Chapter Two

Aria

The diner sat on the opposite end of town. I parked in the dusty lot and got out. A loud cawing right in my ear made me shriek. A huge black crow perched on the hood of my car, staring at me with its beady black eyes.

I flapped a hand toward it. “Shoo, get off.” It cawed at me again, and tilted its head to the side, studying me. I backed away, slamming the door. Even the loud sound and echoing vibration didn’t scare it away. I shivered as it watched me.

I hated crows. They always seemed like bad luck, and I had more than enough of that. The crow stood on my car and watched me as I walked back toward the diner.

I went through the boring motions of my job. Serving, cleaning, listening to complaints, and smiling when I wanted to scream. Just a normal day.

Things got weird about two hours in. There was a kid in a booth, staring out the window, and ignoring his chocolate milkshake and his arguing parents. When I went to take the shake, he turned to me and pointed at the parking lot.

“I wonder whose car that is?” he remarked and turned back to the window. I followed his gaze and nearly dropped the chocolate milk all over the table.

My car was covered in crows.

Crows sat on the roof and hood, some even perched on the wing mirrors. There had to be at least fifty of them.

“Is that a flock of crows?” The kid’s mother asked. The little kid shook his head.

“It’s not a flock when it’s crows, mama. It’s a murder.” The kid turned to me. “It’s a murder of crows.”

A murder of crows.

The words seemed to ricochet in my head, echoing again and again.

I gripped his milkshake hard enough to crack the glass if I hadn’t been a hundred and ten-pound weakling and forced a smile.

Confused and freaked out, I turned toward the sound of the bell above the door jingling, ready to seat a new customer.

The man stood in the middle of the doorway, and I felt like all the air had left the room. He was tall and broad, so much bigger than me. His dark eyes fastened on me with an intensity I couldn’t escape. His eyes ran over my features, a pinch between his eyebrows telling me that he was studying me closely. I had no idea why. I was hardly a memorable girl and this guy? He was unforgettable.

“Welcome, sitting in or taking out?”

I jolted out of my daydream to see another waitress, Chrissy, had approached him, as I stood still like an idiot in the middle of the floor, with my mouth hanging open.

His dark eyes still on me, he spoke. “Sitting in.” He said each word separately as if they were another language to him. Intrigue blossomed in my belly to know more about this charismatic stranger in black who looked like he had wandered out of Viking times. He looked strong and noble, and just a little wicked, like he might abduct me and pillage me. I might not be against a bit of pillaging if the man looked like that.

He was pale, with slashed black brows and dark eyes that seemed somehow furious and intrigued all at once. His hair was dark, and long, caught up in a bun.

Chrissy turned and led the man through the restaurant. She winked at me as she passed, fanning herself with a hand to show me I wasn’t the only one who thought this guy was panty-droppingly hot.

It figured. Why would be he interested in me, if Chrissy liked him? Chrissy was pretty and lively and always said the right thing. She wasn’t awkward like me. I let out a long breath and turned back to the kitchen.

“Oh my god! How hot is he?” Chrissy squealed, running in behind me a minute later.

I nodded. “Hot. Very hot.”

“He sure is. He needs time to look at the menu,” Chrissy muttered, turning to the small mirror near the fryer. She fluffed her hair and pouted in it. “I wonder how I can give him my number.”

She turned just as one of the chefs came around the corner, carrying a huge vat of raw chicken dipped in the batter for frying. Time seemed to slow, as Chrissy banged right into the chef, and the huge container tipped sideways, right down her uniform. She screamed like she was being murdered, and everyone in the place looked in our direction.

“Holy crap! Can’t you see me here??” Chrissy demanded, staring in horror at her clothes. White and red flour batter, with raw chicken bits, was dripping from her shoulder, right across her middle, and onto the floor. It was even in her hair. “Holy crap. I can’t go out there. I have to go and wash up, this is like a health violation,” she snapped, staring murder eyes at the poor chef, who was busy trying to save as much as he could of the chicken. “You go. Don’t keep the hottie waiting,” Chrissy snapped at me, and stomped off.

I found myself walking across the diner floor toward a table at the back. The man sat in the booth, lounging almost, with his arm across the back, and a strangely knowing smirk on his handsome face, like he’d been expecting me.

“Hi, I’m Aria, I’ll be taking over from Chrissy. Something came up,” I explained, and offered the man a smile.

“So, I heard,” the man said, and then sat forward, fixing me with that eagle-eyed stare. “Aria, was it? It’s so good to meet you.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that, so simply smiled again. He might be hot, but he seemed a little weird.

“What can I get you?” I asked, glancing at the menu, discarded on the table.

He chuckled, but it wasn’t a warm sound. “That’s a very interesting question,” he said and extended his hand to me. “My name is Stone, and I’m new in town.”

“I know,” I said quickly, and then flushed bright red. I gave new meaning to the word awkward. I stuck my hand out, meaning to quickly shake his and move on before I could stick my foot further in my mouth. His hand wrapped around mine.

“You do? How would you know?”

“I’d remember you if I’d seen you before. This is a small place,” I said lamely. He was still holding my hand. His skin was hot, nearly scorching on mine, and he squeezed my fingers just hard enough to make them tingle. His thumb slid from my palm, down to my wrist. He pressed it against the pulse point, which was hammering madly.

“Are you nervous, Aria?” Stone murmured, dark humor that I didn’t understand in his eyes.

My mouth was dry like it was packed with cotton. I shook my head. “No.”

His grip tightened on my hand until I gasped. He leaned in, and I had no way to move since my hand was still held in his vicelike grip. Sudden fear shot through me.

His lips brushed my skin as he spoke. “You should be.”