Chapter 15
15
Anora
I can’t stop thinking about him, even now, standing in Sarah’s quiet, shadowy kitchen. Amir. His face is burned into my mind. The way his dark chocolate skin seemed almost velvety under the soft glow of the fair lights.
His features were sharp yet smooth, like they were sculpted just right, his jawline strong and cutting but his lips soft, full, and warm whenever they parted into a sly smile. His locs caught my attention immediately—neat, thin, and perfectly maintained, falling gracefully to his shoulders. Each strand seemed intentional, adding to his presence and making him impossible not to notice.
And his eyes—God, his eyes. Striking, warm, and so full of depth that just locking with them felt like I might drown. They drew me in, made me feel like he could see all the parts of me I try so hard to keep hidden.
Then there was that scent, subtly clinging to him, earthy and safe, like sandalwood with a touch of something almost impossibly warm. It lingered on me long after, comforting and maddening all at once.
I can still see him standing tall at the fair, his posture confident despite the sideways stares and muttered comments. He didn’t shrink or flinch. He owned the space. It made me want to stand taller too, to feel what he must feel in those moments.
I run my fingers over my lips, a ghost of a touch trailing where his kiss might have been if I hadn’t chickened out. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and let everything else fall away. God knows I nearly did.
Then, Andrew’s words about Thirst Trap flash through my mind. That’s where he said they’d be. My heart picks up, a thrill and a dread both awakening at the thought.
I stand in front of the tall mirror, staring at the reflection staring back at me. My hands smooth down the soft fabric of the black dress, feeling the texture beneath my palms. It’s simple, modest, the kind of dress you can’t help but think of as a safe choice. The skirt flows out gently, brushing just above my knees, and the long sleeves hug my arms comfortably, but there’s nothing about it that stands out. I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
My hair is fluffed out but still wild, curling in every direction, and for once, I don’t bother fighting with it. It’s mine, and I let it be. My dark eyes catch the soft glow of my tiny apartment, a nervous energy in them I can’t quite squash.
They follow the way my lips press together, slick and bold now with the red lipstick I applied. The color feels loud on me—too loud, maybe. My chest rises and falls as I exhale, trying to convince myself this isn’t completely foolish.
I touch the hem of the dress one last time, fidgeting with it, then tug on the fabric as though it might magically transform me. My pulse quickens, and for a moment, I hesitate. I look too human. Too awkward. A girl in a cheap dress playing at something bigger than herself. And for what? A man, no, a supernatura l, who will never care about these things like I do. He couldn’t.
But despite all my overthinking, I can’t stop myself from wanting this moment. Just in case. Just in case he does care. Just in case he’s waiting, watching the same way I’ve been longing. Maybe that’s reason enough to push past the sting of doubt curling inside me.
Something deeper than just attraction pulls at me, like an ancient thread woven into my soul. Every time I think of walking away, of staying safe in my small, predictable life, that thread tugs harder.
It’s maddening - this feeling that I’m meant for more, that there’s something bigger waiting for me. But what if I’m wrong? What if I’m just another girl chasing impossible dreams, seeing destiny where there’s only delusion?
I grab my boots and slide into them, then throw on my coat, double-checking my purse for my small sketch pad. Once I’m sure it’s there, I shut off the lights to my apartment and step out into the hallway, locking the door behind me.
My hand lingers for a second on the cold lock, but I push past the unease and head down the stairs. I take my time, my eyes sweeping every shadow, cautious. Mike’s probably not outside lurking, but I can’t risk being wrong.
The bus stop isn’t far. I could walk all the way to Thirst Trap—it’s just a few miles—but it’s late, and I don’t want to take my chances tonight. The cold air presses against me as I stand nervously at the stop, clutching my coat tighter around me.
The streets feel off somehow, but I shake it off and glance down the road. When the bus finally arrives, I climb on quickly, pay my fare, and take a seat near the front.
The bus is mostly empty, just me and a few other scattered riders. It gives me too much space to think, fidgeting with my purse strap as the minutes pass. I shouldn’t be doing this. I know I shouldn’t. Home would be safer, easier, less humiliating if this goes badly.
But I can’t ignore the pull in my chest. It’s like some invisible thread tugging me forward, refusing to let me stay still. I need to see him. The waiting, the yearning—it’s unbearable.
The bus ride is quick, and when I press the button for my stop, my heartbeat kicks up. Stepping off, I tug my coat closer and move briskly down the street. The hum of the city and the far-off bass of the club’s music pulls me closer until I finally see it: Thirst Trap. The neon sign glows bright and bold above the building, and a long line of people snakes around the corner, chattering and laughing in the cold.
I take a deep breath, drawing my sketch pad from my purse as I cross the street. My steps are hesitant as I approach the two massive guards at the door, their shoulders broad enough to blot out the light behind them. Before I can say anything, one of them steps forward, holding up a hand.
“Line’s back there,” he says flatly, jerking his thumb toward the crowd.
I frown and quickly flip open my sketch pad. I hold up a drawing of Amir, hoping it’ll make a difference. “I’m not here for that. I know Amir is inside. Just let me pass so I can give him these drawings. He’s expecting me.”
They exchange a look, and then laughter erupts loud and booming .
“Get in line like the rest of them,” one of them sneers.
Before I can reply, the door swings open, and Andrew steps out, narrowing his eyes at them. Then, with one look at me, his face shifts into a smug smile.
“Amir’s busy with Hazel right now,” Andrew announces, and something about the way he says it makes my stomach twist. “But tell me something,” he continues, looking at the guards. “What do you think Amir’s going to do when he finds out you just insulted his Anora?”
The guards freeze. Their laughter dies instantly, replaced by wide-eyed panic. One of them clears his throat, stepping back and bowing his head slightly.
“I—I’m sorry, ma’am,” he stutters, sweeping his arm toward the door.
Andrew grabs my wrist and pulls me forward before I can process what’s happening. His grip is firm, almost too tight, as he drags me through the threshold and into the pulsing energy of the nightclub.
The heat and sound hit me at once. It’s packed inside, bodies shifting and dancing in the erratic glow of colored lights. The bass thumps hard enough to rattle my chest, the air alive with movement and voices. Andrew weaves us through the crowd, his long strides forcing me to keep up as we slip past the swaying dancers and toward the bar.
He motions to a stool, and I sit reluctantly as he moves behind the counter. He’s already grabbing tools—a shaker, a pitcher, a glass—and loading it with ice when I lean forward, trying to catch his eye.
“Where’s Amir?” I yell, straining to be heard over the music.
Andrew doesn’t look up, busy with whatever concoction he’s preparing. “He knows you’re here,” he says easily. “Want some iced tea? ”
I shake my head quickly, my throat constricting with too many emotions swirling at once. I glance around the room, desperately scanning the crowd. That’s when I see him.
Amir.
And her.
He’s on the dance floor, his large hand resting gently on the waist of a stunning woman in an elegant dress. Their movements are slow, intimate, completely out of sync with the fast-paced music. She’s beautiful, effortlessly so, and I feel everything inside me start to crumble.
The sight hits me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and replacing it with ice. This is what I get for dreaming too big, for thinking someone like him could actually be meant for someone like me.
I watch them move together, so perfectly in sync, and every fantasy I’ve built around our shared dreams crumbles to dust. How foolish I must look, standing here in my cheap dress, clutching my sketches like some lovesick teenager.
“Anora, no, you’re mistaken,” Andrew says suddenly, his voice pulling me back. He slides the drink in front of me, but I don’t look at it. I pull the sketch pad from my bag and shove it toward him.
“Give these to Amir,” I say, my voice strained. “I’m going home.”
I start to slide off the stool, but Andrew rushes around the counter. “Wait—Anora, hold on. You’re not understanding. She’s his ni?—”
A rough hand clamps down on my arm, yanking me back hard enough to make me stumble slightly. The air shifts, and I look up in alarm.
Mike.
He towers over me, his grin as smug and infuriating as ever. “Heard a little bird say you’d be here,” he says, his voice slimy and self-assured.
I jerk my arm, trying to pull away, but he strengthens his grip. The dread I was feeling before? It’s nothing compared to this moment.
“I’m not about to play this game with you, Anora,” Mike growls, his grip firm on my arm. “Let’s go. I’m taking you back to my place so we can talk. I told you what I needed from you, and I’m going to get it.”
Before I can say or do anything, Andrew’s hand clamps down on Mike’s shoulder, gripping it hard. “Nah, man. Not this one,” Andrew says, his tone quiet but sharp. “Anyone but this one.”
For a second, I think Mike might back off, but instead, he jerks away violently, slapping Andrew’s hand off him. “Get your fucking hands off me, vampire!” he barks, his voice full of rage. “This is human business. Mind yours.”
Andrew doesn’t flinch. He just smiles and steps back. My chest constricts. What the hell? He’s not going to help? I know Andrew is strong enough to do something, to get Mike off me. But he’s standing there like this isn’t his problem, like this whole thing is no big deal.
Panic claws at the back of my neck. This was a mistake. I should’ve kept my Black ass at home . Instead, I had to let my hopeless, foolish romantic side take over, chasing after someone who clearly doesn’t feel the same. Now, I’m standing here like an idiot and getting dragged into a nightmare I was trying to avoid.
Mike’s grip strengthens on my arm, and I slump slightly, too tired and angry to fight anymore. Maybe I should just give in. Amir clearly doesn’t care the way I thought he might, and the pain of that realization is enough to make me want to stop resisting altogether .
Mike yanks me roughly toward the door, and I let him, my feet stumbling to keep up. But before we get far, something flashes by so fast it feels like a flicker in the air. Mike’s hand slips off my arm, the pressure gone in an instant.
I blink, trying to process what just happened. By the time my eyes catch up, Mike is pinned against the wall in a dim corner of the nightclub, out of view of the swarming crowd. His feet dangle off the floor, and Amir is standing over him, his hand locked tightly around Mike’s throat.
“Anora,” Amir says, glancing over his shoulder at me, his voice warm and calm. His lips curl into a smile, like he didn’t just move faster than lightning to snatch my attacker off me. His eyes burn golden, focused, steady. “Is he giving you trouble, angel?”
I grit my teeth, planting my hands on my hips. I can feel the heat rising in my chest, frustration bubbling over everything else. “Amir—” I huff, not even sure what I want to say.
He ignores me, turning back to Mike with a deadly calm. “I’ve watched you assault my woman three times now,” he says, his grip on Mike’s throat tightening. His voice is lower now, cold and final. “I’ve had enough. Goodbye, Mike.”
My breath catches, and for a moment, I don’t believe what I see next. Amir’s free hand shifts, his fingers elongating, sharpening into gleaming black talons that glint under the flashing lights of the club. He raises the hand slowly toward Mike’s neck, his jaw tense.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, the realization hitting me all at once. He’s going to kill him.
Everything in me jolts into action. I can’t let this happen—even after everything Mike’s done, I can’t let Amir take his life like this.
The surge of protectiveness surprises me—not for Mike, but for Amir. I can’t let him bear this, can’t let him stain his hands with blood just to defend me. Mike’s ugly soul isn’t worth the toll it would take on Amir’s conscience. Besides, there’s something else stirring in me now, something fierce and unfamiliar. A voice whispering that I don’t need anyone to fight my battles—not anymore.
“Amir, no! Wait!” I shout, running toward him, my pulse thundering as I close the gap.