Page 5 of Shadowkissed

“Hey,” he calls after me. “Careful, man. That one’s not normal.”

“I’m not either,” I mutter without looking back.

I move fast, pushing through the curtain, slipping into the backstage corridor. The smell of her lingers here—smoke and moonlight, if that makes any damn sense. It punches straight into my lungs like a memory I don’t have yet.

I don’t know why I care. She’s not the target. She’s not the mission.

But she’s in this now. Whatever that shit in the alley was? It wasn’t just random. Something was stalking her. And if it ties to the rogue, or this place, or anything else going sideways in the supernatural world, then I need to know.

That's all this is.

Yeah. Right.

I reach the emergency exit at the end of the hallway as it clicks shut behind me as I step into the alley again.

She's not here yet.

Good. Gives me a second to get my head straight.

The rain has picked up again, a soft drizzle that steams on the warm pavement. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching the door.

She'll come out soon. And when she does, I’ll ask about the rogue. Maybe she saw him. Maybe she didn’t.

And if I happen to get another look at those violet eyes?

Well, that’s just a bonus.

3

LIORA

My heels click against the backstage hallway’s scuffed tile, echoing louder than they should. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off. Not completely. I can still feel the echo of his voice—Stay behind me—like it’s stitched into my skin.

What the hell was that?

I tug my robe tighter around me, cinching the silk like it’s armor instead of lingerie. My go-bag’s slung over one shoulder, light but familiar. The enchanted dagger tucked in the side pocket presses into my hip just enough to remind me I’m not safe. Never am.

Especially not now.

The emergency door creaks open under my hand, runes dimming beneath my fingers. The rain’s slowed to a mist, wrapping the alley in silver. Steam curls off the pavement, dancing in coils around the dumpsters and broken neon signs.

And then I see him.

Of course he’s still here.

The man from earlier is leaning against the brick wall like he was carved into it, arms crossed, head tilted like he’s been waiting—not impatient, not anxious, justthere. Like time works differently around him.

Shit.

“Didn’t peg you for the loitering type,” I say, trying to sound casual. My voice lands softer than I like. Tired. Uneasy.

He doesn’t move. Just watches me with those storm-gray eyes like he’s already picked me apart and is waiting to see if I’ll lie about what he found.

“You always leave work through the fire exit?”

“Depends,” I shrug. “Sometimes I teleport. Sometimes I use the sewer grate. Keeps my fans guessing.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his mouth. He thinks I’m joking but it’s also not friendly.

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