One Hell of a Date.

“Cady, I’m off!” I call out, flinging my purse over my shoulder while wobbling on a pair of heels like a drunk toddler. “Cady!” “Would you be quiet?” she hisses from the living room. “I’m trying something!”

Curiosity gets the better of me. It always does. Which, now that I think about it, explains a lot about my life choices.

I stick my neck into the living room. And my jaw slackens. “Cady… is that a spirit board?”

She doesn’t even look up. “It’s called an Ouija board, Amara. And yes, it is.”

“Where did you even get that?” I eye the worn slab of wood with the appropriate amount of contempt.

“Flea market,” she says proudly. “The woman who sold it to me swore it’s legit.” “Right,” I mutter.

Because nothing screams trustworthy like a haunted clearance item.

I adjust my bag, trying to ignore the weird prickle at the back of my neck. “Well, I’m off to the family dinner from hell. Wish me luck.”

Cad”Must you go? Fake a fever. Get food poisoning. Fall down the stairs.“y finally looks up, and immediately grimaces.

“I would,” I say dryly, “but then mom would just reschedule. Not to mention the dynamic duo would call me every five minutes, pretending to check up on me.”

Cady winced. “Right. The dynamic duo.”

For those of you who don’t know,

The dynamic duo is-

my sister. My ex boyfriend.

Together.

And yes, its exactly as bad as it sounds.

And tonight, they’ll be sitting across from me at a dinner table like they haven’t completely wrecked my dignity six months ago.

And I’ll have to pretend I’m ok with it.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, more out of obligation than belief. “I can’t avoid them forever.”

“You could try,” Cady offers. “People move countries for less.”

A small laugh escapes me, but it doesn’t quite reach my chest.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer now.

I hesitate.

Because the truth is—

No.

I’m not okay.

I’m not okay with the way my sister looks at me like she’s won something. I’m not okay with how easily Jake replaced me. And I definitely am not okay with the fact that tonight, I’ll have to walk in alone.

Again.

But instead, I shrug.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll survive.”

Cady watches me for a moment longer, like she doesn’t quite believe me.

“Well… good luck,” she says finally, turning back to her board. “I’ll be here when you get back from your little adventure—hopefully sipping margaritas with James Dean’s ghost.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Why James Dean, out of all the dead people?”

“Because summoning is hard, okay?” she shoots back, holding up what I’ve only now noticed is an old, battered journal. “If I’m going through the effort, he’s at least got to be hot.”

“Fair,” I mutter.

Then, adjusting the strap of my purse, I add, half-joking, “And if you’re feeling generous… you can summon me a boyfriend too.”

Cady snorts.

I grin. “Someone hot enough to get Mom off my back—and maybe make my sister spontaneously combust from jealousy.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “And what exactly am I supposed to say?”

Before I can answer, she wiggles her fingers dramatically over the board, dropping into the worst spooky voice I’ve ever heard.

“Ohhh, mighty board from the depths of hell,” she intones, “grant my friend your hottest, most dangerously attractive demon—”

A loud crack of thunder splits the sky. The windows rattle. The lights flicker.

We both freeze.

Slowly, I turn my head toward her. She stares back.

“Well, that was weird.” She says slowly. “Yeah,” I agree quickly, the hair at the back of my neck standing.

Then I grab the handle and yank the door open. “Anyway! I’m leaving. Before something actually does come through that board.” “Bye, babe,” she waves me off. “Break a leg. Or in this case, break theirs.” “Now you’re just putting ideas in my head.”

***

The night air hits me like a slap. Cold. Sharp. Awake.

I exhale slowly, pulling my jacket tighter around myself as I step onto the sidewalk.

Okay. You can do this. It’s just dinner. Just your ex. Just your sister. Just the two people who make you question your entire worth sitting across from you, probably judging every word that comes out of your mouth.

Easy.

My phone buzzes. I glance down at the screen and groan. Another Uber canceled.

“Of course,” I mutter.

I turn, already pulling up the app again— Not really looking where I’m going.

And slam straight into something solid.

“Ow!” I gasp, stumbling back and clutching my nose.

Brick wall. Why the fuck would someone build a brick wall in the middle of a sidewalk—

I look up, fully ready to curse the entire construction industry…

Except—

It’s not a wall.

But a man.

A very tall man.

Six-foot-five, easy.

Sharp jaw—like Calvin Klein male underwear model sharp. Perfect nose, perfect dark hair that seems to effortlessly fall in his eyes. His leather jacket hugs his arms in a way that must be illegal in at least twelve states.

My brain short-circuits. Completely.

Which explains why the first thing out of my mouth is—

“What are you?”

I wince. Smooth, Amara. Very smooth.

“I mean—who are you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Hey, Amara,” he says smoothly. “I’m Damien.”

Damien. Even his name sounds illegal.

I blink.

Wait.

My brain catches up—just a little.

“How do you know my name?”

His smile doesn’t falter. “Because you summoned me.”

I stare at him.

“I’m sorry,” I say slowly, narrowing my eyes, “did you just say summoned?”

“It’s me, love.” He tilts his head slightly, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “The demon you ordered from the deepest pits of hell.”

I falter.

Then—

I let out a short breath of laughter. “Haha. Very funny.” I lift a hand, giving a small wave to absolutely no one in particular. “Where’s the camera? Am I supposed to laugh now or later?”

“There is no camera,” he says calmly. “You summoned me. Which means I’m bound to you. For as long as I remain here, I follow you.”

I look at him. Really look this time.

Gorgeous. Unnaturally so,

It’s just my bad luck that the first ridiculously hot guy I see in forever is a complete psychopath.

“Okay. You know what,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. “That’s where this goes from funny to concerning.”

His expression doesn’t change. Mine does.

“Don’t follow me,” I say flatly. “Or I’ll call the cops.”

Then I turn and keep walking.

I expect him to drop it. I hope he drops it.

He doesn’t.

I can hear him behind me—steady footsteps, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be.

The street starts thinning out without me really noticing when it happens. Fewer people. Less noise. Just the sound of my steps… and his.

My grip tightens around my bag.

Okay. Don’t panic. Police station. Just head there.

I pick up my pace. So does he.

Before I can decide whether to turn around or sprint, a man steps out of an alley ahead of me, grabbing my arm hard enough to make me gasp.

“Bag,” he snarls. “Now.”

He presses something cold into my stomach.

I glance down, and the flash of silver catches my eye.

My heart lurches into my throat.

A gun.

Running from a psychopath and ending up in the arms of a mugger.

What shit luck.