Ashburne Chronicles, 2
Five years after fleeing her hometown, Bianka returns broken and scarred by the accident that nearly killed her. Hiding behind sweaters and silence, she believes her beauty—and her chance at love—are gone forever.
But someone has been watching.
Griffin has loved Bianka since they were teenagers. For the past year, he’s stalked her from the shadows, torn between giving her time to heal and the unbearable hunger to finally claim her. What Bianka doesn’t know is that Griffin isn’t alone in his obsession, he is haunted by Thomas, a ghostly presence who feeds on desire and refuses to let Griffin’s love remain buried.
On Halloween night, the line between fear and longing shatters. Driven by his own need and Thomas’s dark push, Griffin steps out of the shadows and into Bianka’s life … forever.
Be Warned: forced seduction
Excerpt:
She doesn’t know I’m here. But then again, she never does and that’s exactly the way I have wanted it. Until now.
For the past year, I’ve kept myself in the shadows, watching her every move since the moment she returned to Ashburne. At first, I told myself it was just curiosity—she was back, a scared and broken shell of the girl I remembered. I told myself I needed to keep an eye on her, make sure no one hurt her, to make sure the cruel bastards in this town didn’t get the chance to carve into her with words sharper than the accident ever could.
But that was a lie. The truth is much simpler and so much uglier. I can’t stop. That’s a lie, I don’t want to stop.
Bianka has owned me since we were teenagers. Back when she used to sit two rows ahead of me in math class, her hair shining in the sun that came through those cracked, dirty windows, laughing at jokes that weren’t even funny. I used to count the freckles on her nose. I memorized the sound of her voice.
I thought five years might be enough to kill the obsession, but it wasn’t.
The day she came back, limping slightly, her face half turned like she was trying to hide what was left of her beauty, my chest cracked open all over again. I fell back into the same hell—wanting her, craving her, needing her—only this time there’s no excuse. I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m a man, and men don’t spend their nights crouched in the dark watching women through curtains.
Except I do.
I’ve become the thing they warn you about in late-night horror stories. The shadow in the corner of your eye. The breath on your neck when you know you’re alone.
And tonight, I’ve finally snapped.
Halloween. The one night in Ashburne where the veil between the living and the dead supposedly thins, where madness takes root and no one questions the screams in the dark. I’ve heard the stories since I was a boy … possessions, hauntings, people giving in to urges they buried deep. In this town, you can get away with murder if you pick the right night.
I lean against the rough bark of the oak at the edge of her backyard. Her kitchen window glows, throwing a slice of golden light onto the damp grass. She moves inside, her back turned to me, a silhouette I know better than my own reflection. Her long dark hair is tied up in a bun and all I want to do is let it down and run my fingers through it. Tangle it up in my fist and hold her tightly exactly where I want her. She wears a loose brown sweater, the collar slipping down enough to reveal the ridged, angry scar that snakes over her shoulder and disappears down her back.
It kills me.
Not the scars themselves—they don’t make her ugly, no matter what she thinks. They make her real. They tell a story of survival, of fire and pain, of a girl who crawled out of a wreckage when most would have stayed buried.
What kills me is that she doesn’t see it. That she hides. That she folds into herself, believing she’s unworthy of love. She’s wrong and I’ll show her.
For a year I’ve stayed quiet. For a year I’ve told myself that just watching is enough. Tonight, something in me refuses to wait anymore. I can almost hear the town itself whispering to me, the dead pressing close, urging me to claim what I’ve always wanted.
That’s when I feel it. A cold pressure, like fingers slipping beneath my skin, wrapping tight around my bones. I shiver, clenching my fists, but I don’t pull away from it. The darkness isn’t foreign. It feels … familiar. Like it belongs to me. Like it’s been waiting all along.
The voice comes next. A low murmur threading through my skull.
“Don’t watch. Take. You’ve wasted enough time.”
I stagger, bracing against the tree, my breath ragged. I should be afraid … of losing my mind, of becoming like the old drunks who rant about demons after Halloween passes. But I’m not. Because the voice isn’t wrong. I have wasted time. Years.
Her window creaks open and she leans out, blowing into the night, watching her breath fog. She always does this, like she’s testing the air before deciding if she dares step into the world.
The sight of her lips parted, her scar catching the moonlight, pulls at something deep inside me. I want to touch her. I want to taste her. I want to bury myself in her so deep she forgets every ounce of pain she’s ever known.
And I will. Not tomorrow. Not in a week.
Tonight.
- Series:
- /series-ashburne-chronicles/
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