Chapter 2

Friday evening pressed against the windows of Alison’s cramped dorm room, the city’s neon glow painting faint stripes across her flushed skin. She clutched the burner phone Destiny had given her, its sleek surface cold against her palm. For days, phantom sensations had haunted her—Destiny’s tongue, the brutal fullness of the devices, the twin Crane-like mouths devouring her. But threaded through the shame was a relentless, liquid heat. The headphones Destiny had forced into her ears after the Crescent still echoed commands: Feel. Don’t act. Observe. Alison’s thumb hovered over the single contact—*DESTINY (EMERGENCY ONLY)*. Chloe’s weekend schedule burned in her mind, details pried loose during casual sisterly chatter: Saturday morning, 7 AM, her usual five-mile loop through Rock Creek Park. Alone. Alison pressed call.

Destiny answered on the second ring. Not a greeting—just silence, thick and expectant. Alison’s breath hitched. “She runs,” Alison whispered, voice trembling. “Tomorrow. Rock Creek. West Ridge Trail. Early.” She recited the route, the time, the worn blue leggings Chloe favored. Silence stretched. Alison could almost feel Destiny’s predatory smile through the line. “Good,” Destiny finally purred, the word vibrating deep in Alison’s belly, stirring the embers of arousal she was forbidden to stoke. “Keep feeling, Captain.

The crisp Saturday morning air bit at Alison’s lungs as she fell into step beside Chloe on the leaf-strewn West Ridge Trail. Sunlight filtered weakly through the canopy, dappling Chloe’s blonde ponytail as it bounced with each stride. Alison’s own legs felt heavy, leaden—not from exertion, but from the simmering dread and illicit excitement coiling low in her gut. Chloe glanced over, cheeks flushed with exertion. “Surprised to see you up this early!” she chirped. Alison forced a tight smile. “Couldn’t sleep,” she lied, her gaze flicking to Chloe’s compact ass, perfectly outlined in the thin blue leggings. Destiny’s phantom command echoed: Observe.

They ran in silence for a mile, the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound beyond their breathing. Alison’s pulse hammered against her ribs, louder than her footsteps. Each glance at Chloe’s trusting profile felt like betrayal. Ahead, the trail curved sharply beside a weathered wooden bench overlooking a small creek—the designated turning point Chloe always used. Destiny’s hissed instruction from the burner phone call clawed its way back: Insist. Alison swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “Hey,” she panted, slowing her pace slightly. “My legs are toast. Mind if we grab a coffee? Just up on Adams Mill Road.” She gestured vaguely toward the trailhead parking lot barely visible through the trees.

Chloe’s face lit up, genuine warmth chasing away the exertion’s flush. “Oh my god, yes!” she gasped, slowing to a walk beside Alison. “I’d love that. Honestly? I was hoping we’d get some sister time.” Her smile was luminous, untroubled. “Things have felt ... distant lately.” Relief washed over Alison, sharp and poisonous. Chloe’s easy acceptance was the perfect trap. They veered off the main trail onto a narrower, moss-slicked path winding uphill toward the parking area. Thick rhododendron bushes crowded the edges, their dark leaves swallowing the morning light. Chloe chatted brightly about her latest boyfriend drama, completely unaware of the tension coiling tighter in Alison’s gut with every step.

The cafe was a tiny, steamy oasis tucked between an antique store and a boarded-up laundromat. A bell jingled loudly as they pushed open the door, breaking the quiet. Inside, it smelled overwhelmingly of burnt espresso beans and cinnamon. Behind the scuffed counter, a bored-looking barista with vibrant purple streaks in her messy bun—Lena, according to her crooked nametag—leaned against the espresso machine, scrolling her phone. Near the lone front window, a lanky guy in a faded band tee nursed a mug, chatting softly with Lena. He flashed Chloe a quick, appreciative glance but turned back quickly when Lena snapped something about oat milk foam. “Two black coffees?” Chloe asked brightly, already pulling out her wallet. Lena nodded wordlessly, turning to the grinder. Chloe added, “And those lemon poppyseed muffins!” She pointed to a glass case displaying pastries glistening under fluorescent lights.

They slid onto cracked leather stools inn a booth, the vinyl squeaking under Alison’s leggings. Chloe blew across her steaming mug before taking a tentative sip. “So,” she sighed, setting it down. Her blue eyes searched Alison’s face, earnest and open. “What’s really going on with you lately? You’ve been ... different.” Alison’s throat tightened. She traced a scratch on the countertop with her fingertip, the porcelain cool beneath her touch. How could she explain the phantom fullness, the way her gaze kept snagging on Chloe’s legging-clad thigh pressed against hers? The forbidden pull Destiny had ignited? Before Alison could formulate a lie—or a horrifying shred of truth—the cafe door jingled again, violently this time. A shadow fell across their stools.

He filled the doorway, shoulders brushing each side of the frame—a solid mountain of muscle clad in a faded black tank top stretched taut over pectorals like sculpted granite. His skin was deep obsidian, gleaming faintly with sweat under the harsh fluorescents. Corded veins snaked down forearms thicker than Chloe’s thighs. He moved with unnerving silence for his size, boots thudding softly on the worn linoleum as he approached the counter. Lena froze mid-pour, her purple-streaked hair swinging as her gaze travelled slowly, apprehensively, up the sheer cliff-face of his torso. “Large coffee,” he rumbled, his voice a low bass vibration that seemed to resonate in Alison’s ribcage. “Black.” He dropped a crumpled bill onto the counter. The coins Lena slid back clattered loudly in the sudden silence. Without another word, he turned, scanning the cramped space. His dark, impassive eyes landed briefly on the booth where Alison and Chloe sat pressed together. Alison felt Chloe stiffen beside her, a tiny gasp catching in her throat. The man’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat—cold, assessing, utterly devoid of warmth—before he moved toward the lone stool near the door. He lowered himself onto it with deceptive grace. The small stool groaned under his immense weight.

The bell jingled again, softer this time. Destiny strode in, Ramona a half-step behind her. Destiny wore sleek charcoal leggings and a fitted athletic jacket, her posture radiating cool command. Ramona, shorter and powerfully built like a fireplug, scanned the room with sharp, wary eyes. Destiny’s gaze swept past Alison and Chloe as if they were furniture, landing on Lena. “Baileys coffee, hot,” Destiny ordered, her voice crisp and clear. “And a large black.” She gestured casually toward Ramona. Lena nodded mutely, scrambling for the Baileys bottle. Destiny’s head turned slowly, deliberately. Her eyes widened with feigned surprise. “Alison?” A delighted smile curved her lips. “Captain Prescott! What a lovely surprise.” She closed the distance in two strides, pulling Alison into a firm embrace. Alison inhaled sharply—Destiny’s scent, clean sweat mingled with expensive bergamot oil, flooded her senses. Strong arms encircled her, one hand pressing flat, possessively, against the small of Alison’s back. The embrace lingered—a fraction too long, the pressure too intimate—before Destiny released her. Alison’s cheeks burned. Destiny’s eyes flickered toward Chloe, bright with predatory curiosity. “And who’s this?” Destiny asked, her tone warm velvet draped over steel.