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"Watch over her," I vow into the emptiness, "Let nothing touch her."
From my vantage point amidst dusty travel guides and forgotten memoirs, I peer down at the scene unfolding below. There she is, radiant and oblivious, her laugh a silver bell in the night. My hands grip the shelf, knuckles white, as I watch her date lean in closer.
"Back off," I snarl silently, every muscle tensed.
My gaze never wavers, tracking their every move, every gesture. I'm the silent sentinel, the watcher in the dark. For now, I keep my distance, but my shadow stretches across the cityscape, enveloping her in its unseen embrace.
"Stay safe, Nova. I'm here," I promise into the void, the words an anchor holding me fast against the storm of my own desires. I make my way back down into the street. I'm too fucking far away.
I flick the collar of my black jacket up, a shield against prying eyes. The fabric clings to me like a second skin, all dark and unassuming—a wolf in sheep's clothing. I tug the brim of my charcoal beanie down low over my brow, shrouding my face in just enough shadow to pass unnoticed.
"Keep it together, Blaze. It's just recon," I mutter, slipping out from the alleyway, my breath an opaque mist in the crisp air.
Inside my pocket, my hand clenches around my phone, its screen displaying a blinking dot that moves through the virtual streets—a beacon of her presence. That little tracker, a technological parasite I planted on her device—it's my lifeline to Nova, and it pulses with every heartbeat of mine.
"Fuck." The curse is a whisper torn from my lips as I stare at her dot.
With each step closer, the cacophony of the city dulls to a mere backdrop for the wild drumming of my heart. My body thrums with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, the twin demons of this twisted pilgrimage I'm on.
"Can I help you find something?" A street vendor eyes me suspiciously, her cart an island in the sea of pedestrians.
"No, thanks," I say, my voice a low growl barely audible above the din. I side-step her scrutiny with ease, a ghost flitting between bodies, always keeping that blinking dot—keeping Nova—in my peripheral vision.
There it is—the restaurant, aglow with warmth, promising intimacy. I slip across the street, blending into the darkness cast by an overhanging tree. From here, I can watch the entrance without being seen, the perfect perch for a predator like me. Is that what I am now? A predator? No, I shake off the thought—I'm her guardian, silent and unseen.
"Shit, get a grip," I whisper to myself, trying to quell the storm in my chest. Beneath my clothes, the ink etched into my skin feels alive, each tattoo a reminder of who I am, or maybe who I was before her.
The door to the restaurant opens and I stiffen, a coil of tension ready to spring. But it's not her, not yet. I lean back against the rough bark, letting the darkness swallow me whole. My senses sharpen, every sound and scent heightened as adrenaline courses through me.
"Keep your distance, man," I coach myself, my voice drowned out by the clamor of the city. "You're just making sure she's okay."
Anxiety gnaws at my insides, a relentless beast feasting on my resolve. I've crossed lines before, but never like this. This hunger, this need to protect her—it consumes me, blurs the edges of right and wrong until they're indistinguishable.
"Nova," her name escapes like a prayer, a mantra, a curse. I can't tear myself away because I'm destined to circle her until I either break free or burn.
The city's pulse throbs in my ears, a rhythmic beat that syncs with the hammering of my own heart. I'm a shadow among shadows, my gaze locked on the entrance of the restaurant that glows like a beacon against the night.
"Come on, come on," I mutter, the words barely more than a breath.
And then she's there, Nova—myNova—laughing as she steps into the dimly lit sphere of the outdoor patio, her hand brushing the arm of the guy beside her. The guy who isn't me.
"Who the fuck is this clown?" I spit under my breath, my knuckles white as I clench my fist. My eyes are lasers, dissecting every touch, every smile she shares with him.
"Look at her," I groan, my voice a mix of desire and venom. "Like a fucking siren."
She tosses her blonde hair, those delicate collarbones peeking out from beneath her dress. A dress I've never seen before—a dress forhim.
"Damn it," I curse quietly, the words tangling with a rough exhale. "Should've claimed her, made her mine."
The guy pulls out her chair, and she sits, graceful as always. She's all soft curves and sweet smiles, but I see the loneliness behind her oceanic blue eyes. Does he see it? Does he even care?
"Touch her again, and I swear..." My threat fades into the cool night air, impotent and unheard.
As they order drinks, her laughter reaches me, teasing and tinkling, and it slices through me sharper than any knife. I adjust my hat, my own personal shroud, and shift to get a better angle.
"Look at him, trying to play the knight," I scoff, watching him drape his jacket over her shoulders. "Probably thinks he's charming."
I can't help imagining her under me, her gasps, her surrender. Fuck, I should have taken her when I had the chance, shown her how a real man touches her.
