Novels by Aliast

I woke up feeling too hot.Sticky warmth clung to my skin, and for a moment, I couldn’t understand why. The sheets were heavy, the air thick, and my body was pressed against something radiating heat.My eyes fluttered open, heart skipping as I stared at a ceiling I didn’t recognize. This wasn’t my room. The space was too quiet, too clean. My mind scrambled to catch up, sluggish and disoriented.Then I felt the steady rise and fall beneath my hand. The solid warmth of another body beneath the blankets.Misha.Memory crashed back in all at once. The gunshot wounds, the blood, the doctor’s voice, skin to skin. Climbing into bed beside him, hoping to keep him alive. Eyes widened in panic, I slowly took everything in mind. My hand was splayed across Misha’s bare chest, rising and falling slowly beneath my touch. His heartbeat pulsed steady under my palm, and I realized I had curled into his side during the night, drawn by instinct an

“One more thing,” the doctor said, glancing at Misha’s pale, still form under the blankets.“What is it, doc?” James responded before I could. “His core temp’s dropped. He’s hypothermic.”James frowned. “The heater’s on.”“Won’t be enough if it keeps dipping,” the doctor said. “Fastest way to raise his temperature is body heat. Skin to skin.”She said it casually, like it was just another part of her job. Then her gaze slid pointedly to me.Before I could respond, James recoiled like she'd just told him to suck venom from a snake itself. “Hell no. Don’t look at me, I’m not gay.”The doctor rolled her eyes. “Didn’t ask you to be.”Skin to skin. That’s what she said. And suddenly, finally, I understood. That was what Misha meant. Right before he passed out.‘Strip,’ he’d said. I thought he was delirious. Dying. Making some dark jokes. But he was trying to save himself. Trying to tell me what wo

“What do you mean by that?!” I nearly screamed, eyes wide, frantic, and barely keeping Misha steady in my lap. “He’s wounded and freezing to death. I won't let him die. He needs a damn doctor!”James shook his head, jaw clenched, blood soaking through the rag pressed to his side. “No hospital. Not an option.”Now, I knew for sure he'd lost his mind. “Misha’s barely conscious. He could have internal bleeding. He’s—he’s ice-cold, shaking—this isn’t something I can fix with a first-aid kit!”“Because, duh! They’ll see the bullet hole and we’re both screwed,” James muttered, taking a sharp turn. “Hospital’s out. But I’ve got a private doctor. Used to be licensed until she got caught doing lines in an on-call room. Now she runs quiet, no-questions gigs. One hell of a surgeon, though.”“What—”“Long story. Point is she’s fast, discreet, and already on her way. Won’t call the cops. Or the Vatican.”I looked down at Misha’s face. His ski

Everything went crazy and I didn't know what to do. But, I ran. Slipped on blood once, caught myself on the doorframe and kept running.Blankets. Anything. I didn’t think, didn’t breathe, just grabbed what I could. An old wool coat from the hall closet. A few towels. The blanket from the sofa. My own sweater from the chair. I dropped half of it in my haste and had to scoop it up again with trembling hands.He was dying.Misha was dying and I couldn’t even keep my grip on a towel.I stumbled back into the bedroom, arms overflowing, heart threatening to crack my ribs open from the inside.He was still on the bed, barely upright, barely conscious. His face looked wrong. Pale, waxy. Lips cracked and blue-tinged. Eyes half-lidded and glassy. Blood soaked the sheets. Soaked him.I couldn’t even tell how much was left in him. So, I dumped the blankets and tore into them, wrapping him with frantic, clumsy hands. My voice shook, cracked,

The scream cracked through the air behind the door.Lorraine.My body moved on instinct. Rounded the corner fast, Glock raised, steps silent.Two intruders. Backs to me. Focused on the panic room panel.The first didn’t even turn. I fired two rounds to the base of the skull. He dropped face-first, dead before he hit the floor.Unfortunately, the second whipped around. Quicker reflexes. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and bolted left, dropping behind the overturned dresser for cover.Smart.He poked his head up, rifle tight against his shoulder. Visor glinting under the guest room's light. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he said, tone rattled. “You jumped off a goddamn cliff—”He paused.I didn’t reply.His stare lingered a second too long on the soaked fabric clinging to my frame, the bloodless graze on my bicep, the gashes down my arms and face. Skin pale blue from the sea. Lips

I fell and the sea devoured me. Crushing me. The freezing slap of it hit like a hammer, bone-deep and merciless. My brain blanked. Every muscle locked at once. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. The cold wasn’t just cold, it was pain incarnate. Knives under the skin. Fire in reverse.Salt water forced its way into my nose, my mouth, my lungs. I gagged, thrashed. My limbs flailed blindly, heavy with soaked clothes, already numbing. My shoulder shrieked where the bullet had grazed me. My ribs felt cracked from the impact, every breath stabbing me from the inside out.Up—get up—get up—But I couldn’t tell which way was up. Darkness churned around me, full of current and death. My chest screamed. My mind started to fray.Then, I burst through the surface with a strangled gasp. Air tore into my lungs like glass. I coughed, hard, hacking salt and blood. My jaw locked from the cold, teeth rattling, and I barely got a breath before—A

The silence between us was louder than the music still pulsing behind us. I didn’t dare look back. Not at the booth, not at the other dancers, not even at Isla, though I could feel her eyes searing a warning into my spine.Elian didn’t touch me. He didn’t need to. His presence guided me like a hook beneath my skin, dragging me in his wake, through the hallways, past velvet ropes and guards who looked away the moment they saw him.We took a different elevator, this one required a keycard. He slid it without a word, and the doors sealed shut behind us with a hiss that sounded too much like finality.Just him.Just me.And the soft hum of the ascent.I tried not to fidget. My fingers twitched against the hem of my too-short dress. The flip phone was still in his hand. I couldn’t stop staring at it.He didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. Just stared ahead at his reflection in the mirror-paneled walls like a statue car

The call ended with Charlie’s panic still echoing in my head, full of all the things I didn’t want to hear right now. I didn’t even have time to process what I’d just admitted before a sharp knock landed on the door like a warning shot.Three quick raps.I shot to my feet and shoved the phone under the pillow. “Just a second.”The voice that answered didn’t sound like it liked waiting. “I wasn’t asking.”The door creaked open before I even reached it. Isla stood there, silver hair falling in a straight, ruthless sheet, lips the color of dried blood, and boots that could crush bones. She didn’t bother stepping in. She just held out a black hanger with a thin, shimmery slip of a dress dangling from it like a threat. “Shower. Dress. Don’t keep them waiting.”I frowned in confusion. “Them?”“Clients,” Isla deadpanned. “You’ve got a booth tonight.”Right. That. I’d almost forgotten the cover I was working

The hallway above Evergarden was almost too clean for a nightclub. No trace of the sweat and liquor downstairs. Even the air smelled faintly of bleach, leather, and whatever cologne the bouncer ahead of me was wearing. He didn’t speak as we walked, just climbed the stairs with me following behind. No introduction between us. Perhaps he was expecting me to get kicked out next week. Hopefully, because that meant I would still be alive by then.He stopped in front of a door with number 304 in it and keyed in a code. The lock beeped softly and clicked open. He turned just enough to glance at me, face unreadable. “Your key code’s the last four digits of your Social. If you need anything, ask for Juno at the front desk. No outside visitors unless cleared by Isla.”“Got it.” I muttered, silently remembering what my fake Social number was. He didn’t say anything else and just walked off like he had a dozen other things to do, and I was already one too

Elian signed the check with a single, deliberate stroke. His name stretched across ten million dollars like it meant nothing more than a normal paper. Not blood. Then, he stood and slid it across the table.Galli snatched it before the ink dried, his fingers twitching like he’d been starving for it. He looked like a greedy, dirty rat. The kind of man who wouldn’t flinch cutting someone open if it meant a bigger payday.Elian didn’t even glance at him as he muttered, “Let’s go.”Jodie was already halfway to the door, phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen with mechanical focus. I followed them briskly, knowing damn well what staying behind would mean. Galli’s men stood like shadows wrapped in designer suits. I didn’t look back, but I felt them. Their eyes clung to me despite Elian’s jacket, sticky and cold.Outside, the air hit like a slap from the rain. Cool, damp, sharp enough to remind me I was still alive.The black SUV waited

The one called Luca, the same bastard who’d spilled the drink on me earlier, stood at Galli’s shoulder. His gun unholstered, leveled with clinical precision at my head. His partner aimed an identical muzzle at Jodie.It wasn’t the first time I’d had a gun to my head. Occupational hazard. Came with the territory. But a cold sweat still dotted my brow, panic began to swirl like silt in dark water, and my stomach flipped ugly. It had been years since I’d been a detective with a gun in my hand instead of aimed at it.The same couldn’t be said for Jodie. That woman was giving cool, calm, and collected a run for its money. Her face was drawn, mouth tight. Either she was used to this or she had good reason not to worry.I prayed it was the second.Then, I saw Elian pull the gun from behind his body. A motion fluid, practiced, and laced with a violent sort of grace.It was the Glock 17 from before. I knew that model well

The suited man returned, a dark bottle of something too expensive to pronounce cradled like a fragile family heirloom between his gloved hands.“Ah,” Galli murmured, eyeing the bottle with a crooked grin. “Dalmore 62. A fitting pour for a man like you, Morgenstein. Rare, aged in secrecy, with just enough burn to keep people honest.”Elian said nothing. He merely watched, lips a still line, as the suited man began to pour.He started with Galli, tilting the bottle expertly, a neat stream of amber liquid catching the light as it spilled into the crystal glass. Then to Jodie, whose fingers curled loosely around the stem, eyes fixed on the table. Then to Elian.When the suited man reached me, though, his hand twitched. The drink splashed sharply over the rim, half in my glass, the rest cascading down the front of my dress like molten honey. Cold, sticky, humiliating.I gasped. The thin, rain-damp fabric clung to my skin, now darker with the spill, outlining my bra in stark relief beneath t