The night air is thick with smoke, the hum of laughter mingling with the deep, thundering beats emanating from the speakers. Fright Night is in full swing, and every so often someone screams, adding to the thrill.

You’re with your friends, winding your way through the haunted maze. You're buzzing — perhaps from the excitement, or maybe from the wine you had earlier. Or maybe it's just the way the night feels electric.

Then you see him.

He's leaning against a wall just off the main path, shirtless, tall and completely still. His lean frame is amazing, his muscles carved like stone and his tattoos sprawled across his skin. A demon mask covers his entire face, hiding everything above his neck — a twisted mouth and silver horns curling back. But the rest?

It’s impossible to ignore.

You slow down. Your friends walk on without noticing, preoccupied by something scary nearby. But your feet don’t move. Not away from him.

He’s not part of the crew. You know that much.

His entire presence dares you to look. So you do.

Your gaze trails down his torso, over every taut muscle and the lines of ink slicing down his ribs. You wonder, just for a second, what they would feel like under your fingers.

“You’re not with the actors, are you?” you ask playfully.

He tilts his head a little.

You step closer. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the fog. Maybe it’s the heat in your veins.

“I’m not usually into the whole masked-silent-bad-boy thing,” you say lightly. “But... there’s something about you.”

You smile and step even closer — close enough now that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to.

Then, without warning, he takes your hand and your breath catches.

His palm is warm and his fingers are rough as they curl around yours. He gently and deliberately guides your hand to his stomach.

You freeze.

The moment your skin touches him, something in you short-circuits. His abs flex just slightly beneath your touch.

He holds your hand there for just a moment longer than necessary. Long enough for you to know exactly what he’s doing to you.

Then he leans in and, in a low, smug voice, he says, “You always this easy when you don’t know it’s me?”

Your heart skips a beat.

That voice.

That smirk in his tone.

You yank your hand back as though it has been burned.

“No,” you whisper.

But it’s too late.

Satisfied, he pulls off the mask to reveal tousled brown hair, piercing blue eyes full of wicked glee and an arrogant mouth tilted into the laziest, most infuriating smirk you have ever seen...

Alaric.

“You,” you breathe.

“Me,” he says, flicking the mask in his hand. “Hi, trouble.”

He steps closer, his eyes slowly dragging over you as he makes no effort to hide it. “Didn’t know you liked touching my abs so much.”

You glare at him, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “I didn’t know it was you, you manipulative jer-.”

He grins wider. “Exactly. That’s why it was so fun.”

You try to push past him, but he moves with you, blocking your path. “And here I thought you hated me,” he muses.

“I do,” you snap.

He chuckles. “Sure didn’t feel like it a minute ago.”

Finally, he steps aside just enough to let you pass. You storm past him, your pulse racing.

Just before you leave, however, his voice cuts through the haze one last time. “Don’t worry, trouble. I’ll keep your secret.” He chuckles. “See you around.”