Chapter 1 Aurora
Aurora
Shit, shit, shit!
I overslept again.
I knew I should have put the damn book down after dinner, but when the boroughs of New York City teamed up to save the world?
Yeah, I was fucked.
I read through the night like a dumbass and didn’t even twitch when my alarm clock went off twenty minutes ago. Now, the digital traitor glares at me, beaming my failure in neon red.
Can alarm clocks feel?
Because mine is definitely mocking me.
I can’t be late again. Sure, my best friend, Eve, is my boss, but that somehow makes it worse. I can’t even get my shit together for her, my sister from another mister, my emotional support human, the one person who’d help me bury a body. No questions asked. Just extra shovels, a tarp, and a smile.
Dammit!
Where the fuck are my fucking jeans?
I rush to the overflowing laundry basket and dump it, scattering clothes across the floor.
Kicking aside stuff I wore weeks ago, I finally unearth my favorite ripped skinny jeans. I glance at the disaster zone I’ve just created, then shrug.
The laundry pile’s been here this long. What’s another few days?
With speed that would put Quicksilver to shame, I yank on my clean-enough jeans, a faded band T-shirt, and a thick zip-up hoodie.
Does it match? Not even a little.
Now, where the hell are my shoes?
I swipe an arm under the bed, only to find them shoved so far back I can barely reach them. They must’ve caught the scent of bullshit on the wind. Probably their ex, back to fight for shared custody of a dog they never walked.
Once I lace up my high-top Vans, I grab a granola bar—because nothing screams “I have my life together” like processed oats—then toss my German shepherd/husky mix, Louie, a treat for putting up with me.
Eve keeps saying I can bring her to the shop, but mornings are always a mess.
I launch my bag into my ancient SUV and collapse into the driver’s seat, silently offering a fresh goat to the car gods.
Maybe two.
When it finally splutters to life, “Milk Lizard” by The Dillinger Escape Plan screams through my speakers as I head to Lilith’s Garden—pun totally intended.
Eve’s got a complex. When you’re named after the woman blamed for dooming humanity, you end up carrying a lot of shit that isn’t yours.
Her father, who was hardcore religious even before her mom walked out, hammered one thing into her from the start: A woman isn’t worth shit unless a man says so.
Eve rejected that bullshit with both middle fingers.
She has the backbone of a war general, the mouth of a Marine, and the sheer force of will to convince a man to get a tramp stamp just for fun.
Eve is rooted crownvetch and wild English ivy, still climbing even after her father tried to cut her back to nothing.
And when her dad crossed an unforgivable line, my parents took her in without question and made goddamn sure he never touched her again.
Once she was with us, nothing really changed. It only made clear what we already knew—Eve was family. She was a Hagan the moment she called my dad’s tattoos “scribbles” and told him they’d probably poison him.
No hesitation. No fear. Just Eve being a loudmouth kid who already felt safe with my family.
She still uses that same sharp humor, but now, it’s not always that simple.
When Eve makes jokes about her name, I know she’s using humor to cover the bruises.
Which is probably why she named her shop after Lilith, Adam’s first wife and the woman who invented telling a man to go fuck himself.
As I tear through the quiet streets of Lorewood, my engine protests with a cough but keeps grinding forward. I could get a new car, but why bother? This one works just fine—except when it doesn’t.
Thankfully, my morning drive is quick and pleasant, aside from the anxiety caused by the dashboard clock. The trees along the mountain blaze red, yellow, and orange, flickering like someone set the whole forest on fire just for the aesthetic.
The town is still as I drive down Main Street, careful to go the speed limit so I don’t piss anyone off. A few shop owners are outside already, and one or two give me a friendly wave as they ready themselves for the day ahead.
Everything hums with sleepy, small-town charm.
And then there’s Lilith’s Garden—wedged between a candle shop and a yarn store like a gothic fever dream that refuses to tone it down.
Eve, naturally, took one look at the town’s softer color palette and said, fuck that—which explains the dark pink exterior and bold black trim. It doesn’t exactly blend in, but I’ve learned in my three weeks here that as long as you don’t bother anyone, you can get away with just about anything.
I swerve down a side street and pull into the narrow lot tucked behind the converted townhomes.
Shit. Eve’s already here, and that obnoxious orange “Open” sign is flickering even though we’re not open yet.
Overachiever.
I stumble out of the car, shoes sliding on loose gravel as I slam the door open with way more force than necessary.
Eve’s behind the counter, casually checking her watch, while I’m doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping for air.
“Girl. Fifteen minutes late again. I’d ask what’s going on with you, but let’s be real, you’ve always been like this. Now, if you told me you got lost in a man last night instead of a book, I might consider letting it slide.”
She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes so hard I’m pretty sure I just saw the back of my skull.
“E, please. If I so much as breathe in a man’s direction, you’d be the first to know,” I mutter as I walk behind the counter to put my bag away.
I’ve tried dating. I really have.
But my last attempt—a few years back—was a goddamn train wreck.
The guy showed up ten minutes late, reeked of cheap body spray, and spent the entire meal explaining cryptocurrency to me like I was a toddler. When I finally got a word in, he interrupted to tell me he “prefers girls who don’t talk so much.”
So, yeah, I noped out of that bullshit ever since.
Romance is dead, and magic only exists in books.
Excuse me if I’m not rushing to let some mediocre dude fumble his way through disappointing me in bed. If I’m dumb enough to believe there’s more, that’s on me.
I want something that scorches. Something that hurts.
But somehow, I keep ending up with someone who couldn’t light a fire with dry wood and an entire fucking can of kerosene.
I’m already burning. Modern men—the Chads, the Jakes, the ones who think vulnerability is a venereal disease? They flinch at the flame.
Let them.
I’m not shrinking myself for some limp-dicked loser who gets intimidated when a woman breathes too loud.
I don’t guard my virginity like it’s some sacred relic. The whole purity myth is just patriarchal bullshit laced with misogyny and topped with virtue-signaling. Hard pass. And I’m sure as hell not handing over my first time to some beige-ass man who thinks foreplay starts and ends with his ego.
Thank Lilith’s left tit for the adult store down the road. I’m not getting laid anytime soon, but at least my vibrator knows where my clit is.
“Aury, all I’m saying is you need to get laid. There’s no shortage of burly, big-dicked mountain men around here, and I’m sure a few of them would gladly offer their services. Hell, I’ve got a couple on standby myself. I’m not opposed to sharing.”
Eve grabs her phone, muttering to herself as she scrolls through her contacts.
“No, no, no. I love that you know exactly what you want, but I’ve never been good at casual.
I want something that leaves a mark. Something that sees me, touches me, and doesn’t flinch.
Which has obviously gone great for me so far.
I just … I want the romance and obsession of Elle Thorpe and the carnal magic of Opal Reyne. Is that too much to ask?”
With a sigh, I tug on my apron and glance around the shop, scanning desperately for any excuse to dodge Eve’s questions.
“You gotta get your head out of those books and spend some time in reality. I get the appeal of fiction, but real life isn’t like those romantic novels.
I know someday you’ll find the magic you’re looking for—you’re that pigheaded and stubborn—but it’s okay to indulge a Mr. Good-for-Right-Now. It doesn’t ruin you for Mr. Forever.”
Eve looks at me with large, icy blue eyes, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
I fucking love this woman.
And since I lost my mom, it’s been nice having her look out for me.
“E, you’re the best. Let me think about maybe allowing you to set me up on a date with one of your mountain men. I guess you’re right. Maybe some dick would do me good. The sex toys are fun, but I’m going to need a warm body soon, or I might go crazy.”
Eve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and we both stare at each other for a beat before bursting into uncontrollable giggles.
“Okay, let me know when you’re ready. I’ll set you up with some dude who makes your toes curl and your soul briefly leave your body.”
She pauses, then adds with a sly grin, “Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, we can get you a dragon dick. Bad Dragon has a whole collection. Suction cups, color combos, one even glows in the dark.”
I choke on my laugh. “Jesus, Eve.”
“I’m just sayin’. I know people,” she smirks.
I raise a brow, my voice dripping with mock innocence. “Who says I haven’t already … explored my options?”
Eve stares. “Wait … Did you—?”
I shrug and start walking toward the front windows. “Never underestimate a desperate woman with Wi-Fi and a discount code.”
Eve gasps and drops to one knee. “Hail to the Queen of Monsterfuckers. I’m not worthy.”
I cackle and toss her a wink, grabbing the keys off the hook.
“C’mon, perv. Time to open the shop.”
We’re still giggling as we prep the counter, flipping signs and adjusting displays like we didn’t just have an in-depth discussion about tentacle dildos and soul-shattering orgasms.