Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

The edges of my vision start to fade, and this time it’s not because of a camera flash.
Sitting in a white, tulle-draped chair right on the aisle is the man who caused my sleeplessness
last night. A man who has absolutely no business being here, at Charity’s wedding.
Why is he here?
Panic threatens to close my throat. I don’t know what to do, but it feels like something must be
done.
I look around first, to see if anyone else is panicked. It’s a silly instinct—he looks like a man, not
a monster, so why should they feel threatened?—but to me, Godzilla just popped up and swatted over
several skyscrapers, so it really feels like I shouldn’t be the only one flipping the fuck out.
I am, though.
Everyone else is simply attending a wedding.
I’m suddenly sucked back into Hell.
I still can’t breathe properly, but I try to as I shift my gaze back to make sure I’m not crazy and
seeing things, to make sure he’s the crazy one and he’s really sitting in the audience at my best friend’s
wedding.
He is, and his dark gaze is glued to me.
I try to make sense of it. My brain is rioting, panicking, throwing everything out of order. Trying
to restore some sense of order, I try to explain away his presence in a way that doesn’t have a thing to
do with me.
Maybe it’s a coincidence that he’s here. It’s not that he’s stalking me, he just happened to be
invited to the same wedding I’m in. It doesn’t seem likely, but it’s not entirely implausible. I don’t
know all of Tyler’s friends or family. Hell, he could even be someone’s plus-one.
My gaze shifts to the thin blonde sitting beside him. She’s wearing a purple dress that showcases
her cleavage. She’s pretty enough to be his date, but there’s no evidence to support it. She isn’t
leaning close to him to murmur commentary about the wedding. He doesn’t have a strong hand on her
thigh, a daring hand that might drop and slide up under her dress to cause trouble while she tries to
focus on the ceremony.
They don’t look like a couple, but that doesn’t mean they’re not.
That’s an even more horrifying thought.
I know nothing about the man. Just because he cornered a stranger in a dungeon and had his way
with her doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some bullshit normal life as a façade.
He could have a wife, kids, a fucking Labrador. He could have a house in the suburbs where he
exchanges mundane banter with his neighbor Bob over the idyllic barrier of his white picket fence.
Even though it’s all in my head, his presence was a few minutes ago and I wasn’t wrong about