Xander Blackwood wasn't a fool.
He knew what obsession looked like.
He saw it in the mirror now every damn morning.
Aurora.
The woman who set his blood on fire.
The woman who lied with every kiss... and still left him wanting more.
Tonight, he wasn't going to wait for her to appear like a ghost.
No — tonight, he was going to find her
"Track her," he barked into the phone.
On the other end, Elijah — his most trusted tech man — sounded hesitant.
"Boss, she's a ghost. No records. No ID. Nothing real."
"She's real enough when she's riding my cock," Xander growled. "Find her."
There was a pause.
Then Elijah said, very quietly, "Maybe you shouldn't dig too deep into this one, sir."
Xander hung up without answering.
He didn't care about warnings.
He didn't care about the risk.
He needed to know.
Who she was.
Why she kept running.
Why, despite every warning bell in his head, he wanted her more each time she disappeared.
Hours later, he found her.
It wasn't hard once you knew where to look.
Aurora was sitting alone at a smoky underground club — the kind where danger wasn't a rumor, it was a promise.
She wore a deep red dress tonight, slit dangerously high, the neckline plunging low.
She was sipping a drink slowly, sensuously, like she wasn't aware half the room was drooling over her.
But she knew.
Aurora always knew.
Xander's hands itched.
He wanted to drag her out of here.
Strip her bare.
Chain her to his bed until she forgot how to run.
He stalked through the crowd, his body a live wire of tension.
Aurora spotted him halfway across the room — and smiled.
A slow, wicked smile.
She didn't run.
Not this time.
She stood, sauntering toward him, hips swaying like a metronome of sin.
When she reached him, she looked up, her voice a silky thread.
"You found me."
"You're mine," he said roughly, gripping her waist.
"For now," she whispered.
Before he could respond, she pulled him into a kiss.
Right there, in the middle of the club.
Bold. Reckless. Claiming.
Her tongue slid against his, teasing, tasting.
Xander growled low in his throat, hauling her against him.
He didn't care who saw.
He didn't care about anything except the way she melted against him.
Aurora pulled away first, breathless.
"Take me home, Xander."
"Gladly."
He grabbed her hand, dragging her out into the night.
The second they were inside his car, she was on him — straddling him, grinding against his growing erection.
Her dress bunched around her hips, revealing black lace panties that did nothing to hide how wet she already was.
"You're insatiable," he muttered, gripping her ass.
"Only for you," she murmured, nipping at his throat.
He slid his hand under her panties, finding her soaked and ready.
Aurora whimpered, rocking against his fingers, desperate and wild.
Xander didn't give a damn about the fact they were parked on the street.
He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself.
Aurora gasped as he thrust into her, deep and hard.
She clung to him, her cries muffled against his shoulder as he fucked her mercilessly.
The car rocked with the force of their passion, the windows fogging up.
It was rough.
It was dirty.
It was perfect.
When she came, it was with a sob, her whole body tightening around him.
Xander followed, burying himself inside her with a hoarse groan.
They collapsed against each other, breathing hard, trembling.
He brushed her hair back, staring into her eyes.
"You're hiding something," he said quietly.
Aurora stiffened — just barely.
"What makes you say that?" she whispered.
He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Because every time I get close to you, you run."
She swallowed hard.
"I'm dangerous, Xander," she said. "You shouldn't want me."
"Too late," he said simply.
He kissed her again, softer this time.
Aurora melted into him — but something in her stayed stiff. Guarded.
He felt it.
And for the first time, a sliver of fear twisted inside him.
Not for himself.
For her.
What the hell was she running from?
And what if it was something that even he couldn't protect her from?
Later that night, after she finally fell asleep tangled in his arms, Xander slipped from the bed.
He opened his laptop, pulling up Elijah's latest report.
It was thin.
Too thin.
No fingerprints. No driver's license. No school records.
Except one small lead.
A photo — grainy, blurry — taken six years ago in Paris.
It showed Aurora... with a man whose face was blacked out.
And stamped across the file, one chilling word:
"CLASSIFIED."
Xander leaned back in his chair, a heavy feeling settling in his chest.
Aurora wasn't just a mystery.
She was a target.
And whatever secret she carried —
Whatever past she tried to bury —
It was coming for her.
And maybe for him too.
But one thing was already clear:
He would rather burn down the world than let her go.
Even if she was the death of him.