Alina's pov
Each breath came jagged, panicked—like my lungs didn't know how to inhale anymore. I ran, the cold night air slicing into my chest, heels slipping on cracked pavement.
I didn't care how I looked. I didn't care who saw me.
I just had to get away.
From him. From those masked, menacing eyes. From the bruises he painted on my neck—his silent claim.
I'd tried so hard to believe he wasn't real. That the darkness stalking me was in my head. But tonight shattered that illusion. He was real. And worse, he had touched me again.
Tears blurred the streetlights as I rounded a corner, disoriented. Where's Kevin? Where am I?
Then—headlights. A car idling by the curb.
I didn't think. I just ran to it, pounded on the window with trembling hands.
"Please—someone's following me, I—please—"
The driver turned.
My breath caught.
The man from the café. The one who had looked at me like he knew me. Who had stepped between me and danger before.
He looked calm. Too calm.
"Get in," he said, voice low, controlled.
I hesitated. Just a second. Then I yanked the door open and slipped inside. Slammed it shut.
I curled into the seat, arms crossed over my chest. Trembling. Whether from the cold or the fear, I didn't know.
He didn't say anything. Didn't touch me. Just let me breathe. That terrified me more.
"Where do you live?" he asked.
"I… I can you take me to the café."
He nodded and pulled away from the curb. The silence between us wasn't awkward—it was electric. Tense. Like a wire stretched too thin.
I don't know what I expected when I got in the car.
Maybe panic. Maybe judgment. Maybe more fear.
But not this silence. Not this calm.
Not the quiet presence of a man who looked at me like he wasn't seeing a stranger—but something… his.
He didn't answer right away. Just watched me with those storm-dark eyes, unreadable.
The fabric of my dress clung to me like a second skin, like his hands were still on me. My fingers brushed my neck and recoiled.
His mouth had been there. His teeth.
"You okay?"he asked , voice unreadable
"If you don't want to say, then You don't have to explain," he said at last. His voice was low—smooth, like velvet drawn across a blade.
Silence.
We pulled up near the café. He got out. Returned a minute later with a warm paper cup.
"Coffee. You looked cold."
The smell wrapped around me like a blanket. I took it, hands trembling. Sipped.
The door shut behind me with a quiet click, sealing me inside a world that wasn't mine.
I didn't know him. Not really. But something inside me had chosen him.
My hands trembled in my lap, fingers twisting around each other. The air inside the car was warm, scented faintly with leather and something darker—something clean but heavy. Him.
I didn't look at him. Couldn't. My chest was tight, lungs pulling shallow breaths as if I were still running.
The silence stretched.
He didn't speak. Didn't demand to know what happened. He just… drove.
Not fast. Not slow. Just steady. Like he had all the time in the world.
The city blurred outside the window. I swallowed, hard, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from shaking. But it didn't work.
Then—
A quiet sound. The heater clicked on just slightly warmer. His coat , appeared in the space between us.
He didn't say anything. Just let it rest there. Waiting.
I didn't know why—but I pulled it over my legs. Clutched it.
Only then did he speak.
"You're safe now," he said, low and certain. Like a promise carved into stone.
I flinched.
How could he say that when I didn't even know where I was going?
But his voice was calm. Grounded. Like he believed it, even if I didn't.
I turned to him slowly. His eyes met mine only briefly before returning to the road—dark and unreadable, but… steady. Unbothered by the silence. Not afraid of the way I looked like I was falling apart.
He wasn't like anyone I knew.
"Do you always pick up strangers in the night?" I asked, voice hoarse.
"Only the ones who aren't really strangers," he said without hesitation.
That made me look at him fully.
"I don't know you," I said.
"No," he agreed. "But I've seen you. And I know what it looks like when someone's barely holding on."
The words slipped into me like water through cracks.
"I wasn't going to cry," I said softly, more to myself.
"You don't have to," he murmured. "You don't have to explain anything either. Not until you want to."
My chest ached at his gentleness. It didn't match the dark aura he carried, the cold strength in his posture. But maybe that was what made it more dangerous. More comforting.
I didn't even realize I'd stopped trembling until I exhaled—really exhaled.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
And when my voice finally returned, it was small. Barely above a whisper.
"I saw someone die tonight."
The words hung in the space between us like fog.
Damon didn't react. Not with shock. Not with pity.
Only with that same, maddening calm.
"Then we start from there," he said. "Slowly." "I just needed air," I murmured. "Didn't expect to be… cornered.
He said nothing. But I could feel him listening.
"That man," I whispered. "He's not a dream. He's real. He's been watching me. Touching me. Tonight… it happened again."
His breath hitched—just once. Barely noticeable. But I caught it.
"I shouldn't be telling you this," I said quickly. "I don't even know your name."
"Damon," he said.
I nodded. "Alina," I offered—though something told me he already knew.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "I don't usually take drinks from strangers, but… you don't feel like a stranger."
A flicker passed over his face. Not a smile. Not warmth. Something darker.
"Because I've been exactly where you needed me to be."
His words crawled under my skin.
"I felt him tonight," I admitted. "He touched me and I let him… I—I mean, I froze. What kind of person just lets that happen?"
His eyes were unreadable. But something sharp flashed in them.
"The kind of person who's been hunted," Damon said, voice velvet and ash. "Fear can paralyze. But sometimes… it awakens something inside us. Something we don't understand yet."
I gripped the cup tighter.
Then—his fingers. Gentle. Barely a whisper against my skin as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
I flinched. But didn't pull away.
"You're not alone anymore," he said.
God help me, I wanted to believe him.
The car stopped before the cafe I worked
"I should go," I said, standing.
He didn't stop me. Just watched.
"Thank you," I said again. "I felt… safe. With you."
He didn't nod. Didn't move. Just watched.
Damon's POV
She ran.
Barefoot panic in heels. Beautiful. Desperate. A symphony of chaos echoing across empty streets.
I watched. Unseen. Wrapped in the night she thought she could outrun.
She was faster than I expected. But not fast enough. Never fast enough.
Her breath fogged the air, chest heaving like a frightened deer. Her eyes darted—searching for escape. But all roads led back to me.
Back to the hands that touched her in the dark. The mouth that branded her with reverence dressed as violence.
I hadn't meant to go that far. But when her body arched into mine—when her breath caught—something primal broke loose inside me.
She was supposed to fear me. Not break like glass. Not cry afterward. Not curl into herself like I had shattered something sacred.
That wasn't the plan.
She turned a corner—closer. To the car. To me.
I'd left the engine running. Heat spilling from the vents like a soft exhale. The world waiting. Watching.
Then—her fist on the glass.
"Please. Someone's following me—"
When our eyes met, time fractured. Her soul splintered beneath the weight of my gaze.
I didn't blink. "Get in."
And she did.
The door shut behind her with a click that sounded like possession.
She trembled beside me. Fragile. Beautiful. Wearing my bruises like a secret vow.
Where do you live? I asked, though I already knew.
"Just take me to the café."
I did. Because she needed the illusion of safety.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It pulsed.
I looked at her once—just once—and saw how the dress clung to her like memory. Like my hands.
Then she spoke.
"He touched me again."
My grip on the wheel tightened. Not in rage. In hunger. In the aching knowledge that it had been me. When she touched the bruise, my name echoed in the silent tremor of her hand. I wanted to take it—take her—right there. Chain the moment to the ground. But I swallowed it. For now.
She didn't see my knuckles whiten. She was lost in fear—or something darker.
At the café, I left. Returned with warmth. The cold air kissed me like penance.
I returned with coffee. Something warm. Something normal. Something human.
She took it, her hands barely steady enough to hold the cup.
I imagined those hands tied, trembling for entirely different reasons.
I had to stop. Had to breathe.
She was too delicate right now. If I broke her too fast, she'd vanish.
But one day… she'd bring that coffee to me, wearing nothing but my marks.
When she asked my name, I gave it freely.
"Damon."
Her name was a prayer in my mouth. Alina.
I had known it long before she ever spoke it. Known it when she whispered it in sleep, back arched in haunted dreams.
When she thanked me, something cracked open in my chest.
She trusted me. She shouldn't.
Coffee. A peace offering.
She sipped it like salvation. And I watched her like sin.
"You don't feel like a stranger," she said.
Because I'm not. Because I've haunted you. Because I live under your skin now.
"I've been exactly where you needed me to be."
And I always would be.
When she whispered about letting him touch her, about freezing—I nearly broke.
She blamed herself.
For freezing. For letting me touch her.
No. She didn't know what that did to me.
I reached for her. Gently. Tucked her hair behind her ear.
She flinched. But didn't move away.
"You're not alone anymore," I said.
And meant it. Against every monster in me—I meant it.
Then she stood. Thanked me. Said she felt safe.
And walked away.
I let her.
But my jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
Every part of me screamed to follow. To lock the doors. To keep her.
But I didn't. Because this wasn't about force. It was about devotion.
I would bleed slowly into her life. Into her bones. Until there was no part of her I didn't own.
Because tonight wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.
She thought she escaped. But her bruises still burned. And they'd lead her back to me.
Alina's pov:
"Thank you," I said again. "I felt… safe. With you."
But even as I said it, my heart twisted in confusion.
How could I feel safe with a stranger—after what just happened?
I should be terrified. I was terrified.
And yet… there was something about him. The quiet way he looked at me. The steadiness in his voice when the world felt like it was shattering around me.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't tell me to calm down. He didn't make me feel like I was crazy.
He just stood there. Like he was made of stone and silence—and somehow, that grounded me.
Part of me wanted to run. Another part… wanted to stay.
Not because I trusted him. Not really.
But because, for one breath, one moment—I wanted to.
And that scared me more than anything else.
And kevin where the hell did he go? I panicked as I thought I took my phone to call Kevin once again but my phone was dead.
Kevin's POV
My head pounded as I came to in a dimly lit room. My limbs were sluggish, my vision blurry. The floor was cold under me, the air damp and reeking of mildew.
What the hell…
I struggled to sit up, adrenaline kicking in. Where was I? What time was it?
Shit. Shit. It's night late it's —too late
Alina. My throat dried. Where is she?
I patted my pockets. My phone. Still there.
A dozen missed calls.
All from Alina.
My chest tightened as I read the last message: "I went home. I'm safe."
Safe?
No. Something was wrong.
I shoved open the heavy door—it didn't budge. I was locked in.
"No, no, no—come on—" I slammed my shoulder into the frame. Once. Twice.
Alina was out there. And I had failed her.