Chapter Two
Lilith
I can’t sleep.
I lie in bed for over an hour, staring at the ceiling and wondering what’s wrong with me.
Using the toy should have taken the edge off.
It always does, but tonight, the ache is even worse than usual.
It’s like I opened a door inside myself and now I can’t close it.
Ugh. Why am I like this? Why can’t I be more like other people? Like my friends?
I keep tossing and turning, but around two in the morning, I give up.
I throw on leggings and a hoodie, slip my feet into my sneakers, and grab my keys and phone.
A walk will help. Fresh air, the sound of the waves crashing on the beach, and the rhythm of my feet on the pavement always clear my head.
Maybe it’ll also tire me out enough to finally fall asleep.
My apartment building is silent as I descend the stairs. My neighbors are all in bed. I can even hear Dale from 2B snore through the walls.
The night air is cool and salt-tinged, just the way I like it.
And I’m all alone. The street is empty except for the occasional car passing in the distance.
I start walking my usual route, which leads down toward the beach boardwalk.
There, I usually take a left, but for some inexplicable reason, I feel compelled to take a right tonight.
While I’m walking the unfamiliar route, I feel like I’m being watched. Yet, every time I glance around, no one is there. Still, I should turn back and go home, right? That would be the sensible thing to do. I’m not strong enough to fight off someone with bad intentions.
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought, but it’s still not enough to turn back. Instead, I close my fist around the keys in my pocket and keep on walking until I’m standing on a dark street I don’t recognize.
Which is impossible. I’ve lived in this town for years. I know every block, every corner store, every shortcut. How come I’ve never set foot on this street before?
But that’s not the only weird thing. The buildings here are nothing like the colorful houses for which Tidecross Falls is known.
They’re older and darker, built with Victorian-era brick, wrought-iron balconies and narrow windows.
No modern storefronts, no neon signs. No flashy “buy one, get one free!” banners.
Just old stonework and shadowed doorways and a feeling in the air like I’ve stepped through a veil into somewhere… otherworldly.
I roll my eyes at myself. Sometimes, my imagination really pushes it too far. And yet, the air feels different. It’s humid and rich with the smell of an approaching storm.
I bite my bottom lip. I could ignore this weird street and head back home, but since I’m out here anyway, I could just as easily check it out. Right?
At the end of the street, a single building stands out, partly because of the lamp illuminating the facade. The exterior is black wood and frosted glass, with a sign above the door. The wrought-iron letters read:
THE UNDERTOW
I glance inside but can’t see much because of the thick curtains covering the windows. The few glimpses I can catch tell me this is a bar.
How come I’ve never heard of this place before? This is shady, right? A reason to turn back? It definitely is, but something about it calls to me. I can’t explain it. There’s an undeniable pull that makes me walk up to the door.
But right before I push it open, I stop in my tracks.
This whole thing is weird. Mystery bars that appear out of nowhere? Streets I’ve never seen before tonight? I should go home. I should call someone to talk some sense into me.
I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over my best friend May’s name.
She’d tell me to leave. She’d say this is sketchy and dangerous, and that I’m being stupid for even considering going inside.
I should call her. Then again, it’s two in the morning.
I’m not waking her up for this. Besides, I’m a grown woman.
I can decide for myself whether to walk into a mysterious bar that shouldn’t exist.
Right?
I take a breath and shove my phone back into my pocket. Guess I’m about to find out if I’m smart or stupid.
I reach for the heavy iron handle, and the moment my skin makes contact, a spark of pure electricity shoots up my arm. The metal isn’t as cold as I expected. It’s warm, pulsing with a low-frequency vibration that I can feel in my teeth. Wow.
When I pull, the door swings open. Music spills out, low and thrumming. And there are also voices. Laughter. The clink of glasses. It’s a bar, alright.
I steady myself and cross the threshold. The place is dimly lit, all dark wood and amber lighting. Candles flicker on tables as if electricity hadn’t been invented centuries ago. The bartender is polishing a glass behind the counter. And the patrons—
My breath catches, and my knees wobble.
The patrons.
A woman sits at the bar, her skin a pale, luminous blue with delicate gills fluttering at her throat.
Across from her, a man with curved horns protruding from his temples and sharp teeth laughs at something she says.
In the corner booth, something massive and furred hunches over a drink, eyes glowing gold in the low light.
At a table near the back, a figure made of shadow and smoke shifts and reforms, never quite settling into one shape.
They’re monsters. All of them. And they’re real. Or at least, they seem real.
I blink hard. Once. Twice. But they’re still there.
This isn’t happening. It can’t be! I must be dreaming. I probably fell asleep in my bed, and this is some vivid, fucked-up fantasy my brain cooked up.
I pinch the inside of my wrist, hard enough to sting, but nothing changes. The blue woman laughs. The shadow creature ripples. The music continues its low, thrumming pulse. The horned beast is clutching his drink in his paw.
What the fuck? I tremble with a mixture of fear and excitement. I even have to grab the doorframe to keep from swaying. My mind races, trying to reconcile everything I thought I knew about the world.
Monsters.
Actual fucking monsters.
The ones I’ve designed toys of for years. The creatures I’ve fantasized about in the dark… they exist. How is this possible? Why has no one ever told me? Does anyone even know?
My thoughts scatter as the reality of this revelation crashes over me. Every lonely night. Every toy I designed. Every aching moment of wishing they were real. And they were. This whole time, they were real. I wasn’t crazy for wanting someone like them!
“First time?”
I spin toward the voice, my heart almost hammering out of my chest.
The bartender is looking at me, and up close, I can see he’s not human either, but luckily, his smile is kind.
“I—yes,” I manage to say.
“You were called here,” he says with a nod.
It’s not even a question. He’s stating a fact, even though I have no clue what he’s talking about.
He gestures to the bar with one hand when he catches me frowning. “If you made it inside, you’re meant to be here. Have a seat. You’re safe. No one will hurt you. I promise.”
I don’t know if I fully believe that, but my feet move anyway. I slide onto a stool near the end of the bar, hyper-aware of every creature in the room. None of them are staring outright, but I can feel they’re looking at me. They’re probably just as curious about me as I am about them.
“What is this place?” I whisper, my mouth suddenly dry.
“A refuge,” the bartender says, setting his glass down. “For those who exist between worlds. And occasionally, for humans who are drawn here.”
“Drawn by what?”
Before he can answer, the air in the room shifts. The conversations quiet and the music seems to drop lower.
Then I feel it: a presence behind me, powerful and ancient and utterly focused on me.
“Drawn by me.”
The voice is deep and resonant. I turn slowly on the barstool, and my jaw drops. The owner of the voice is standing in the shadows near the back of the bar, and even in the dim light, I can tell he’s breathtaking.
Tall, at least six and a half feet, with broad shoulders.
His skin has a faint iridescence to it, like oil on water, and his eyes are the deep blue-black of the ocean at midnight.
His hair is dark and damp-looking, pushed back from a face that’s almost human but not quite.
The angles are too sharp for that. The beauty is too alien.
And when he steps into the light, I see the faint shimmer of something beneath his skin.
Something that moves, like tentacles, but surely that must be my imagination?
“Theron,” he says.
My name is on the tip of my tongue, but he speaks before I can.
“And you’re Lilith. I know you.”
Heat floods my face. “How?”
He moves closer with predatory grace. “Every fantasy you’ve poured into silicone and sold to people who crave something different. Every fantasy you’ve carried to bed, wishing it could be real… I know everything.”
Holy shit. He knows?
He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
“I felt you tonight. Your need. Your longing. It was so strong, I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” he says.
My pulse races, and I swallow hard. “You… felt me?”
“I’ve felt you for years, Lilith. Every time you create. Every time you ache. You’ve been calling for me, whether you knew it or not. And I’ve been waiting for you to be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
His smile sharpens, and there’s hunger in it now. Possession. “To meet me. To stop pretending that the fantasy is enough.”
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “You’ve spent your whole life dreaming of monsters. Of me. And I’m here to turn those dreams into something real now that your desire has finally opened the door to this bar.”