It wasn’t a stunning place—a one-bedroom basement flat—but it was home nonetheless. Katie had the bedroom, since she paid more in rent, and Ursula slept in the living room, tidying up an air mattress every morning. With Katie’s help, she’d brightened up the woodchip wallpaper with canary-yellow paint and some posters of wildflowers—forget-me-nots and golden aster—that reminded her of her most soothing dreams.

Ursula pulled out her phone, flicking open a text from Katie.

Happy Birthday Ursula! I’m coming home soon. Let’s go out.

A pit opened in her stomach. She was going to have to tell Katie about her little rent problem. She dropped her phone on the sofa, then peeled off her leopard-print coat and the beer-soaked shirt and bra, still shivering, before yanking a black shirt and bra off the drying rack. Might as well have an outfit to match my mood.

She slipped into her dry clothes, then crossed to the kitchen, a cupboard-sized space with a tiny vinyl countertop. As she flipped open the blinds, she let a little light in from the streetlamp outside. Crouching before a kitchen drawer, she rifled around for a box of matches.

After lighting two tea candles by the stove, she felt her stomach rumble. When was the last time she’d eaten?

Yanking open the fridge door, she grabbed the last smear of butter. Bread and butter for dinner.

Just as she reached for the loaf of bread, the hair on her neck prickled. Someone was watching her. She could always tell when she was being observed. And right now, someone was most definitely lurking in the shadows of her tiny flat.

Slowly, she turned, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest. Moving silently through the living room was a broad-shouldered man, his face hidden in the gloom. Probably her flatmate’s latest conquest, but better safe than sorry. She slid open the knife drawer.

Carefully, so as not to alarm the stranger, she gripped a knife’s hilt, her hand hidden in the drawer.

The man prowled closer, his movements smooth and almost inhuman.

Ice licked up her spine. Just outside the doorframe, the stranger paused in the shadows.

She swallowed. “Who’s there?”

His green eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and the word witch flitted through her mind.

“My name is Kester.” His deep voice slid through her bones.

When he stepped into the flickering candlelight, she gasped in recognition. Rich chestnut hair, sharp cheekbones, and perfect lips. The hot bloke from the club. What the hell is he doing here?

Cold fear tightened her chest. Ursula tightened her fingers around the knife’s hilt. “You followed me.” A tendril of horror curled around her heart. “Did you just watch me take off my shirt?”