Chapter 11 · The Ghost of a Kiss

"Get your hands off me!"

I slammed my back against the cold brick, the impact rattling my teeth.

Dax didn't flinch. He stepped into my space, chest nearly brushing mine, pinning me with a look that felt like a physical weight. He didn't grab me, but he blocked every exit. He was a wall of muscle and secrets, smelling of rain and old ozone.

"You saw it," he said. His voice was a low grate. No apology. "You saw me kill you. Now tell me why the hell you're still breathing, Mara."

"Maybe I'm a ghost," I spat. My breath came in jagged hitches. "Or maybe you're just a liar who enjoys the slaughter. Which one is it?"

I tried to slide left. He shifted instantly.

*Bam.*

His arm slammed against the brick beside my head. The sound echoed in the narrow alley, sharp as a gunshot. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the Veyra night. My heart hammered against my ribs—not just fear. It was the sheer, suffocating pressure of him.

"Liar," he echoed. He leaned in, lips inches from my ear. "I don't lie about death.