Shadow Prince (Shadowmen #1)

Chapter 1

Meet Cute

This is a really fucked up dream.

I’m lying in bed and I can’t move, and there is this great big hulking shadow thing lurking in my bedroom doorway.

Why is my subconscious doing this to me? What have I ever done to it? I don’t deserve this.

I’ve had sleep paralysis before. It’s never pleasant, but usually my brain conjures up something generic. A dark presence pressing on my chest. The sensation of being watched. Sometimes just the overwhelming certainty that something terrible is about to happen.

But this? This is new. And weirdly specific.

The shadow thing is tall. Really tall. It has to be at least six foot something, maybe more.

I can barely make out the shape of broad shoulders and what suspiciously looks like a very athletic, masculine frame.

There is a suggestion of thick hair falling to shoulder length. The faintest hint of a sharp jawline.

And eyes. Glowing red eyes that are staring right at me.

Fuck. That’s unsettling.

I try to move. Try to thrash or scream or do literally anything. But my body refuses to cooperate. I’m frozen. Completely paralysed. My heart is hammering in my chest and my breathing is shallow and rapid, but everything else is locked down tight.

The shadow doesn’t move. It just stands there. Watching me.

This is fine. This is just a dream. A really vivid, uncomfortable dream, but still just a dream. Sleep paralysis does this. Makes things feel real when they are not. I know this. I googled it extensively after the last episode.

I just need to wait it out. Eventually my brain will catch up with reality and I’ll be able to move again. Then I can turn on the light, grab my phone, and scroll through social media until my heart rate returns to normal and I forget all about this nonsense.

The shadow shifts. Just slightly. As if it is leaning against the doorframe now, getting comfortable.

Oh great. It’s settling in for the long haul. Fantastic.

I stare at it. Or rather, I stare at where I think its face should be. Those red eyes are still burning into me. They don’t blink. They don’t waver. They just watch with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

There is something familiar about this. Something that tugs at the edges of my memory. I can’t quite place it, but it’s there. Lurking in the back of my mind like an itch I can’t scratch.

Wait.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

I know what this is. I know exactly what this is.

The monster under my bed.

When I was a kid, I was convinced there was a monster living under my bed. Not a generic monster. A specific one. A child like me, but tall and made of shadows with glowing red eyes and a presence that made the air feel heavy and cold.

I was terrified of it. Absolutely petrified. I refused to let any part of my body hang over the edge of the mattress. I would lie perfectly still in the centre of the bed, covers pulled up to my chin, barely breathing. Waiting for morning.

My parents thought I had an overactive imagination. They tried everything. Night lights. Dream catchers. Letting me sleep in the living room. Nothing worked. Because I knew the monster was real. I could feel it watching me.

Eventually I grew out of it. Or maybe I just got better at ignoring it. Either way, I stopped thinking about the monster under my bed years ago.

And now here it is. Standing in my doorway. Taller now, but staring at me with those same glowing red eyes.

This is so fucked up.

Why is my brain doing this? What deep-seated childhood trauma am I processing right now? Do I need therapy? I probably need therapy.

The shadow moves again. This time it steps forward. Just one step. But it’s enough to make my pulse spike and my stomach clench.

It’s closer now. Close enough that I can make out a few more details. The suggestion of a strong nose. High cheekbones. A mouth that might be curved into a smirk.

And okay. Okay. I’m just going to admit it. This shadow thing is kind of hot.

Which is deeply concerning. Why am I making my childhood monster attractive? What does that say about me? Nothing good, that’s for sure.

I definitely need therapy. So much therapy.

The shadow takes another step. Then another. It moves with a fluid grace that shouldn’t be possible for something so large and imposing. Each step is deliberate. Purposeful. As if it knows exactly where it’s going and nothing is going to stop it.

It stops at the foot of my bed and tilts its head. Studying me.

I stare back. What else can I do? I still can’t move. I’m completely at its mercy.

Then it speaks.

“Hello, Adam.”

The voice is deep and gravelly. It rolls over me like smoke. Rich and dark and far too pleasant for something that shouldn’t exist.

I blink. Or at least, I try to blink. I’m not sure if it works.

It knows my name. Of course it knows my name. It’s a figment of my imagination. It knows everything I know.

“It’s been a long time,” the shadow continues. There is amusement in its voice now. A hint of something playful. “You’ve grown.”

Well, yes. I was seven years old the last time I thought about this thing. I’m twenty-six now. I’d hope I’ve grown.

“I’ve missed you.”

Missed me? What the hell is this dream even about?

The shadow moves around the side of the bed. Slow and unhurried. It stops next to my nightstand and leans down. Those glowing red eyes are level with mine now.

“You probably don’t remember me,” it says. “But I remember you. Every detail. Every moment.”

There is something almost tender in its voice. Which is absurd. This is a hallucination brought on by sleep paralysis. It doesn’t have feelings.

“My name is Hex,” it says.

Hex. Of course. Because why wouldn’t my childhood monster have a name that’s all olde worlde and sounds witchy and curse-like. It makes perfect sense.

“And I’ve come back for you.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Okay. That sounded ominous. And weirdly romantic? What is wrong with my brain?

Hex straightens up and crosses his arms. Or at least, I think that’s what he is doing. It’s hard to tell with all the shadows.

“I know you can’t move right now,” he says. “Sleep paralysis. Unpleasant, isn’t it?”

My dream is using the technical term for this? That’s oddly specific. Trust me to make my imaginary monster a geek.

“Don’t worry,” Hex continues. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to see you again. Talk to you.”

Talk to me. Sure. That’s what all creepy shadow figures say.

I try to speak. Try to ask what the hell is going on. But my jaw is locked tight. My tongue is useless. All I can do is stare.

Hex seems to understand. He chuckles. The sound is low and rumbling and does absolutely nothing to help my current state of panic.

“I know you have questions,” he says. “And I promise, I’ll answer them. But first, I need you to do something for me.”

Here we go. This is where the dream is going to get really weird.

“I need you to invite me in.”

I blink. Wait. What?

“Into your bed,” Hex clarifies. As if that helps.

Into my bed. He wants me to invite him into my bed.

This is absolutely a sex dream. It has to be. There is no other explanation. My subconscious has taken my childhood fears and turned them into some kind of twisted fantasy.

I really, really need therapy.

“I can’t touch you unless you invite me,” Hex says. He sounds almost apologetic. “It’s a rule. A frustrating one, but there it is.”

A rule. My dream has rules. Of course it does. I like rules, so my dream likes them too.

“So what do you say, Adam?” Hex leans down again. Close enough that I can feel a chill radiating from him. “Will you let me in?”

No. Absolutely not. Despite the fact he’s weirdly sexy, I am not inviting a shadow creature into my bed. Even if it is just a dream. I have some standards.

Hex waits. Patient and still. Those red eyes never leave mine.

I don’t say anything. Mostly because I can’t. But also because even if I could, the answer would be a hard no.

After a long moment, Hex sighs. “Stubborn,” he murmurs. “I forgot how stubborn you are.”

He straightens up and steps back. For a moment, I think he is going to leave. Just turn around and walk out of my dream and let me wake up in peace.

But of course, that would be too easy.

“I will return,” Hex says. There is a promise in his voice. A certainty that makes my stomach flip. “And I’ll keep coming back until you say yes.”

Great. So this is going to be a recurring nightmare. Just what I needed.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Hex continues. “You think this is just a dream. A hallucination. Something your mind is making up.”

Well, yes. Obviously.

“But it’s not,” Hex says softly. “I’m real, Adam. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He reaches into the shadows. Or maybe he is reaching into himself. It’s hard to tell. But when he pulls his hand back, there is something glinting in his palm.

A ring.

It’s gold. Simple and elegant. The kind of ring you might see in a jewellery store window. Nothing fancy. Nothing ostentatious. Just a plain gold band.

Hex holds it out. “A token,” he says. “A promise that I mean you no harm.”

I want to scoff, to scrunch up my nose in disbelief.

He tilts his head to the side. “And proof that I’m real. That this isn’t just in your head.”

He places the ring on my nightstand. Right next to my phone. Then he steps back and grins. I can see the flash of white teeth against the shadows.

“Sweet dreams, Adam.”

And then he is gone. Just like that. The shadows dissipate and the room is empty again. The only light is the faint glow of the streetlamp outside my window.

There is no time to be relieved, or to process, or even to gather my thoughts. Because almost as soon as he disappears, sleep drags me under and takes me far away from any ability to think.

But I dream of glowing red eyes and shadows that move like smoke.