Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Triston
The music is too loud, the laughter too sharp, and the strobe lights scattered through the house feel like a personal insult. I don’t belong in this crowd. I’ve never liked parties, not really—not unless Andrew dragged me into one, grinning like an idiot, insisting I lighten up for once in my life.
But Andrew isn’t here.
He hasn’t been for a year. And the only reason I’m here tonight is because of her.
Sammie Michael.
From the shadows of Wayne’s living room, pressed back against a wall of fake cobwebs and orange streamers, I let my eyes follow her.
Every move. Every flick of her hair, the nervous sweep of her hands across her costume, the shy way she pretends to laugh when a group of teammates pass her.
She doesn’t know how bad she gives herself away.
She doesn’t realize I can read her like a book.
She’s searching for me.
Even if she doesn’t admit it to herself, every tilt of her head, every glance at the darker corners of the room is for me.
And God, I replay that hallway moment from earlier like it’s seared into my veins.
The way her breath caught when I leaned in, the tremor in her body when I whispered against her ear.
The shiver that wasn’t just fear—it was craving.
I saw it. I felt it. She might try to convince herself she doesn’t want this, but her body doesn’t lie.
The burn in my chest won’t settle. I drag a hand down my face and push away from the wall, weaving through the crowd toward the makeshift bar Wayne set up in the dining room.
Plastic cups, cheap beer, bottles of whiskey and vodka.
I pour two fingers of bourbon into a red cup, throw it back, and welcome the fire in my throat.
I need it.
Because if I don’t cool the storm inside me, I’ll do something reckless.
“Knight!” Someone shouts behind me, clapping my shoulder hard enough to make me stagger. It’s Burke, one of the defensemen, grinning in his skeleton mask. “Didn’t think you’d show. You look like you’re at a funeral, man.”
I force a smirk. “Just getting started.”
He laughs and moves on, oblivious. I take another sip, slower this time, eyes snapping back to where Sammie stands by the fireplace.
She’s in conversation with one of her friends, a girl from school I vaguely recognize, but her body language is closed off.
Arms folded tight. Eyes darting, again and again, toward the hallway I’m standing in.
That’s when it happens.
A guy steps up to her. Not a teammate, just some college kid Wayne must’ve let in dressed in a vampire cape. Fake fangs flashing as he leans too close to her. I see his lips move. I don’t have to hear the words to know what he’s saying: Dance with me.
My chest seizes.
She shakes her head. I see it—the quick decline, her hand waving it off. She’s polite, but firm. The guy tries again, leaning closer.
And that’s when I nearly snap.
The bourbon sloshes in my cup as my hand tightens. Heat floods me, a boil rising fast, too fast, until it feels like my skin might rip open. My jaw locks, teeth grinding, and I can’t breathe past the roar in my head.
How dare he?
How dare he ask her, touch her, even look at her like she’s available?
She’s not. She’s mine.
I grip the edge of the counter until the cheap wood creaks. Every instinct in me screams to cross the room, shove him against the wall, and make sure he never forgets who Sammie belongs to. I want his blood on the floor, his eyes wide with fear as he realizes the mistake he made.
But I don’t move. Not yet.
Because Wayne is in the room.
The old man is across the way, red cup in hand, laughing too loudly at something one of the assistant coaches said. But I know him—he sees more than he lets on. If I make a scene now, I’ll be throwing Sammie into a fire she isn’t ready to stand in.
So I wait. My chest heaves, hands shaking, but I force myself to stay in the shadows.
And then Sammie saves me.
She steps back from the vampire kid, shakes her head again, sharper this time. Her body turns away from him completely, like a door slamming shut. And then—just for a heartbeat—her eyes lift.
They find me.
Across the crowd, past the flashing lights and the drunk laughter, her gaze locks on mine. And I know. She refused him because she already belongs to me.
The fury in my chest doesn’t fade. It twists into something darker, hotter, more dangerous.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, thumb hovering over her name. The one I added weeks ago without her knowing, when I planted the cameras, when I made sure I’d always have a line to her. My pulse thunders as I type the words:
You did the right thing. You only dance with me.
I hit send.
Across the room, her phone buzzes in her hand. I see the way her lips part, the way her breath stumbles. She doesn’t look around—she doesn’t have to. She knows it’s me.
And she doesn’t put the phone away.
She reads it twice, maybe three times, fingers trembling before she shoves it into her pocket.
The corner of my mouth curves.
Because I’ve already won.
And this night is only beginning.
And I can see it land.
From across the crowded room, I watch her shoulders stiffen, her breath catch, the way she hides her phone against her thigh like it’s a weapon that might expose her.
She glances up, quick and guilty, and our eyes lock through the blur of costumes and flashing lights.
Her cheeks are flushed red, hotter than the cheap string lights strung around the ceiling.
She’s not just embarrassed. She’s burning.
I smirk into my glass, sip the bitter drink down, but it does nothing to calm me. My hand is tight around the rim, my body thrumming with the same hunger that’s been chewing me alive for weeks.
She can’t hide her reaction from me. I know exactly what my words are doing to her. She’s trying to laugh at someone’s joke, to play normal, but her eyes keep darting back to me, like she can’t help it. Like she’s tethered.
Good.
I want her restless. I want her thinking about me with every heartbeat, every breath. I want her terrified that her father will see her glance my way and know.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, leaning against the dark wall just out of reach of the flickering orange glow of the jack-o’-lanterns. The shadows are mine tonight, and from here I see everything.
Another punk approaches her dressed like a pirate. He leans in too close, his hand brushing her arm as he says something that makes her shake her head. Sammie forces a polite smile, but I see the tension in her jaw, the way she takes half a step back.
My blood spikes. My hand tightens around the glass until I’m close to shattering it.
He laughs again, pointing toward the makeshift dance floor in the living room where bodies sway under dim lights. I don’t hear his words, but I know what he’s asking.
A dance.
My vision tunnels. Heat roars through me like wildfire, and I want to step out of the shadows, rip him away from her, and make him choke on his grin. Doesn’t he see? Doesn’t anyone see?
She’s not available. She’s not even hers to offer. She’s mine.
Sammie shakes her head again, firmer this time, and I almost smile; until he pushes. He leans in close, close enough that his voice dips into her ear. Sammie flinches. She actually flinches.
My chest heaves, the drink forgotten, anger boiling to the surface so fast it makes my vision blur. The room around me drowns in noise, but all I hear is the blood pounding in my ears.
I take a step forward, already planning to put my hands on him, already ready to break the rules I swore I’d keep tonight.
Then Sammie looks up. Not at him. At me.
Her lips part, her eyes wide, and I see her shake her head just barely, so small no one else notices. It’s not him she’s refusing. It’s me she’s speaking to, silently begging me not to snap, not to make a scene.
That one look stops me cold.
She’s protecting me.
The pirate laughs again and slinks off, finally taking the hint, leaving Sammie flushed, rattled, and trying to compose herself. But her eyes are still on me. And that alone makes the rage simmer into something darker, heavier.
I want her trembling like this for me. Only me.
I pull my phone back out, thumbs flying before I can stop myself.
You blush too easily. You should know better. Everyone sees it.
Her phone buzzes. She stiffens. She doesn’t move to check it right away, too scared of who might notice, but I can see the way her hand twitches toward her pocket like she’s starving for my words.
I wait. Sip. Watch her finally slide the phone free, screen hidden low.
Her cheeks blaze even redder as she reads. She bites her lip, hard, like she’s holding back a sound. She doesn’t know that the bite to her lip alone nearly snaps my control.
Another text:
You’re wet with nerves right now, aren’t you?
She freezes, her entire body going still in the middle of the crowd. I can see her chest rising and falling faster, like she can’t catch her breath.
And God help me, it makes me want her so much I ache.
She slips her phone back into her pocket too quickly, like it burns. Like my words are crawling up her spine. She presses a hand against her thigh, a nervous motion she probably thinks hides her reaction. It doesn’t. I see everything.
Every flush, every twitch, every secret little tell.
And it’s all mine.
I take another drink, just to keep myself from crossing the room. My jaw aches from clenching, my muscles tight like coiled springs. My desire is a living, snarling thing inside me, demanding release.
But not here. Not with all these eyes.
Wayne is somewhere in the crowd, I can feel his stare circling like a hawk. The old man thinks he can protect her by coaching boys like me, keeping her tethered to his side, but all he’s done is place her in my path.
And I’ll never walk away.
I shift deeper into the shadows near the kitchen archway, letting the crowd swallow me whole. Sammie glances around, her nerves sharp as she tries to track me. I could step out. I could take her hand, drag her against me in front of everyone. But no—that’s too easy.
She needs to feel me everywhere.
I text again:
Stop looking for me. I see you already. I always see you.
Her breath catches across the room, and she spins like she might actually spot me. But she doesn’t. That’s the point. I’m everywhere. I’m nowhere.
She presses her lips together, trying not to react, but the faint shiver that runs through her body gives her away.
And that single tremor hardens every inch of my cock, making me want to carve out this entire room of people just to have her alone.
The night stretches, bodies dancing and laughing, but I don’t care. Every sip of alcohol just sharpens my obsession, every glance of Sammie fuels the fire until I’m ready to detonate.
By the time I step outside, cool night air biting my lungs, I’m past reason. The glass door gives me a perfect view of her silhouette in the living room, golden light glinting off her hair as she forces herself to laugh with friends. But her eyes keep drifting, searching, restless.
For me. Always for me.
My fingers flex at my sides, aching to tear her away from all of this, to pin her against the wall and make her admit what we both already know.
Instead, I reach for my phone one last time, and type slow, deliberate words:
By the end of tonight, you’ll be exactly where you belong. With me. No one else.
I send it. Watch her freeze when the vibration buzzes against her hip. Watch her slip the phone out and read.
She swallows hard, her hand trembling just enough that I know she feels it. My claim, my promise.
Her eyes lift, scanning the dark windows. They find me, just for a breath.
And I let her see me. Just long enough.
Then I vanish back into the shadows, smiling to myself, because it doesn’t matter what Wayne says.
This Halloween isn’t about masks, or memories, or parties.
It’s about Sammie.
And tonight, she’s mine.