CHAPTER TWO #3
Large.
The kind I’d never seen before, and I grew up on a ranch.
I’d lived my whole life in Montana, the Wild West, where almost everyone was tall and built from hard labor.
But he was the kind of large that had no comparison except perhaps with things found in nature.
Massive shoulders like a mountain range; a wide back that I could picture myself scaling with my smaller—much smaller—body; a thick neck like the stump of a tree; thick and muscled arms that could swing me without much effort; and thighs like tree trunks.
Crazily, I thought if I glanced down, I’d find him planted in the ground, roots and all, instead of what I did find: booted feet.
As if his body wasn’t enough to steal my breath, my rescuer finally turned around and faced me and I lost all thought.
In addition to being the largest man I’d ever seen, he also had the greenest eyes I’d ever encountered on anyone.
So green that his irises seemed like emeralds.
They glowed in the dark. Shone like green flames.
Actually, forget the eyes. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, and it was such an astonishing conclusion to make.
Because his eyes were the only thing I could see.
That and a scar that ran from the top of his forehead all the way down to his cheekbone before disappearing down his mask.
A black-and-white skeleton mask that covered everything else on his face.
I had this strange urge to reach up and yank it down. So I could see him.
So I could see the face of this beautiful man who’d just saved me.
And who, in that moment, was staring at me with concern.
His stunning eyes were moving all over my face, trying to ascertain if I was okay.
Not to mention I also got the feeling that he knew me.
That somehow this wasn’t the first time we’d met.
But before I could do anything about any of those things, he took a final look at me, spun on his heels, and left.
He jogged away, all big body and muscled frame, and turned the corner.
As soon as he went out of sight, I came out of my trance and ran after him, but he was nowhere to be found.
For days after that I thought I’d dreamed about him.
About his startling green eyes, that wicked scar.
The mask. I dreamed about him swooping down to save me when I’d been saving myself for as long as I could remember.
But then I felt him again. On one of my dates.
Somehow I felt his presence around me, watching me at the table with one of the men my father had asked me to meet.
But when I looked for him, I couldn’t find any trace of him.
And then it happened again. And again, and fucking again.
On my dates; at college parties; around campus; during classes; in my bedroom at night.
The same feeling, that I was being watched.
That those green eyes were staring at me.
On top of that, I discovered a pattern. Something that had been happening for a while now but that I couldn’t really make sense of until he came to my rescue in that alley.
If a drunk frat guy tried to get handsy with me at a party, he wouldn’t show up to the class the following day.
If one of my father’s men touched me a little too much on a date, I’d find out he couldn’t make it to our next date because he’d been—very conveniently—mugged and beaten up on his way back home.
One of my professors came to the class with a black eye that he said he got because he’d slipped and fell.
But he was the same professor who only the previous day had put his hand on my leg while telling me how he could help me with my grade if only I applied myself.
It was him, wasn’t it? My masked stalker. My Phantom. Somehow he thought he had to save me from all the bad things in the world.
For someone who’d never been saved before, I found it…
lovely. I thought it was the most breathtaking thing he could’ve done for me.
It made me feel cherished. And maybe it was crazy, but I didn’t question it.
I didn’t question who he was, where he’d come from, or why he’d been watching me.
Instead, I chased that feeling. I milked it as much as I could.
I flirted with my dates on purpose just so he’d hurt them later.
I laughed with random guys at parties just so he’d give them a black eye for me.
Like a gift. Wherever I went, I always sat by the window so he could see me.
I wore pretty dresses for him. I took them off at my bedroom window for him too.
All because I felt safe with him. I felt like he’d never let anything touch me.
But I was wrong, wasn’t I?
He wasn’t protecting me or keeping me safe. He was fucking stalking me so he could get to my best friend. I didn’t know how it all fit together, but I would find out. That night. I would lure him out and hunt him down.