Alina slowly opened the door, peeking through the crack like a thief. Her eyes darted across the hallway, scanning for witnesses. Holding her breath, she tiptoed out — every step cautious, every movement exaggerated in her effort to sneak away unnoticed.
Behind her, Damon leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he watched her little escape act unfold like a poorly executed heist.
Just as Alina reached the hallway, a voice behind her made her freeze.
"Lina?"
She stiffened. Oh no. Slowly — too slowly — she turned around to see Noah, standing there with one brow arched, arms crossed, confusion written all over his face.
"What are you doing… coming out of my uncle's room?"
Alina blinked. Her throat went dry. She glanced back at Damon, who still hadn't moved — that infuriating smirk only growing deeper.
"Ahm… Noah… I—" she stammered.
"She had some doubts," Damon interjected smoothly, his voice low and dripping with amusement. "And I made sure to clear them… piece by piece."
Alina's face turned a shade of red that could rival a tomato. She immediately stepped away, nearly stumbling over her own feet in an attempt to disappear.
Noah tilted his head, not buying it. "Then why is her hair wet?"
Damon didn't even blink. "While clearing her doubts, I accidentally spilled a bit of… essence on her. Since I ruined her completely, I asked her to clean up here."
Alina's jaw dropped. "Essence?!"
Damon flashed her a devilish grin — utterly unrepentant.
Before he could make it worse, Alina blurted, "When did you get here, Noah? You could've called me."
"I did, Lina. Your room was empty."
Before Noah could question more, she jumped in again, voice a bit too high-pitched. "Come on, Noah, let's bake cookies or… do your homework! You must have homework, right?"
Noah stared at her, blinking. "…You're acting really weird."
Alina spun on her heel, muttering under her breath, "I'm going to kill him," as she fled down the hall, her ears burning.
Damon chuckled, finally pushing off the wall, thoroughly satisfied with himself.
Later that evening, the kitchen smelled like vanilla and warm chocolate.
In the kitchen, Alina shoved the cookie mix box into Noah's hands with a bright, too-wide smile.
"Here, mix the batter," she said, pushing a bowl toward him. "I'll be right back."
Noah blinked at her. "Wait—what kind of batter? You didn't even say—"
"Carolyn will help!" she cut in quickly, waving to the maid passing by. "Carolyn, please guide Noah, will you?"
Carolyn, the ever-graceful forty-year-old with a perpetually tired but amused expression, nodded. "Of course, Miss Alina."
Before Noah could question anything further, Alina was already disappearing out of the kitchen.
She marched down the hall, fists clenched, jaw set.
Damon was exactly where she expected — casually leaning against the living room archway like he hadn't just humiliated her two minutes ago.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asked sweetly.
His smile widened. "Immensely."
Alina walked straight up to him, poked a finger hard against his bare chest, and hissed, "Essence?!"
His chuckle rumbled low in his chest. "Well, bella, I did leave you soaked. Thought it was a poetic choice."
"You made me sound like a scented candle disaster!"
He leaned in, nose brushing hers. "You smelled divine."
"Damon," she warned, cheeks still burning.
He gently wrapped an arm around her waist and murmured, "You were the one sneaking out of my room like a thief. What was I supposed to say? That we were studying calculus?"
She shoved at his chest, but he didn't move. "You could've said nothing! Or literally anything less perverted."
He laughed softly and caught her wrist before she could jab him again. "You're adorable when you're angry."
"Ugh, I hate you."
"No, you don't."
He tilted her chin up and kissed the tip of her nose. Alina narrowed her eyes but didn't move away.
"I'll get you back for this," she muttered.
Damon smirked. "I look forward to it, bella mia."
From the kitchen, Noah's voice rang out, "Alina, the batter is turning into soup!"
She groaned and pushed past Damon. "I'm going to drown you in cookie dough."
"I accept that fate," he called after her, grinning like a man who had already won.
Alina had her sleeves rolled up, flour dusting her cheeks like snowfall. She was humming under her breath, swaying gently as she stirred the cookie batter, completely unaware of the effect she was having on the man leaning in the doorway.
Damon watched her, arms crossed, his gaze fixed — not on the cookies, but on the way her soft hair danced at her back, the way her lips pursed in concentration, and how her fingers gripped the wooden spoon like it was the most serious task in the world.
Pure. Soft. Beautiful.
Dangerous.
"You're staring again," she said without turning around, her voice teasing but innocent.
"You're swaying like you're dancing for me, bella," Damon replied, his voice rougher than he intended.
She blinked, then laughed — genuinely confused. "Dancing? I'm just stirring the batter. It's thick."
And then she licked the spoon.
Damon's jaw tensed.
Alina held it up. "Want a taste?"
He stepped forward slowly, a dark glint in his eyes, and leaned in close — but didn't take the spoon.
Instead, he dipped a finger into the bowl, gathered a bit of the batter, and smeared it across the side of her mouth.
She blinked up at him, confused. "Hey—"
"You had something there," he murmured.
She tried wiping it with her sleeve. Damon stopped her, cupping her chin gently, his thumb brushing the spot.
"I'll take care of it," he whispered — and he leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth where the batter had been.
Alina's breath hitched, her fingers tightening on the spoon. "You're… weird today."
"I'm starving," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes — because it wasn't food he was craving.
"Oh! There's a fresh batch in the oven," she said brightly, stepping away, completely unaware of how deeply she was testing his control.
He watched her move, her skirt swishing, her bare feet padding softly on the tiles.
"I asked Carolin to help Noah," she added cheerfully. "I told him I'd be back. I just wanted to—"
She turned and nearly bumped into his chest.
Damon didn't move.
She looked up, eyes wide. "You're standing too close."
He didn't reply. His gaze was dark and fixed entirely on her lips.
Alina tilted her head. "Are you alright?"
He reached up slowly and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "You really don't know what you're doing to me, do you?"
Her brows knit together. "What do you mean?"
Damon exhaled softly. "Nothing, bella mia."
But as she smiled and returned to her batter, humming once again, Damon took a deep breath and leaned against the counter — watching the innocent storm in front of him, trying not to fall apart.
Alina dusted her hands and moved toward the sink, rinsing flour from her fingers as the warm water ran over her skin. Damon stayed leaned against the counter, watching her — too quiet, too still.
She glanced back at him, then smiled softly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?" His voice was low.
"Like I'm… a puzzle."
"No," he said, pushing off the counter slowly, walking toward her. "I've already solved you."
She tilted her head playfully. "Oh really?"
"You're temptation," he said simply. "Wrapped in innocence. And you don't even know it."
She laughed — soft, golden. "That's ridiculous."
But when she turned to dry her hands, she didn't expect him to be standing that close. Her back brushed his chest, and his hands moved instinctively to her waist — not pulling, just resting.
Her breath caught. "Damon…"
"You shouldn't sway when you stir," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.
She shivered. "Why?"
"Because I start imagining things," he whispered, voice rough, trembling on restraint. "And imagining leads to wanting. And wanting you leads to ruin, bella."
Alina's heart fluttered. She didn't understand what was shifting in the air — only that it felt thicker, warmer.
"I was just baking," she whispered, barely able to speak.
He leaned in, burying his face in her damp hair, inhaling her.
"That's the worst part," he muttered. "You're always just doing something... innocent. And yet you're pulling me under."
Her fingers clutched the edge of the sink as she whispered, "You're scaring me a little."
His hands slid away instantly. He stepped back, voice tightening. "Then go. Go check on Noah. Before I forget every good reason not to touch you again."
she ran like a frightened kitten.
Damon's POV
The kitchen was still warm, but Alina's absence left it cold.
Damon sat in the silence, hands clasped, elbows on the table — staring at the spot where she'd stood just moments ago, humming softly and licking cookie batter from her fingers like she wasn't the death of him.
His jaw clenched.
He had Kevin.
Locked. Silenced. Out of the picture — for now.
He had taken care of every threat. Every loose thread. Every reason she might run from him.
Except her heart.
Except her curiosity.
And Kevin… Kevin knew the truth.
If she saw him — if she got even a whiff of suspicion — everything would fall apart. Everything he built. Every inch of closeness he stole.
He thought he had more time.
But when she said, "I'll visit his apartment tomorrow," something inside him cracked.
He couldn't lose her.
Not now. Not when she had just begun to lean into him. Not when her touch felt like salvation and damnation wrapped in silk.
"You belong to me now," he had said.
But now, for the first time, Damon wasn't sure if he was trying to keep her…
…or keep her from knowing him.
The room was dipped in golden hues, shadows flickering gently along the walls as laughter floated softly through the air. The clink of cutlery. The lull of music. The scent of rosemary and garlic.
But beneath the glow — something darker stirred.
Alina sat beside Damon, her shoulder brushing his, unaware of the storm inside the man who hadn't taken his eyes off her all evening.
She turned to Anaya, casually licking a bit of cream from her finger.
"Anaya," she said, tone light but a tremor hidden beneath it, "has Kevin… texted or called you?"
Damon's hand tightened subtly on his fork.
Anaya looked up, puzzled. "Kevin? No… actually, I tried calling him yesterday and again this morning. No response." Her brows furrowed. "Strange. He usually picks up even if he's half-asleep."
Alina's smile faltered, then slowly faded.
"He hasn't replied to me either," she murmured. "Not even a sarcastic one-word reply. Nothing."
A pause.
"I know he gets mad sometimes, but this… this is different."
Then, with a forced laugh, she added, "Tomorrow, I'm going over. If he's sulking in silence, I'm going to knock some sense into him — or just knock him."
The table chuckled.
Everyone… except Damon.
He hadn't moved.
The muscles in his arm were wound tight, fork still held mid-air.
Only Alina noticed.
"Damon?" she said softly, placing her hand gently over his. "You okay?"
His throat worked. He turned toward her, his smile slow — off.
"Of course, bella. Just remembered something… pressing."
He stood, placed his fork down with eerie calm, and kissed her temple.
"I'll be back soon."
And then he walked away.
Not rushed.
Not loud.
But every step felt like the silence before a scream.
Warehouse – Damon's Game
The warehouse pulsed with silence — thick, suffocating.
Kevin sat slumped in the chair, bruised, wrists bloodied where the restraints had chafed his skin raw. The overhead light swung gently, casting long shadows across his gaunt face.
The door creaked open again.
Damon entered — calm, predatory, wearing a different shirt now. This one was unbuttoned at the throat, a faint stain — lipstick or blood — near the collar.
He looked well-fed. Relaxed. Satisfied.
And Kevin hated him for it.
"Did you miss me?" Damon drawled, his voice smooth as smoke as he dragged a metal chair and placed it backward in front of Kevin. He straddled it lazily, arms crossed on the backrest, and tilted his head.
Kevin didn't answer.
Damon smiled faintly, as if silence was a challenge he knew how to conquer.
"She smells like me right now," he said, voice low, conspiratorial. "Still."
Kevin's jaw clenched.
Damon leaned forward.
"You know what the best part was?" he whispered. "She was shy. Blushing. Covering herself with the sheets like a virgin well she's not cause I have already took it ,who didn't know she was tempting the devil."
Kevin's breathing hitched.
"She woke up on my chest this evening," Damon continued, eyes gleaming. "Her lips still tasted like moans. And when I carried her to the tub… she hissed from how sore she was. Isn't that beautiful?"
"You're sick," Kevin spat.
Damon chuckled — low and cold.
"No, Kevin. I'm in love."
He stood slowly and circled the chair, his boots echoing in the empty space.
"She told me she's worried about you. That she's coming to your apartment tomorrow to punch some sense into you." He paused behind Kevin, leaned in, whispered into his ear, "But what if I let her come and find… nothing? Would that break her more?"
Kevin's shoulders tensed, his jaw locked. Damon smiled, sensing the crack.
"You want to save her, don't you?" he taunted. "But she's already mine. I've marked her. Mind, body, soul. She won't even see you the same anymore. I've buried myself so deep inside her that she wouldn't even know where I end and she begins."
He circled again, slow and quiet, then crouched before Kevin — their faces nearly level.
"Should I describe how she sounded this morning?" Damon murmured. "How her fingers gripped the sheets? How she cried out my name over and over, like prayer—?"
Kevin lunged forward with a guttural growl, the chains rattling violently.
Damon didn't flinch.
"Still so protective," he mocked. "Still pretending you matter."
Kevin panted, eyes blazing. "She'll find out. She'll see the monster you are. You can't keep her in your cage forever."
"I don't need to," Damon said softly. "She'll walk back into it on her own."
A cruel silence settled between them.
Then Damon stood, brushing imaginary dust from his hands. "Sleep tight, hero."
He walked toward the door.
But Kevin wasn't listening anymore.
Because his foot — while Damon spoke — had slipped a thin, rusted nail free from beneath the rotting crate beside his chair.
Small. Sharp. Forgotten.
Hidden under the edge of his shoe.
As Damon stepped out, Kevin let his breath go — slowly, silently — and glanced at the nail now pressed tightly between two fingers.
The beginnings of hope — tiny and bloodstained — curled in his fist.
Alina stood near the hallway, fingers nervously playing with the hem of her sleeve. A part of her felt giddy, still floating from everything that had happened with Damon. But another part, the rational one, nudged her with quiet urgency.
Just in case.
She found Carolin folding towels near the laundry cabinet.
"Aunty Carolin?" Alina called out gently.
Carolin looked up with her usual warm smile. "Yes, dear?"
Alina stepped closer, hesitant, her voice barely above a whisper. "Um… I need a small favor."
Carolin raised an eyebrow. "What is it, love?"
Alina looked down, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. "Could you get me… an after pill?"
The older woman froze for a second. The towel slipped from her hands.
"What?" she asked, blinking.
Alina quickly clarified, her voice soft and rushed, "It's not what you think! I just... I know he didn't... you know... but still, I didn't want to risk anything".
Carolin stared at her for a long moment, then slowly sat down on the edge of a nearby bench.
"That man… Damon bastard… he didn't force you?" she asked carefully, eyes narrowing.
Alina shook her head quickly. "No! Never. It was mutual, Aunty. I wanted it too. He's... he's been nothing but gentle to me. I trust him."
A visible sigh left Carolin, but it didn't ease the tightness around her eyes. "Alina… do you know who he really is?"
"I know enough," Alina replied innocently, her voice light. "He's intense, and a little... mysterious. But that's just Damon. He's protective. He cares about me."
Carolin lowered her gaze. "He's more than mysterious, child."
Alina chuckled softly and moved closer. "I know you don't see him the way I do. But... he makes me feel like I matter. Like I'm not alone."
Then, softly, almost like a confession: "And... I love him."
Carolin looked up, eyes wide.
"You… what?"
Alina smiled, a little shy and very sincere. "I haven't even told him yet. You're the first person I've said it to. Because... you feel like a mom to me, Carolin. You're kind, and you listen. I never had that since I lost mine."
A long silence fell between them.
Then Carolin reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Alina's ear.
"Child… you're too sweet for this world," she whispered. "Too trusting. Just... promise me something."
"What is it?" Alina asked, tilting her head.
"Watch closely, even when you don't think you need to."
Alina gave a soft laugh. "You sound so serious."
Carolin nodded, smiling faintly. "I am. But I'll get what you asked for. Quietly. No one will know."
"Thank you, Aunty Carolin," Alina said, hugging her gently.
Carolin hugged her back, her heart heavy — not because Alina was in love, but because she was too blind to see the wolf smiling in sheep's clothing.
Alina had taken the pill quietly after Carolin handed it to her discreetly. The weight of the day clung to her shoulders, and though her body ached with exhaustion, her heart still fluttered with a strange warmth.
She waited.
Hours passed. The house had grown quiet. Anaya and Noah had gone to bed, the lights dimmed one by one. And still, Damon hadn't returned.
She curled up on the living room couch, clutching one of the soft cushions to her chest, her eyelids growing heavier. The last thing she remembered was glancing toward the door, her thoughts whispering, Where are you?
---
Damon walked in near midnight, his steps slow and quiet. The moment he saw her — curled up like a small bundle of warmth on the couch, hair splayed across the pillow, breathing soft — something in his chest tightened.
Home.
It was a feeling he never thought he'd know again. But there she was.
Waiting for him.
Like she belonged there.
He knelt down, studying her peaceful face, then chuckled under his breath. "You're like a sleeping kitten, bella."
Without waking her, he slid his arms under her and lifted her gently.
She stirred, flinched, and her eyes flew open — startled. But when she saw him, her fear melted into confusion.
"Damon? What are you doing?" she whispered, still groggy. "Put me down, I can walk… What if Anaya or Noah sees—"
"You talk too much, sweet teeth," he murmured with a teasing growl. "Seems I'll have to kiss you to shut those lips."
Immediately, her mouth snapped shut, a soft blush blooming on her cheeks. He smirked in satisfaction and carried her effortlessly to his room.
"Damon, this isn't my room—"
"I know, bella," he interrupted smoothly. "But I want you near me tonight."
He laid her down with care, tucking the blanket around her like she was something fragile. Then he disappeared into the closet, returning moments later in a loose black shirt, his hair damp from a quick rinse.
He climbed into bed beside her, pulling her close. His hand curled around her waist, possessive but gentle.
"You waited for me," he whispered into her hair.
"I wanted to," she mumbled, nuzzling into his chest. "I... I couldn't sleep without knowing you were back."
A long pause.
Her voice came softer next. "You remember right that you'll come with me to see kevin if you're not free then I can manage ".
Damon's jaw tensed. The urge to crush something flared in his gut.
Kevin again.
The man wouldn't stop. Even locked away, he still pulled at Alina's thoughts.
But he swallowed the fury.
He wouldn't break the illusion now.
"Hmm," he hummed, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "We'll see how you feel in the morning."
Before she could press further, his fingers slipped under her shirt, trailing lightly over her spine.
She inhaled sharply. "Damon…"
"Shh…" he whispered. "You've been tense all day."
His lips ghosted over her shoulder.
"You take care of everyone, bella. Let me take care of you."
And like always, her walls melted. She relaxed into his touch, unaware of the storm he carried behind every gentle kiss.
Unaware of the mind he had already broken to keep her by his side.
Unaware that love in his hands… came with a Cage.
He tossed his t-shirt.
His hand slipped beneath her skirt as his lips claimed hers—not with a kiss, but with hunger. Alina melted into his touch, her breath catching as his fingers explored her like a map he knew by heart.
With slow precision, his hand slid under her shirt, cupping her breast—soft, warm, and perfect in his palm. He massaged her gently, teasing her into submission. In a swift motion, he unfastened her top and kissed down her neck, his mouth brushing over the faint marks she had tried to conceal with makeup.
She hissed, her body arching into him.
With practiced ease, he unhooked her bra, freeing her to his gaze. He gripped her breast firmly, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses over her skin, sucking and nibbling until she moaned softly.
He knew exactly how to bend her to his will. That was her weakness—and his addiction.
His fingers traced the bare lines of her body, drawing shivers and goosebumps from her flushed skin. When he reached her navel, he dipped a finger in, circling it slowly, deliberately, savoring every tremble she gave.
Then, without a word, he lowered himself, kissing the sharp curve of her hips. Alina's fingers tangled in his hair, only to feel the silk of his tie wrap around her wrists, binding her to the headboard.
"Damon… what are you doing?" she whispered.
"Shh," he breathed against her skin. "You'll love it."
His tongue replaced his finger, swirling around her belly button. She tucked her stomach in, whimpering, but he took his time, relishing her writhing beneath him.
He made sure that she was fully covered with his saliva.
Then he went lower.
Removing her skirt and panties, he kissed her leg from toes and then slowly went down her thighs—slow, deliberate, and reverent—before finally settling between her legs. She squirmed, trying to free her hands, but his tie held her in place and looked her with nothing but his gaze and mouth.
He looked up at her once, dark eyes heavy with desire, and then—he tasted her.
Like sin.
Like salvation.
"Damon… please…" she begged, but he didn't stop.
Her body trembled as release overtook her, her moans filling the room, raw and sweet.
"Ahh.. Damon ohh.., please"
" please what baby?"he asked in husky tone.
" unti..." she couldn't complete her word.
she came undone beneath him did he finally rise, stripping off his pants and boxers. He hovered over her, breath ragged, lips parted.
"Please," she whispered, "untie me…"
"I will, Bella," he murmured, "but wait—you'll love this too."
He removed his pants and boxers.
He lifted her legs over his shoulders and thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke. Despite the times they'd been together, she was still tight—so perfectly made for him. His breath stuttered.
"You're mine," he whispered, kissing her temple, though she was too far gone to hear it.
Her walls clenched around him, driving him deeper into madness. He thrust harder, faster, his rhythm syncing with her movements as her hips met his with equal urgency. When he finally untied her wrists, she wrapped around him like a vine—clinging, moaning, trembling.
He held her close, pressing his body to hers like he wanted to become part of her.
She came again—and again—and still he didn't stop.
"I love you, Bella," he groaned into her ear as he neared his edge.
And then he pulled out, releasing across her stomach, trembling with the force of it.
Breathless and spent, she collapsed, her body limp from pleasure. He cleaned her gently, whispering nothing but her name.
Then he pulled her into his arms, resting his head over her chest, listening to her heartbeat as it was a lullaby he drifted into sleep.
It was early morning by the time their bodies stilled, tangled together in a haze of heat and silence.
Flashback:
In the warehouse
As Damon stepped out, Kevin let his breath go — slowly, silently — and glanced at the nail now pressed tightly between two fingers.
It was rusted, bent, the tip jagged from the hours he'd spent working it free from the wooden beam behind him. His fingers were blistered, the skin on his knuckles cracked from trying to twist the sharp end against the lock of his cuffs.
He had waited. For hours. For that precise moment when Damon would be distracted by a phone call or a whisper in the shadows.
Now.
Kevin didn't breathe again. He didn't have the luxury of lungs. Only instincts. He worked the nail against the metal—slow, shallow movements so the sound wouldn't echo.
The door creaked open behind Damon. A voice called. Damon turned.
Click.
The cuff on his left wrist snapped loose.
A wave of adrenaline punched through him. But he didn't move. Not yet. Not until Damon's footsteps faded completely. Not until silence filled the air like fog.
He freed his right wrist. Blood trickled from where the metal had bitten in. His bones felt weak. His legs trembled as he stood for the first time in nearly two days.
The warehouse was surrounded by trees. No guards inside, but he knew they were out there. Watching. Patrolling.
He moved like a ghost—bare feet on cold cement, weaving through the broken crates and rusted chains. He spotted a small window. Shattered glass around the edge. Not enough space for a man.
But the vent above it?
Barely bolted.
He stacked two crates and climbed, ignoring the scream in his ribs. He didn't know which were cracked—only that pain had become part of him now.
The metal groaned as he pushed. Once. Twice. A third time—
—it gave.
He hoisted himself through, the edges tearing at his shirt, his side, his skin. When he fell on the other side, it wasn't a graceful landing. He hit mud. Hard. But he didn't cry out.
The forest was thick. No stars. Just dark trees leaning too close and wind that howled like a warning.
Just before dawn. Forest perimeter. Fog hangs low. Panic settles like ash.
The door slammed shut behind the last guard as he stormed inside.
"He's gone."
The others froze.
"What do you mean, gone?" one whispered. His voice cracked.
"I mean the cuffs are empty. He's not in the room. The vent—he crawled through the f***ing vent."
A beat of silence.
Then chaos.
Two men ran outside, flashlights shaking in their hands, cutting through the mist. Another cursed and kicked the nearest crate, the sound echoing like a shot in the cavernous warehouse.
"Didn't I tell you to chain the vent?" the older one hissed. "Didn't I say not to trust those f***ing cuffs?! Damon's going to kill us."
"He doesn't know yet."
A brutal laugh. "Oh, he will."
Someone checked the floor. The faint smear of blood. Mud. A trail leading out toward the forest.
"Split up. Follow that. Check the camera feed. Now."
The youngest one hesitated. "What if we don't find him in time?"
The silence that followed was colder than the morning air.
The leader turned, his face grim.
"Then it's not Kevin who dies next."
They moved like a pack of wolves. Slicing through branches, shouting his name like it was a curse. Like it was a prayer.
"He can't be far. His legs were barely working yesterday."
"I don't care if he's dragging himself with his teeth—find him."
Another flashlight flickered.
"If Damon finds out before we bring him back—"
"He'll flay us alive."
"He won't ask questions. He won't even blink."
The men paused. Listening.
Bark. Snap.
Silence.
One of them lifted his gun. Slowly. "I heard something."
But there was nothing now. Just the rustle of leaves. The whisper of wind.
And somewhere far off—the sound of tires screeching.
He ran. Then walked. Then crawled.
Blood coated his hands. Not all of it was his.
His breath burned. The air stung his lungs. Every branch that scraped his skin felt like a voice screaming "go back"—but he couldn't. Not now.
Somewhere behind him, dogs barked. Not close. But not far either.
The forest wasn't endless, but it felt like it. He hadn't seen a road. A light. A sound that didn't come from nature or madness.
He thought of Alina.
He thought of what he saw.
Of him.
The man she feared. The man who was real. The mask. The knife. The pendant. Damon.
Kevin fell to his knees, gripping the earth. He sobbed once. Quietly. The weight of failure sank into his bones. But only for a second.
Then he pushed forward again.
---
Near Dawn – A Road at Last
There.
A glint of silver.
Kevin stumbled out of the trees and collapsed onto gravel. A road. Real. Paved. Civilization.
He blinked up at the soft orange glow of a streetlight in the distance.
He laughed. Or maybe cried. Maybe both.
He took one shaky step forward. Then another. Blood left a trail behind him.
And then—
Headlights.
Blinding. Fast.
Kevin turned, eyes wide. His hands flew up instinctively. But it was too late.
The tires screeched.
Metal hit flesh.
Kevin didn't feel the pain at first.
Only the weightlessness—
like falling into water.
A strange quiet that wrapped around his ears,
muting the world.
His vision blurred. The trees swayed.
Blood ran in thin rivers across the gravel beneath him.
His fingers twitched once.
He tried to lift his head—
failed.
The headlights had vanished.
No engine sounds.
No doors opening.
Just… silence.
Then—
A shape.
A silhouette.
Not a hallucination.
Not a dream.
He blinked.
She stood at the edge of the road.
A woman.
Long coat. Dark hair whipping in the wind.
Face veiled in the fog like a ghost.
For a second—just a second—
hope bled into his vision.
A name broke from his cracked lips, before he could even think.
"Alina…"
"Help… me…"
It was a rasp. A plea.
A breath he barely had.
He thought she moved—
a slow, deliberate step forward.
Elegant. Calm.
The last thing he saw was her eyes—
not warm.
Not kind.
But glassy. Cold. Reflecting moonlight like twin blades.
Then—
Darkness swallowed him.
Later… In the Fog
"There!" a voice snapped. "Blood—here!"
Boots slammed onto the gravel.
Flashlights sliced through the fog.
Muddy prints. Crimson splatter. A bend in the road.
"Fresh," muttered one of Damon's men, kneeling. "Still wet."
The others stared in silence.
Breathless. Tense.
The leader crouched by the tire marks, eyes scanning every inch.
"There was impact," he said coldly. "And drag. But no body."
"Where the f*** is he then?" someone hissed.
The youngest darted toward the ditch, gun raised.
"Nothing here—no body, no signs of struggle."
"No animal could've dragged him off like that," someone whispered.
One of them moved closer to the gravel.
Stopped.
"What the hell…"
A print.
Heeled boot. Small.
Not one of theirs.
Another. And another.
Fading toward the forest line—into the mist.
A beat of silence.
Then the leader spoke, his voice low.
"Someone took him."
"And not one of us."
They all exchanged a glance. Uneasy. Cold.
"Let's find a body first," someone said grimly. "Then we inform the boss."
A nod.
"If we tell Damon now—without answers—"
"He'll skin us alive."
They didn't argue.
They scattered.
Flashlights swinging.
Mouths silent.
Hearts pounding.
Because they all knew:
Dead was safer than failure