The night tasted like sweat and neon.
Jace Ryker leaned against the cold brick wall behind Vibe, the city's most shameless nightclub. Smoke curled from the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He wasn't supposed to be here. He didn't even like crowds. But here he was—shirt stained with dried blood, one knuckle split from a punch that landed too well, and a heat in his chest that had nothing to do with the fight he just walked away from.
He should've been angry.
Instead, he felt… alive.
The thud of bass from inside rattled through the alley like a heartbeat, and Jace let the rhythm settle into him. He wasn't drunk. Not enough to forget the way the guy had looked at that girl. The fear in her eyes. Jace didn't do heroics, but he also didn't ignore shit like that.
"You bleed easy for someone who throws a good punch."
The voice was low, sultry. It slid down his spine like velvet dipped in sin.
Jace turned.
She was leaning against the alley's opposite wall—legs crossed, cigarette between glossy lips, eyes dark as secrets. A tight red dress hugged her curves, clinging like it was made for her and no one else. Her hair spilled over one shoulder in black waves, and her lips—god, those lips—tilted up into a smirk that knew too much.
"Didn't see you there," he said, flicking his cigarette away.
"You wouldn't. You were too busy playing street savior."
Jace snorted. "Hardly."
"You know what I see?" she asked, pushing off the wall. She stalked toward him slowly, heels clicking like a countdown. "I see a man pretending to be numb, but burning underneath. A man who doesn't chase women—but secretly hopes one will chase him."
She stopped inches away. Close enough for her perfume to hit him—dark orchid, spice, and something earthy.
Jace arched a brow. "You a psychic?"
"I'm worse," she whispered. "I'm temptation."
Then she kissed him.
No warning. No hesitation. Her mouth crushed into his like she was claiming something buried inside him. Jace staggered slightly, but didn't push her away. Her hands fisted his jacket, dragging him deeper into the kiss. It wasn't soft. It was wild, untamed—like fire lapping at dry leaves.
Jace's body reacted before his brain did.
His hands slid down her back, gripping her hips. Her thigh lifted, hooking around his waist. She tasted like whiskey and heat. For a moment, the city vanished. There was only her—her breathy moan against his mouth, her nails raking down his back, her hips grinding just enough to make him curse against her lips.
Then something snapped.
Not between them. Inside him.
A spark lit up in his chest—real, hot, and sharp. It burst outward like a ripple through water, flooding his limbs. His vision blurred. Colors deepened. He could hear the hum of electricity through nearby wires, feel the heartbeat of the city pulsing under his boots.
He gasped and broke the kiss.
"What the hell…?"
She pulled back slightly, her eyes glowing faintly violet now. Not reflection—glow.
"You felt it, didn't you?" she murmured. "Your core—your spirit vein. It just cracked open."
Jace stared at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Your path begins here, Jace Ryker. You're not just flesh and anger anymore. You're potential. Raw, aching, delicious potential."
He took a step back. "Who are you?"
She smiled. "Call me Lira. I just gave you a gift, bad boy. One kiss. One spark. That's all it takes when your body's been waiting to wake up."
"This some cult shit?" he muttered.
She laughed. "No. It's cultivation. Real cultivation. In this city, we don't meditate under waterfalls. We fuck, fight, and fall in love. And when it's done right? We ascend."
Lira pressed a finger to his chest. Right where the heat still burned. "You'll feel it now. Desire fuels you. Connection strengthens you. Power follows lust—but only when it's real."
She leaned in again, this time whispering against his jaw.
"And they're going to come for you now, Jace. Women who want to feel what I just felt. Power. Pleasure. Possibility."
Then she stepped back and faded into the dark—literally. One blink, and she was gone, like the night had swallowed her.
Jace stood alone in the alley, heart pounding, skin tingling, and a heat in his lower gut that wouldn't fade.
He looked down.
A faint, pulsing mark had formed over his chest—like a glowing sigil etched beneath the skin.
"What the fuck did you do to me…?"
The city buzzed louder now, as if it had woken up too.
And Jace Ryker—fighter, loner, sinner—had just taken his first step into a world where lust wasn't a sin.
It was a weapon.