I'd always been good at minding my own business.
So when this towering guy slammed into me at the subway station—hands gripping my shoulders a little too tight, breathing me in like I was the last course at some all-you-can-eat buffet—I did what any halfway sane New Yorker would.
I muttered an apology and walked away.
By the time I got home, the whole thing was already fading. Just another weird moment in a city full of them.
Then, sometime after midnight, I felt it.
A presence. Heavy. Watching.
My breath caught. My heart started kicking like it wanted out.
When I finally rolled over, I saw him—gold eyes glowing in the dark.
Not a dream. Not some stress-fueled hallucination.
A horned man stood at the foot of my bed.
And he wasn't alone.
