CHAPTER ONE
I stood in a forest that pulsed with something ancient, something otherworldly. The air was thick, fog rolling low across the uneven ground, but above me, the sky was littered with stars so bright they painted the darkness in silver. It should've been peaceful, but it wasn't.
The creatures lurking between the trees were like nothing I'd ever seen. A deer with two heads. A herd of something that had the torso of a man but the lower body of a horse—except their heads were those of lions. Birds with too many eyes, their wings layered like fine-cut glass.
But that wasn't what had my attention.
A golden thread extended from my chest, glowing softly as it wove through the trees. I glanced behind me—nothing. The thread only led forward.
So, I followed.
The blare of Doja Cat's Woman yanked me out of sleep.
I groaned, fumbling for my phone without opening my eyes.
"What?" My voice was thick with sleep.
"Damian, where the fuck are you? It's almost eight! Get out here, quick!"
"Fuck you, Erick. I'm sleeping."
"I'm almost at your door. You'll hate me more if I barge in and dump ice on you."
I hung up.
Erick had this bright idea that Coney Island at night was the place to be. The rides, the lights, the drinks—apparently, it was all more magical after dark. I personally thought sleep was magical, but Erick had a spare key and a lack of boundaries, so I dragged myself to the shower.
By the time I stepped out of my apartment, Erick was standing there, ice bag in hand.
"You were actually gonna do it," I muttered.
He grinned, strolling into my kitchen to throw the bag into my freezer. "Of course."
His eyes swept over me. "Why the hell did you brush your hair like you're going to a job interview?"
I swatted his hand away when he ruffled it, but caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. Messier. Better. Handsome, in a drunken-playboy kind of way.
I scowled.
Erick smirked.
We left.
Coney Island at night was a fever dream. The neon lights. The ocean breeze. The smell of fried food, spun sugar, and something distinctly New York. The crowd was alive—laughter, screaming from roller coasters, the distant echo of carnival games.
"Alright," Erick said, surveying the scene. "Girls, drinks, rides, sex. In that order."
I half-listened, my eyes scanning the crowd. Someone tapped my shoulder, and when I turned, I locked eyes with the most ridiculously beautiful woman I'd ever seen.
Deep green eyes. Maybe contacts, maybe not. Dark skin that shimmered in the neon glow. Locs falling over one shoulder. A slow, knowing smile.
She dragged a single finger down my chest before pulling away.
"Hello there, handsome," she purred.
I smiled back. "Damian."
She tilted her head. "Catherine. But you can call me Cat. Or Kitty, if you want."
I chuckled. "Let's stick with Cat for now, yeah?"
"Of course," she drawled, eyes glinting.
Erick appeared beside me, already attached to a brunette who looked like she walked out of a movie.
"You are winning tonight," he murmured, not so subtly checking out Cat's ass.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered.
The night air smelled of caramelized popcorn and cotton candy, thick with the electric hum of excitement. Before I knew it, Cat had looped her arm through mine, tugging me toward the towering Ferris wheel.
"Come on, you're not scared of heights, are you?" she teased, her emerald eyes glittering under the neon lights.
"Scared? No," I scoffed. "More like cautious of being trapped in a metal death trap hanging hundreds of feet above the ground."
Cat rolled her eyes. "You sound ancient, Damian. Live a little."
We ended up on the ride, and by the time we reached the top, she was leaning close, her warmth brushing against me as she pointed at the city lights.
"Tell me that's not beautiful," she said softly.
I wasn't sure if she meant the view or the way her lips curled at the corners when she smiled. Either way, I agreed.
After the Ferris wheel, we tried nearly every ride—she pulled me onto the rollercoaster even though I insisted my dinner might not survive it. The haunted house was another story. She jumped at every cheap jump scare, clutching onto me, and I wasn't about to complain.
"You totally screamed," she accused as we exited.
"That was you," I deadpanned.
"Me?" She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "I don't scream. I gasp dramatically at best."
I smirked, shaking my head. "Right, of course."
The night continued with more teasing and shared food—she insisted on getting cotton candy, then proceeded to shove some into my mouth with a mischievous grin.
"Admit it, you love it."
I chewed, unimpressed. "Tastes like overpriced air."
She threw a piece at me. "God, you're impossible."
Somewhere between the games and the laughter, we found ourselves lingering close—hands brushing, gazes lingering too long.
"So," she murmured, standing in front of me as the park started to thin out. "What's next?"
I knew what she meant. I let my fingers trail up her arm. "I have a few ideas."
She grinned. "Good. Because I'm not ready for this night to end."
And just like that, we ended up at the hotel.