LUCY
The fresh air outside is exactly what I need, though it comes with its own set of cons.
There is a sea of bodies out here—scantily clad women rubbing against the men they came with while they wait in the queue for the bouncer to check their IDs. They are unashamed, chortling and blushing under the rhythmic strobe lighting of the entrance.
But, in a way, the chaos is a shield; it means I can be left alone. I can disappear even while standing a few feet away from them. They are far too entranced in their own worlds of lust to notice me.
I rest my back against a cold stone wall several yards away from the long queue and take a series of deep breaths. My mind begins to clear, though the earlier thoughts still linger at the borders of my consciousness.
Who was watching me while I was dancing?
My fingers are restless, twitching at my sides as I fruitlessly obsess over the question. I find myself wishing I'd brought my drink out with me.
Exhaling tiredly, I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes, letting the muffled thump of the bass vibrate through the brickwork.
"Hey. You here alone?"
My head snaps to the left with lightning speed, eyes flying open. The voice is far too close. I frown as I take in the intruder.
He's a human male, dressed in an oversized, graffiti-infested white polo and baggy black joggers. A pair of sunglasses is dipped low on the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes, though I can see the dark, curly bangs of his hair falling over his forehead.
He has a ringed lip, a tattooed neck, and an air of "bad company" written all over him.
I ease away from the wall, my instincts on high alert. "No, I'm not," I answer, gesturing vaguely toward the club as if my friends are standing right behind the door. "My friends are inside."
I wish he'd just move on, but he reclines against the wall with practiced nonchalance and pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket.
"Interested? You look like you need it."
How right he is. I've never smoked before, but I find myself licking my lower lip as I watch him slide a cigarette between his own lips. He seems to have taken my silence as a no. But curiosity gets the better of me…
I've heard smoking helps quiet the mind—and haven't I already survived the alcohol tonight? I'm still standing, after all.
"Let me have one," I say, keeping the fact that I'm a novice to myself.
I accept the stick he offers and lean back against the wall. As I slip the cigarette between my lips, my eyes widen a fraction when a lighter appears instantly. A small flame catches the end of the tobacco.
Seconds later, I'm doubled over. The smoke curls deep into my throat and chest, sparking a violent coughing fit. I yank the offending thing from my lips with sharp speed.
The hell! This isn't helping my thoughts at all; it's just setting my lungs on fire.
"Easy," the male says, his voice laced with amusement. He nudges the sunglasses up, revealing eyes the color of dark honey. "You should have told me you haven't tried this before."
I scoff, still coughing into my free hand as if trying to quell the burning in my chest. "I'm fine."
"You want to go again?" he asks, pointing to the cigarette limp in my hand after taking a smooth, effortless drag from his own.
I lick my lips, then nod. The thought of the expressions on my friends' faces if they saw me like this makes me smile. It gives me the bold surge of confidence I need to slip the cigarette back between my lips.
"Don't just swallow the smoke," he instructs softly, stepping closer until I can smell the tobacco clinging to his clothes. "Draw it into your mouth first, let it sit for a second, then take a short, shallow breath of fresh air to pull it down. Exhale slowly."
I follow his lead, and manage to keep from hacking up my guts this time.
"How do you feel?"
I shrug. "Not bad."
I continue to pretend I don't notice him stealing glances at me, at the way the emerald silk of my gown clings to my curves.
"What's your name?"
I'm about to say Lucy when I remember Amara's advice from earlier.
Never give your real name.
According to her, it spoils the fun and invites consequences if your errors follow you home.
"Martha," I say, barely controlling my face from scrunching up. It's such a bland, "innocent fool" name for a girl in a club.
"Martha…" He tastes the name on his lips, drawing it out in a low hum.
I find myself looking at him again, noting the sharp line of his jaw and the way he tilts his head back to exhale a plume of smoke. It's undeniably sexy.
This time, when his beautiful eyes find mine, I don't look away. I hold his gaze, letting him see the interest there. Who knows? Maybe a night with a stranger is exactly what I need to erase the memory of Tavric and his confusing kiss.
He throws the cigarette to the floor a moment later, stamps it out with his boot, and turns sideways to face me fully. I mirror his action.
"You want a kiss, Martha?"
"Yes… ?"
"Cole," he supplies when I raise a brow.
I notice a split-second scowl flash across his features before he masks it. Cole. That isn't his real name either.
He tilts his head toward me, and suddenly, the smell of smoke is overtaken by something else—the scent of the forest. Dark pines and damp earth. Why does a city boy smell like the deep woods? Is he a woodcutter?
But before I can process the thought, his lips graze mine. I flinch slightly, my brows pinching at the sensation. His lips are cold. Unusually, unnaturally cold.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he murmurs, his hand wrapping around my waist.
His hands are just as cold as his lips, but I find myself nodding as if I've lost control of my own muscles. My mind feels foggy, my will slipping through my fingers like sand.
I can't help myself as he leads me away from the bright lights of the club entrance toward the back of the building.