1: THE MAN FROM A THOUSAND VISIONS

CELESTE

Three years later…

The bar wasn’t my first choice. Hell, it wasn’t even my second.

But when you’ve spent days delivering the kind of news that rips people’s lives apart and leaves an irreparable emptiness in its wake, you take what you can get.

I stepped inside, The bar was loud, crowded, and just what I needed to drown out the voices in my head.

The heat, noise, laughter, music, the low buzz of too many voices packed into one space, it all swirled around me, loud and chaotic.The air smelled like alcohol, sweat, and something metallic.

No surprise there. Earth always smelled like that, like desperation wrapped in perfume.

As I weaved through the chaotic crowd, the Fates’ voices were still ringing in my head, repeating words that I had no intentions of heeding despite the unspoken threats behind them.

“Return to Valhalla or face the consequences.”

Their voices were cold and unrelenting, like they didn’t care about the effect their commands had on me. And in truth, they really didn’t.

Why would they? I was a tool to them, nothing more, an  excuse for them to escape the worst parts of their god-ordained purpose

But even tools can break, and I felt like I was about to snap in half.

The faces of the families I’d visited over the past few days were burned into my memory.

The father who had fallen to his knees, sobbing. The mother clutching at my arm, begging me to take the words back. The little boy begging for an opportunity to turn back time. I couldn’t.

That wasn’t how this worked. All I could do was deliver the message and walk away, leaving them to deal with the horrid aftermath.

But I couldn't let go of how their grief stuck to me. Heavy and suffocating. No matter how many times I told myself it wasn’t my fault, it didn’t make it better.

Tonight wasn’t about easing their pain, though. Tonight was about easing mine.

With that in mind, I headed straight for the bar and slid onto a stool, keeping my head down. The bartender didn’t even bother hiding the way he paused when he saw me like he wasn't sure what he was seeing.

It wasn’t just the lilac hair that made people stare, my beauty was the kind that made people uncomfortable. It was too striking, too much for most to handle.

I was even wearing a half mask that covered my eyes and nose, but my beauty was obviously still glaring judging from how heads were turning from every corner of the bar.

But I had gotten used to those reactions, so they didn’t bother nor flatter me. It was always the same, men staring, stealing glances, but never approaching. I could feel their eyes on me like they couldn’t decide whether to admire or avoid me. Frankly, I loved it when they chose the latter option.

“A bottle of vodka,” I said to the bartender, louder than I intended.

His eyebrows shot up. “The whole bottle?”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, my tone sharper than necessary.

He shrugged and handed it over. I grabbed the bottle, poured myself a glass, and tipped it back in one gulp. The burn hit my throat and chest, but it was the first thing I’d felt all day that didn’t make me want to scream. I poured another. Then another.

Around me, the murmur of conversation and laughter continued, but I kept my eyes on the drink in front of me. I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone’s gaze, to see the curiosity or the intimidation I usually got. Not tonight.

But the stares came anyway. I felt them like a low itch at the base of my spine.

I could hear the whispers, the way people leaned in close to murmur about the woman with the lilac hair and the half-mask. Even with my face partially covered, I knew I stood out. I always did.

But they weren’t brave enough to approach. That’s how it usually went, people stared but kept their distance, unsure of what to do with me. It suited me just fine.

Except for him.

I didn’t see him at first. I was halfway through with my third glass when it happened. A bead of vodka slipped past my lips, trailing lazily down my neck to settle on my cleavage. I barely noticed it, until I felt the touch.

Warm fingers, soft but deliberate, brushed against my skin like they belonged there.

My entire body froze.

My head snapped down, my pulse racing as I realized what was happening. Someone was touching me. My eyes followed the hand, moving upward to meet the face of the man it belonged to.

And that’s when I saw him.

My breath caught.

It was him.

The man from a thousand visions that I’d had since I was fifteen. The one who kissed me like I was his salvation and whispered things that made my heart twist in ways that words couldn’t possibly describe.

I’d stopped seeing him in my dreams or visions after the one where we shared that mindblowing kiss. And now, he was here, standing in front of me.

There’s no way anyone could forget a face like his even though they’d only seen it for a fleeting second.

He looked even better in person, with tall, broad shoulders that fit perfectly into his tailored jacket, and his dark hair that swept back just enough to frame his sharp jawline and piercing dark eyes.

But it wasn’t just his looks that drew me in. It was the way he carried himself like he owned every space he stepped into, including the one I occupied.

He didn’t look intimidated by my beauty, and that was probably because his was just as commanding of attention and awe as mine.

For the first time in my life, I knew how others felt around me.

How enamored and speechless they always were when I walked into any space. It was both humbling and unsettling to be on the other side of the coin for once.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, his voice smooth and rich, soft enough to pull you in, but strong enough to hold you there. “It seemed like a shame to let it go to waste.”

I stared at him, my heart racing for reasons I didn’t want to think about.

He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on me. All that cocky attitude did was piss me off in an instant, but it did nothing to tone down how excited my nerves were to be in his presence.

My brain was clamoring for me to speak some sense into him, but my body was itching to be pressed against every delectable, strong, defined muscle of his.

Luckily, my brain won this round.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I snapped, my voice colder than I intended.

He didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened. “I think I’m the man buying your drink,” he said simply, pulling out a sleek black card and sliding it across the bar.

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him to back off, but before I could get a word out, he leaned in closer, his woody and inviting masculine scent whipping a cloud of  arousal in the pit of my stomach.

“Come with me,” he said, his tone low and confident. It wasn’t a question.