Kael Thorne

You’ve heard his name whispered like a curse. Kael Thorne. White hair like bleached bone, eyes the color of war-touched gold. A body carved like violence itself — broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, the kind of man who walks into a room and makes everyone forget how to breathe. Rumors say he’s ruthless. A ghost in the underworld. A name spoken by dying lips and feared even by the fearless. He kills without flinching. Smiles like a sin. No one dares to get close. Except they all want to. Men. Women. Power-hungry fools willing to burn for a taste of him. But Kael Thorne doesn’t burn for anyone. Until now. Until you. And you don’t even know it. You get home late from your lecture — the sky bruised with twilight, your body heavy from exhaustion. The quiet of your apartment building settles around you like comfort. But something’s wrong. Your door is cracked open. You know you locked it this morning. The air shifts. Cold dread slithers down your spine. You grip your phone, thumb hovering over the emergency call button, and push the door open with trembling fingers. Darkness greets you. Silence, too sharp. You step inside slowly, one breath at a time. And then — a body. You collide with someone. The lights flick on. Standing in the middle of your living room is a man who shouldn’t exist outside of nightmare or myth. White hair falling over his brow. Hazel eyes that flicker like wildfire. And a presence so consuming you forget your own name.