Chapter 16 Queen of the Night
It’s a stupid risk, and I’ve lost my mind.
For the last week, I’ve snuck into her apartment, avoiding all the camera spots and tripwires—Tristan needs a refresher on witness protection—and sat in the chair by her vanity table and watched her.
Protected her.
I told myself I could do this from a distance. I didn’t need to get involved.
After what I discovered in Cornelius’s office, I knew I was the last person who should.
But my Aria is smart. Her job makes her sharper. She almost caught me once. I ducked inside her closet just in time. Despite all the reasons I should stay away, I was tempted…so tempted to reveal myself to her then.
She thought I was Blake’s ghost.
Her grief when he didn’t answer her sucked the oxygen out of my lungs.
And so, night after night, I’d sit silently in the corner, stealing moments with her I didn’t deserve, breaking my rules, and risking Celia’s life.
But tonight, at Arcana’s courtyard, when she felt the steady beats of my heart—Blake’s heart—her eyes filled with tears of sadness and gratitude. Pain I’d never known before scythed deep inside my chest.
It still hurts. All of it. More than the surgery, the recovery, more than losing my parents and my humanity.
Then she texted me.
She was lonely. So lonely.
I broke.
And now, I stand at her bedside in pitch darkness, her terror-wide eyes clear in my night-vision goggles.
“Ghostface444? How do you know where I live? Wh-What do you want with me?” Aria reaches for the light switch.
“Don’t.” She can’t find out who I am. It’ll open Pandora’s box.
She snatches her hand away.
“We need to lay down rules.”
“What rules?” Her chest lifts and falls. Wheezing sounds scrape out from her throat.
She’s hyperventilating.
Quickly, I peel off my gloves and grab her hand.
She screams.
“You’re fine,” I murmur, rubbing circles over the delicate skin. “Breathe. Slow and steady. That’s it.”
She nods even though she doesn’t know I can see her. Her lips move, counting silent beats.
“Good girl,” I rasp. “There you go.”
The words tumble out of me with abandon. I hadn’t realized how much I craved speaking out loud, even if it were one-sided.
A weakness I can’t afford.
Her eyes flare. She releases her tight grip on her blankets, the sudden movement jolting the strap of her nightie off her shoulder.
I bite back a groan when I take her in—hair mussed from sleep, pouty lips parted, the falling neckline revealing hints of cleavage.
The dark shadows of her nipples poking through the pale silk, tempting me, begging me to taste them.
She’s fucking turned on.
She likes scary stories. She likes me here.
Instead of disappearing like I should, something worse punches through me—relief.
Maybe she’ll let me stay.
God, I’m a bastard.
“Better now?” I ask, my voice rough like a steel grater.
“Y-Yes.”
“We need rules for this arrangement.” Rules to keep me sane. To be closer to her, yet keep my distance by omitting the truth.
The ugly truth.
The cute little frown crests her forehead again. “What arrangement? Stop speaking in riddles. I’m trying hard not to panic and flee because a faceless man is in my room in the middle of the night!”
“You won’t be able to outrun me.”
She gasps.
Smooth. Real smooth.
Aria swallows, and I see the moment she decides she’s taking me on. Her eyes narrow. Her shoulders pull back, head held high. There’s the fierce nurse who takes no bullshit.
“Maybe not. But I know how to strike the auricularis nerve, and you won’t see me coming.”
I smirk. “You’re speaking my language. I bet I can do a jaw KO faster than you.”
“How about a femoral bleed then?” Aria scowls.
“I’ll one-up you with an arterial bleed. Clean up and tarp disposal included.”
“Femoral bleed is an arterial bleed.” Her lips twitch, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re cocky for someone who’s lurking in the dark.”
“And you’re mouthy for someone who can’t see shit.”
A grin flashes across her face. “Fine. I’ll listen. What do you want? Stop wasting my time. Either kill me or let me go. This intimidating monster-in-the-dark act is pointless.”
“You really like the scary stuff.”
“What?” Clearly bewildered, she adds, “Who are you? Do I know you?”
I huff out an exhale. “Enough to matter.”
“You’d be a lot scarier if I could see you.” Aria purses her lips. “For all I know, you’re the frat boy from next door pranking people.”
The many layers of Aria Connors. I want to learn them all. Ink them onto my skin.
My mouth twitches. “You’re in danger.”
“No shit.” Indignation thrums through her voice. “From you. Next.”
A gritty chuckle bursts from the dark dredges within me. She lets out the cutest growl.
I clear my throat. “You have a bounty on your head.”
“How do you know?”
“You really think a random stranger can locate you from anonymous text messages, find the assholes who shouldn’t leave your ER alive, and deliver the exact punishments they deserve?”
Her mouth drops open, the wheels in her mind clearly turning. Yes, Aria. If I could find you so easily, others could too.
You need me.
“I was right. Reaper is Ghostface.” Her gaze takes on a frantic glint.
“But you’re also the guy at the club who took care of Tanner, the guy…”
Your hot little pussy made a mess of my pants.
“Who’s heard you come apart.”
God, I’ve fucked my hand so many times with that memory playing in my head.
Aria fans her face, like she’s too warm. The other strap slides off her shoulder, and I shudder when the lush swells of her tits come into view, the thin material playing striptease with her nipples.
My cock strains against the confines of my pants. I want to relive the night at the club. I want to do more. So much more.
Fuck. I didn’t come here for this. But it clearly doesn’t matter to my body.
Not when it comes to her.
“If I were,” I whisper, leaning in, and this time, she doesn’t withdraw, “this Reaper. Would you be scared? Or would you still trust me?”
A pulse flutters in her neck. She blinks, those beautiful eyes framed by a fan of eyelashes, unseeing in the dark.
“You are him. Don’t bother denying it.”
“Maybe.” I’ll admit it if she’d let me stay. I tell myself this is penance for my past. That I’m doing what the original owner of my heart would want.
I ignore the whispers.
That I need this more than she does. That my borrowed heart is just an excuse.
Inhaling her whimper, I drag my nose down the crook of her neck. Sweet cotton and honey. My mouth waters. “Would you scream? Would you still flee?”
“Why me? Why pretend to be all these different people?”
I don’t answer her. The truth is safer locked up.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Her breathy voice is a drug.
“Take a leap of faith, Aria,” I rasp, my head spinning. “Break your rules. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it already. You were lonely. I wanted to be there for you.”
I inch closer. She’s wavering. I can hear it. “I just want to protect you. At night. When you’re all alone.”
“You want to protect me.”
She blinks, her pupils dilating with each second.
“Let me.” I press the words into her ear. She lets out a wispy moan. “I’ll take good care of you.”
The air crackles with electricity.
Give in, Aria.
She angles her head to the side. An involuntary movement.
Surrender.
A rough groan grinds out of me as I rake in another desperate inhale of her scent. I want to bathe in it. Live on it as sustenance.
There’s freedom in the dark. Here, in her small bedroom, sight unseen, I’m not Ren. I’m not Si Shen, the god of death. I’m not someone who muted his voice as a last fuck you to the world.
I’m just a man. And she’s just a woman.
Ghosting my lips over her soft skin where her neck meets her jaw, I drag one finger lightly over her shoulder, relishing her shudder.
“Yes. That’s all I want.” Taking a risk, I reach out and slowly, tortuously link her fingers with mine. She jolts, but doesn’t pull away. “Will you let me?”
His words bleed into my veins.
He’s Ghostface444, the person who’s heard me. He’s never judged me, never made me feel less than or too much.
I’ve never had to hide with him.
He was the hot stranger at the club. The man who saved me from certain death, kissed like he was ravenous for me, and gave me the best orgasm ever.
But he’s also the crazy Reaper, Aria. Remember all those patients in the ER? The child molester gutted with a knife? The date rapist who had his balls removed?
He’s a criminal. A dangerous one who’s hurt countless victims, I’m sure, not just the ones who landed in my ER.
And who the hell breaks into a woman’s apartment, even if his heart is in the right place? Who in their right mind lets a man she’s known in pieces—a voice, a shadow, a message thread—get this close and act like he belongs here?
You haven’t even seen his face.
“Trust me,” he rasps. “When have I ever hurt you?”
Notes of cedar and sandalwood waft to my nose.
And…something else.
The faintest hint of leather and amber. A ghost of my imagination, I’m sure.
Ren’s bottomless gaze drifts into my mind. Where’s the mute assassin when I need him? And how did Reaper get in?
Clothing rustles, the mattress dips.
I curse myself for having those damn blackout curtains because I can’t see him. Not even a silhouette.
But God, I can feel him.
Every inch of me alive and on fire.
Worse yet, like a broken doll missing crucial parts, I’m still not scared.
In the dark, I’m free.
“You said rules,” I whisper.
His hand skates down my face, so gentle, like he’s afraid of breaking me.
I’m not fragile. Rip me apart.
“Are you agreeing?”
A surety grips my gut. I don’t want him to leave.
Oh my God, Ren was right. I’m a liability. He’d probably tie me up and lock me in a basement if he knew what I was thinking.
But against all logic…I know in my gut that I’m not in danger. Just like how I know Ren is dangerous…but not toward me.
“I’m nuts. But yes. Conditional though. I can revoke it any time.”
“Fair.” I hear the smile in his voice. “My rules are simple.”
He spreads open my palm and draws a straight line down.
One.
“Don’t go out alone after work. If you must, text me on the app first.”
More strokes on my palm.
Two.
“Don’t turn on the light or open the drapes when you sleep at night. Or else I won’t come.”
“Why?”
He stopped me earlier before I could flick on the switch. I felt his muscles at the club. I tasted him—all man and whiskey. I knew the thickness of his hair.
But I want to see his face.
What is he hiding?
“Don’t ask. That’s my bottom line. If you break the rules, if you look at me in the light, I’ll be gone and I won’t come back.”
I drag my fingers up the length of his arm and memorize the ridges and dips of his muscles. Palmaris longus, flexor carpi ulnaris—medical terms bounce around in my head. He’s like a Michelangelo sculpture—God’s love letter to the human form.
Reaper trembles. My skin tightens, my nerves clamor for more—more sensation, more touching, more everything.
“Break free with me, Aria.” His voice is strained. Tethered power. He can force me, but he doesn’t.
“Fine,” I whisper.
I’m completely out of my mind, but there’s no other answer.
Here in the dark, I don’t have to be sensible or have it all together.
I can just want.
“What’s your name? What should I call you?”
A heavy beat of silence, then a low rasp. “Reaper works.”
Why does it seem like I just signed my life away?
I feel a light graze on my hair, then a tug, like he’s looping the strands around his hand.
A stiff inhale and a satisfied sigh follows.
“Sleep, Aria. It’s late.”
He doesn’t talk afterward, but eases me back onto the bed and tucks me in like I’m the most precious thing he has.
Tears swell in my eyes, and I’m glad it’s dark; maybe he doesn’t see them.
I’m love-starved. Touch-starved. His gentleness fills a void I didn’t know I had.
And if I can’t see him, I can pretend this won’t end the way it did with Blake.
Eventually, Reaper stills, receding back into the darkness, silent once more. But the air hums with energy. He’s there, making sure no one—not The Association, not the Triads—can touch me.
I’m safe.
With that thought, sleep finally overtakes me.
The next morning, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wakes me. I blink and notice the curtains are drawn. A soft glow of early morning light peeks through the window.
Then I remember.
Reaper. In my bedroom. At night.
I look around, finding the room undisturbed, as if everything had been a dream.
But then I see the chessboard, normally untouched and frozen in time.
The knight is upright, and the pawn is on A3.
Exhilaration rushes through me—heady and wrong.
Reaper was here.
I can’t help but smile, even if a little voice in my mind tells me this is a bad idea.
Can’t this be a good decision in bad window dressing instead?
I snort. Daylight robs the fun from questionable choices.
A cup of coffee sits on my nightstand, steam still unfurling. I grab it and take a sip.
Decaf. One sugar. A splash of milk.
Just the way I like it.
How does he know?
Instead of unease, warmth settles low.
But I don’t have time to analyze it because the doorbell rings.
“Coming! Hold on a sec.”
I spring out of bed and throw on my robe. Is it him? Has he changed his mind? Does he want to show me his face in the light?
Hastily, I reach the foyer and throw open the door.
A messenger stands there, black cap askew, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than here at six a.m.
“Ms. Aria Connors? Can you sign?”
He holds out a long, rectangular box.
Nodding, I take the box from him and sign the slip. I hand him a ten. “Thanks. And coffee’s on me.”
He looks like he needs one.
Excitement sparks as I close the door.
Did Reaper get me something?
I’m smiling—why am I smiling again?
This is ridiculous. Dangerous. Worse yet, I like that I’m smiling.
I tear into the box with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning.
My heart stops.
Nestled among the white butcher paper are one dozen sunflowers, the petals bright yellow, reminding me of hair the color of summer.
Not my favorite flower.
Blake’s.
On top lies a card.
True love doesn’t forget.