Chapter 2 — Into The Hollow

• ~ LYRA ~
• I sit in the back of Deputy Holloway’s car and stare out the window as we speed toward Moonmark Ink. I was able to read his name on the badge sitting on his dashboard the moment I climbed into his car.
• In truth, I still can’t believe how lucky Elias and I were to have been rescued. Human law enforcement only works in the daylight these days. Their power is limited because the thin veil between order and chaos falls once night comes.
• I wasn’t born before the world discovered that vampires, witches, warlocks, werewolves, and God knows what else were real, but I’ve heard the stories. The kind that rewrite history. The kind that make you wonder what kind of world we’ve really been living in all along.
• Governments changed decades ago when they realized they couldn’t fight what they didn’t understand. So they adapted. Made a pact. The day belonged to humans. The night—or at least certain nights—belonged to the supernatural.
• It was a smart deal from where I’m sitting. If you can’t win, you don’t wage war—you acclimate.
• Fight the fights you can win. Turn a blind eye to the ones you’ll lose. That was something my stepfather, Silas, always said.
• Deputy Holloway shifts in his seat and clicks something on the dashboard, trying to get my attention.
• “It’s not too late to turn around,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “There are wolves in Ashridge Hollow, miss. Bad ones. The kind that don’t wait for full moons or official warnings to do whatever they like to pretty little girls like you.”
• “I’ll be fine,” I reply, then I decide to add, “I heard that the part of town I’m going to is safe.”
• “That’s not true, and you know it. Your eyes might fool a human into thinking you are supernatural, but a supernatural? They’ll smell you are human from a mile away.”
• I flinch before I can stop myself. Of course, he noticed the uniqueness of my eyes—their strange blue-green hue that shifts when I’m emotional.
• Yes, I’m different. But how? I still don’t know.
• The mark behind my right ear came to life a few months ago and has been steadily rewriting the rules of my body ever since. My sight has sharpened. My hearing has intensified. Smells were overwhelming until I adjusted. Even my taste has changed, too.
• The taste of meat? Fantastic.
• But vegetables? Even drenched in dressing, still tastes like chewed bark.
• Then there are the physical changes.
• That patch of skin behind my ear started to itch a few days after the mark appeared. Then, it began to burn. I swear sometimes, it feels like it’s glowing from within.
• Aunt Maura and Silas—my aunt and stepfather, who later married and became my legal parents—started noticing the changes in my behaviour, my diet, and my eyes whenever I got upset.
• Then they discovered the mark.
• They stare at it all the time now, like they’re afraid it might burst into flame or grow teeth. Their scrutiny is what has pushed me to find a solution on my own. I don’t ask them questions because I know how it will end. My lineage is a sensitive topic to them.
• My mother died when I was a baby, leaving me in their care. Whatever secrets she took with her, no one seems willing to unearth them, so I don’t bother poking.
• However, Maura and Silas both told me to keep the mark hidden. I am never allowed to let anyone see it. Even Tess—my best friend since childhood—only knows a little. Although I know it's mainly because she avoids anything remotely supernatural. She doesn’t like “weird.” And the mark? It's weird as hell.
• So I've come here alone. To the boundary at Ashridge Hollow. Where Moonmark Ink is located. To get it covered.
• The mark itches now, as though it senses what I’m planning, and I resist the urge to touch it.
• “I understand the risk,” I say after a pause, turning to face the deputy. “I know what I’m doing. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
• He casts me a final worried glance, then nods and focuses on the road.
• Five minutes later, we pull up in front of Moonmark Ink.
• The air is raw and biting as I step out. It robs me of breath, and I pull my coat tighter around my body. Ashridge Hollow is nestled on top of a mountain. The temperature is always lower here. People say it’s because of the supernatural energy that coils through the town like mist, but I chalk it up to altitude.
• Just as I’m about to close the door, Deputy Holloway leans toward the open window and hands me a card. “Call this number if you need to leave in a hurry. They’ll send someone over. Ask for Trent. He’s... not human, but he’s reliable.”
• I nod, murmuring my thanks. He shifts the car into gear and gives me a long look. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
• I give him one last strained smile before I turn to face the shop. Two cars and a sleek, intimidating motorcycle are parked out front. The sign above the brick building features the silhouette of a howling wolf perched on a crescent moon carved in stone. MOONMARK INK is etched in bold, faded letters next to it.
• A blue neon OPEN sign flickers in the large glass window. And because I can’t see through the glass, I have no idea how many people might be inside.
• I take a few deep breaths, steadying myself before pulling a handful of papers from my bag that have different sizes of the same tattoo design etched on them. A bleeding heart. Just enough detail to mask the faint red tint of the mark without drawing attention.
• Squaring my shoulders, I walk toward the shop and push open the door.
• The shop is surprisingly normal. Framed artwork lines the walls. A couch and a few chairs form a waiting area. A large, round counter sits at the centre, portfolios scattered on top.
• "See? It’s fine. Normal. You can get some ink and finally put this behind you," I say to myself as I take in my surroundings.
• Warmth begins to seep into my limbs as the door clicks shut behind me. Voices drift from a hallway beyond the counter—deep, male tones—and I quickly glance down at the note I wrote.
• Moonmark Ink. Friday, September 11th. 7:30 PM.
• I instinctively glance at my wrist, only to realize that I forgot to put on my damn watch. I would have remembered if the mark was on my wrist. It would’ve definitely been easier to hide. Earrings don’t work so well on the back of the ear, like watches do on wrists. Hench, why I'm here.
• Sighing, I look up and thankfully spot a small wall clock. Exactly 7:30. Right on time. Thank the universe. I hate being late.
• Just then, the soft chatter drifting from the hallway stops. I hear a chair squeak, followed by heavy footsteps, and my heart begins to throb inside my chest, my palms going clammy.
• A figure comes around the corner, the dimly lit hallway making it impossible for me to see him clearly. However, I can still make out some of his features.
• By God, he’s enormous—well over six feet tall, with shoulders that seem to swallow the hallway. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t help myself.
• With each step, more of him is revealed, inch by slow inch. My eyes start with his scuffed boots and work their way up. Worn jeans hug his thighs, coming up to a tapered waist. The T-shirt shielding his torso is snug, revealing the outline of his muscular stomach.
• I swallow down the knot forming in my throat, waiting to see his face.
• Dark stubble shadows his chin and jaw, and matching hair brushes his shoulders. And the moment he steps into the light, I inhale raggedly. His brows are full, positioned perfectly over eyes that are the shade of silvery-gold. The colour is vibrant and stunning.
• He’s perfect.
• My mark burns white-hot, yanking my focus from the eye candy I’ve been ogling. I cover the spot with my hand, biting back a wince. As a result of that action, the papers i'm holding slip from my fingers and drift onto the low counter.
• I realize how I must look—grasping at my ear, dropping my things, unable to meet the man’s gaze.
• Just great. So much for playing it cool.
• “Sorry,” I mumble and try to ignore the ache in my ear, reaching for the papers as I shift my purse on my shoulder.
• The man beats me to the punch, moving so fast I take an alarmed step back. I lift my eyes from the large hands holding my belongings, his fingers thick and long, his nails neatly trimmed. And then his scent hits me like a wave—fresh fountain rain and woodsy spice—and my knees almost cave.
• “Lyra Vale?” he asks, the words a throaty timbre of sexual promise.
• I close my eyes. He sounds so familiar, like we’ve met before. “Yes,” I whisper, reminding myself to breathe.
• What’s wrong with me?
• “Shit.” He sounds like he’s coming closer, walking around the counter. “Let’s get you in the back. Please, follow me.”
• That sounds like a plan. The only problem is, I can’t move.
• I feel like my feet are rooted to the floor by invisible weights. My heart races, my mark pulses. And when his hand wraps around my forearm, the spell isn’t broken, but my body finally listens. I follow as he guides me to a room on the left of the hallway. I wonder why it doesn’t frighten me when he closes the door behind us.
• He’s a stranger, after all.
• “It’s going to be okay,” he says softly and turns me around. Our hands brush—skin against skin.
• In an instant, a connection is made.
• Something inside me reaches out to him, as if desperate for me to remember. The fuzzy sensation in my stomach explodes, and a tidal wave of heat erupts between my legs.
• Time seems to stand still, the walls of the mid-sized room closing in. I sway, afraid I might fall flat on my face. I gasp when my breasts begin to feel oddly heavy and swollen, and my soft cotton panties are suddenly uncomfortable against my clit.
• Confused, I lift my gaze to meet his.
• And that is when it hits me. I know who he is.
• What the hell?
• I’ve done things to him in my dreams that have left me panting, sweaty, and on the edge of climax. I don’t know his name, but I’m sure I could identify every inch of his body without the clothes. He has a tribal tattoo on his biceps that extends to his shoulder—an intricate, mesmerizing design.
• It’s not possible. It can’t be. It had all been a dream, right?
• Right?
• “It’s you,” I rasp before I can help myself, my throat tightening as I stare into his golden eyes.
• It seems impossible, but the man that has been haunting my dreams for the past few months is here, standing right in front of me.
• And I’m not asleep.