Page 18 of Lost to the Woods

“Wait. Aren’t they from Navajo lore?” I crane my neck to look at Ghost. “You live near the reservation in Arizona, right?”

That’s one story he never told, no matter how many people begged. He’s got firm boundaries when it comes to cultural and religious themes—he just doesn’t entertain that kind of content. I’ve always admired that about him. But hey, he’s been in the business long enough to know how to play the game when there’s a paycheck involved. No drama. No controversy.

He nods, silent. I can see he’s seething, his knee bouncing under the table, long fingers tapping against the wood.

“It’s dangerous to even speak about them,” Mark says, cutting through the silence. He seems to be on the same page as us. “But what we’ve got out here… it ain’t exactly that. There are many different names for them. Fleshgaits. Ghouls. Mimics. Shapeshifters. My Meemaw calls them Hollows. But most folks tend to identify them as Appalachian Skinwalkers, though we understand they are very different from the Navajo legends. What we’re talkin’ about are spirits. Twisted, angry, evil thingsthat change forms. They copy voices. Lure you out. Sometimes they look just like someone you love—until it’s too late.”

Ghost is fidgeting so much now that the whole table starts to shake. He’s like a wild animal in a cage, seconds from snapping. And it surprises me because he rarely loses his temper.

On a whim—or maybe a dare to myself—I grab my old-fashioned strawberry shake, swirl the straw, and slurp it like it’s the only thing I care about. Then I dip a finger into the whipped cream and drag it slowly into my mouth.

As expected, it’s a perfect distraction as they both pay attention to me.

For a moment, Ghost doesn’t look like he’s about to commit a homicide. But Mark must have a suicide wish—or he’s thinking with his other head entirely right now—because he makes a move.

“You know, if you need a tour guide, I’d be very happy to take care of you…” His words getting a little too smooth, eyes darting from my lips to my boobs.

I notice but don’t react.

It’s a little uncomfortable, but honestly, it’s part of the gig. When you’re a girl online, it happens all the time. Men get flirty, they get creepy, they assume too much. It’s easier to pretend not to notice. Even better, to embrace it.

I’m used to it.

Ghost? Yeah, not so much.

I feel the shift before I even see him move. One second, he’s sitting across from me, rigid and silent. The next, he’s standing, his massive frame blocking out the light. Then, he lunges.

Mark barely has time to register what’s happening before Ghost grabs him by the collar and yanks him clean out of the booth.

The restaurant falls dead silent. A few chairs scrape against the floor as people turn to find what’s causing the commotion.

“Wait—” Mark starts, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish before Ghost’s fist crashes into his jaw with a sickening crack.

Mark stumbles back, his head snapping to the side, a choked sound leaving his throat as he crashes against a nearby table. Someone gasps. A fork clatters to the floor.

I shove Ghost back before he can follow up. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me. His breathing is heavy, deep, his broad shoulders rising and falling in sharp, controlled movements. He stands there like some silent executioner, fists clenched, his entire body radiating hostility.

Mark wipes the corner of his mouth, wincing as the back of his hand comes away bloody. He looks between us, eyes wide. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?!”

Ghost doesn’t answer. He finally turns to me, his head tilting just slightly, his whole body vibrating with fury. “Oh, you love the attention, don’t you?”

Something about the way he says it—the bite in his tone, the condescension, the way it’s laced with something dark and possessive—sends a slow, unwelcome heat curling through my stomach.

I don’t let him see it.

“God, you’re such a dick,” I snap, shoving past him. I crouch beside Mark, checking his jaw. It’s already bruising, his lower lip split. He flinches when I tilt his chin up. “I’m so sorry. Ghost is just—”

“A fucking lunatic?” Mark is pissed and rightfully so.

“Yeah, that.”

Ghost hasn’t moved. He stands a few feet away, still burning a hole through Mark’s skull. If I don’t de-escalate this, he’s going to end up with actual charges, and I really don’t need this turning into a legal issue.

So, like a true professional idiot, I promise Mark a date if he lets it slide.

Ghost watches me do it.

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