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Audrey

Naked. His bare chest. I couldn’t shake the image of Varyn’s chiseled torso, the lean muscles and well-defined veins that stood out as he gripped his shirt. It was infuriating. If I didn’t loathe him so much, I might actually find him attractive. But here I am, lying on his uncomfortable, stiff bed, my thoughts fixated on him like a stain on my favorite shirt.

The room reeked of old wood, that musty scent of a forgotten house blanketed in dust. I tossed and turned, searching for comfort that eluded me.

Beth. The name echoed in my mind, a mystery I couldn’t solve. Who was she, and did she have a role in Varyn’s panic attacks? Not that he’d ever volunteer that information—he thrived on being a closed book, concealed in secrecy.

At least today, I managed to put some of my own coping mechanisms to the test. Turns out, childhood panic attacks have their uses, after all.

Naked chest. I groan, shaking my head as if I could physically dislodge that tantalizing image. Taking a few deep breaths, I attempt to calm my racing pulse. I am not attracted to that jerk. No way. Absolutely impossible.

As I wrestled with my thoughts, sleep finally claimed me. The room’s shadows gradually faded as dawn crept through the grimy window, spilling soft light and illuminating the dust particles floating in the air.

The uncomfortable bed felt even less inviting in the daylight, and I blinked against the brightness, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and the lingering image of Varyn’s naked chest. With a groggy sigh, I pushed myself up, the cool morning air brushing against my skin.

The enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the bedroom, wrapping around me like a warm, familiar blanket. I feel myself drifting toward it, almost weightless, like a cartoon character entranced by the scent, pulled forward by an invisible string of caffeine-infused heaven.

Varyn sits hunched over his computer at the table in the kitchen, focused on something. 

“Good morning,” I murmur, treading lightly, uncertain of whether he’s the kind of person who greets the dawn with a smile. He merely nods, and I’m reminded he’s a cold and stoic man. Never mind that I helped him; he would remain as distant as possible.

I rummage through the cabinets, finally unearthing a coffee cup. I pour the dark liquid into it, lifting it to my nose to savor the sweet, rich aroma that comforts me.

“I’m meeting with a contact today,” Varyn’s voice jolts me from my trance. “You’ll need to stay here; it’s safest for now. I’ll only be gone a few hours at most.”

“And what do I do if the Siphon shows up?” I take a measured sip, pretending nonchalance as a flicker of anxiety runs through me.

“We’ll take precautions, but you don’t need to worry.”

“Call me a pessimist,” I retort, “but I tend to think of worst-case scenarios. What precautions are we taking?”

“You’re going to cast a neutralizing spell. Any magic that isn’t yours that crosses the threshold will be nullified.”

“That’s great,” I say with an edge of sarcasm. “So they won’t be able to use their magic inside, but they can still waltz right in after getting through the barrier spell. All they have to do is kick the door down, and I’ll be a sitting duck.”

Varyn rubs the back of his neck, a gesture of frustration. “You’ll be fine. Nothing is going to happen. That barrier spell isn’t child’s play.”

“Famous last words,” I whisper, the uncertainty hanging between us. “Can I grab some things from my place? As much as I love wearing the same clothes and undergarments every day, I could really use some variety,” I say light-heartedly.

“I’ll swing by your place on my way back. Write down your address and a list of things you need,” he says, his tone brisk and no-nonsense.

“What about my cell phone?” I ask, anxiety creeping into my voice. “When they took me, I dropped my purse with my wallet and my phone. I also need to let the gallery know I won’t be in today,” I ramble, my thoughts racing.

He exhales sharply, frustration flickering across his face. “I’ll handle it,” he replies, his low, authoritative voice instilling an unexpected sense of trust within me.

“Fine,” I huff, watching him as he rubs the back of his neck and tilts his chin slightly, exposing his dark, stubbled jaw. He closes his eyes momentarily, releasing tension I can almost feel in the air. I’m frozen, my gaze hypnotized by him like I’ve stumbled upon a feast after days of hunger.

Suddenly, his eyes snap open and lock onto mine. I quickly take a sip of my coffee, forgetting its scalding temperature, and instantly spew it everywhere while coughing violently. He leaps up with a cloth.

“Here,” he says, moving quickly to wipe the coffee from my face.

“I’ve got it,” I reply nervously, reaching for the cloth but grabbing his large, surprisingly warm hand instead. Heat radiates from his skin, shooting up my fingers and down my spine. I’m holding his hand.

He jerks his hand away as if my hand had been doused in kerosene and someone just lit a match, retreating like I’m some lepper. I should have released my grip first; after all, I despise him, don’t I?

“Sorry,” I mutter, irritation creeping into my voice.

He takes a step back, his demeanor rigid. “It’s fine,” he says, but I can see discomfort across his features.

Anger simmers within me—something I’m getting all too familiar with being around him. “You know, I didn’t want to hold your hand either,” I blurt out, a mix of defiance and embarrassment lacing my words. His confusion is evident. “It was an accident.”

“It’s fine,” he repeats, and that only fuels the fire burning inside me.

I inhale deeply, trying to regain my composure. “Is it really? You look like you’ve just discovered I harbor unrequited feelings for you. I assure you, there are zero feelings on this side.”

“Got it,” he replies, seemingly unfazed by my outburst.

“Good,” I say, awkwardly shifting my gaze around the room, searching for anything to distract me.

“If you’re done,” he starts, “I need to head out to meet my contact.”

I pick up the pen and paper from the table, scribbling down my address, a list of essentials, and the gallery information for him.

“Here, this is everything.”

“I’ll be back later,” he says, turning to leave.

As I watch him walk out of the safe house, a tight knot forms in my stomach. Years of living alone have sharpened my instincts, making me acutely aware of potential danger. A sense of foreboding washes over me, whispering that something is coming—something I can feel deep within my bones.

I take my coffee into the living room, attempting to find comfort on the worn couch. He didn’t mention how long he’d be gone, leaving me with an unsettling sense of time stretching ahead. I scan the sparse room for any distraction—no television, no magazines, no computer… Wait, is that a book? My heart quickens as I hurry to a small shelf nestled in the corner.

I pull down a soft, weathered leather-bound book, its cover plain but enticing. I undo the leather string holding it closed, revealing a journal of sorts, a chronicle of thoughts or events. Settling back onto the sofa, I dive into its pages, eager to unravel the mystery of Varyn Blackmoore.

As I read, his words reflect the man himself: devoid of emotion, as cold and calculated as his actions. The entries are stark and factual, documenting his life as part of a coven of witches and warlocks dedicated to investigating dark magic. They undertake missions, reporting back to their… leader? But I notice a troubling pattern; Varyn hasn’t been on a mission in over a year.

Turning the page, I find frantic notes about the Siphon, piecing together how he ended up in that forsaken warehouse with me. The journal’s tone shifts from teamwork to solitary pursuits, revealing a focus on a single adversary.

A sudden chill races through me, prickling my skin and raising the hair on my neck. Goosebumps spread across my arms as an instinctual warning unfolds inside me. I snap the journal shut and set it on the coffee table, bracing myself for whatever dark presence looms just beyond the walls.

A loud crash of shattering glass erupts from the back of the house, jolting me upright. I instinctively raise my hands in a defensive stance, a reflex from the self-defense classes I took. A heavy thud against the front door sends a shockwave of dread through me. Then, with a violent swing, the door bursts open, crashing against the wall.

“Audrey Sinclair,” a low, menacing voice slithers through the air, sending a cold shiver down my spine. A hulking, cloaked man steps into the threshold, triggering a surge of alarm in Varyn’s magic within me. The neutralizing spell. “You’ll be coming with us.”

“Your magic doesn’t work here!” I retort, retreating to gain space as another hooded figure emerges from the shadows of the hallway. Two men. I can handle two men.

“I don’t need magic to subdue you,” he replies, advancing.

They’ll have to kill me to take me. I refuse to be easy prey, not today. My heart pounds in my chest, a relentless drumbeat of defiance. I won’t go down without a fight. I brace myself, every nerve alive with adrenaline, ready to unleash the fury that has been simmering beneath the surface. If they want me, they’ll have to claw their way through every ounce of strength I possess.

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