action.

But she didn't move.

Instead, her hand inched forward, hesitant, shaking slightly as she picked up the rose.

The petals were impossibly soft, almost velvety beneath her fingertips. She swallowed hard, her pulse a chaotic drum against her ribs.

He had been here. Undoubtedly.

Not outside, not watching from the woods like he always did. Here. In her room. In the dark. Watching her sleep.

She felt terrified at the realization that she was no longer safe behind the confines of her home. Not from him at least.

Rose picked the phone to call her beat friend, her uncle anyone.

And yet—

The fear was there, yes. It coiled in the depths of her stomach, cold and urgent.

But beneath it, tangled in ways she could not understand, was something else. Something that shouldn't be there. Something she didn't want to name.

Allure. Intrigue. Stopping her from doing the obvious, the rational.

Her breath came in short, shallow bursts as she stared at the open door. The silence in the room was deafening, yet the weight of him still lingered.

As if his presence had seeped into the very walls, staining them with his existence.

She should tell someone. Call someone. Let someone know she wasn't safe. That there was a man—a shadow—who had crossed the boundaries of obsession and reality.

And yet—

She couldn't.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of the rose.

Because something deep inside her, something hidden even from herself, was telling her something. It was telling her this was theirs.

Their secret.

Their unspoken, twisted, forbidden dance.

And as much as Rose resents herself for her stupidity; she wasn't ready to break it.