Alina's POV
The café smelled of warmth—melting chocolate, cinnamon, and sugar spun into sweetness. A contrast to the bitter chill that clawed at the windows. I stood in the kitchen
I sealed the last box, sighing in exhaustion when I heard it—a noise.
A scuffle. Faint, distant, from the alley beside the café.
At first, it was faint—a muffled rustling, a distant shuffle in the alley behind the café. My fingers froze mid-seal, my heartbeat syncing with the silence.
I frowned, wiping my hands on my apron. Probably nothing. The wind, maybe. A stray animal knocking over a bin.
And then, the scream.
Sharp. Agonizing. Like something being torn apart.
The air turned to ice in my lungs.
Every instinct screamed at me to stay inside. Lock the doors. Call Kevin.
But another voice—quieter, stronger—rose above the fear.
What if someone's hurt?
What if they need help?
Before I could second-guess myself, I ripped off my apron and gloves, grabbing my phone as I hurried toward the back entrance.
The alley loomed ahead, swallowed in half-darkness. The flickering streetlight barely reached its depths, but my feet kept moving, driven by something I couldn't name.
The smell hit me first.
Blood.
Metallic, thick—so strong I almost gagged.
And then, as my eyes adjusted, I saw it.
A man, crumpled on the pavement. Lifeless. His throat—slashed open.
I froze.
My breath hitched. My pulse screeched to a stop.
Soon I hid behind the wall
Panic clawed at my throat, but before I could move— A shadow shifted.
My gaze darted up—and my blood turned to ice.
A man stood over the body.
Dressed in black. Face hidden behind a mask.
His hand still held the knife, its blade dripping red onto the pavement.
My stomach twisted violently as I clamped a hand over my mouth, stumbling backward. My back hit the cold brick wall, my chest heaving, heart slamming against my ribs.
I needed to think. I needed to run.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing in a breath. 911.I had to call 911.
With trembling hands, I fumbled for my phone, my fingers barely able to grip it. I pressed the power button, my vision swimming—
Too late.
A hand seized my wrist.
A hard, unyielding grip.
Before I could scream, I was yanked backward.
A wall of heat collided against me—solid, strong, alive.
I thrashed, kicking, twisting, but it was useless.
My back pressed flush against his chest, my head spinning with terror. His scent hit me—dark, musky, intoxicating. Leather and something sharper, something dangerous.
"Going somewhere, baby?"
The voice—low, smooth, terrifyingly calm—**curled down my spine.
I gasped, a fresh wave of panic crashing into me.
I hadn't seen his face. I didn't know who he was—but he knew I was here.
And he wasn't letting me go.
Another masked man stepped forward, reaching for a gun.
"I'll handle this," the man behind me ordered.
The others hesitated—then melted into the darkness, disappearing like ghosts.
And I was alone.
Alone with him.
His arms tightened slightly, his fingers curling around my wrist—not rough, not gentle. Just unmovable.
I was trapped.
"P-please…" I barely recognized my own voice, thin and broken.
His breath brushed my ear, slow, measured. "Shh*"
I stiffened, my chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.
His fingers slid up my forearm, slow, deliberate.
I hated the way my breath caught.
"Y-you can't—"
"I can."
His voice was softer this time.Almost indulgent. Like he was savoring something only he understood.
A gloved hand slid along my jaw, tilting my head slightly—not forcefully, just possessively.
I shuddered.
"I could have killed you," he mused. "Should have."
His fingers brushed the fluttering pulse at my throat.
"But now…"
He exhaled slowly, as if drinking in the scent of my fear.
"…I'm not sure I want to."
A cruel, slow mockery of mercy.
I squeezed my eyes shut, biting back a sob. This isn't happening. This isn't real.
"Let me go." The words came out softer than I intended. Weaker.
Silence.
Then—a chuckle.
Low. Dark. Unsettling.
"Oh, angel." His grip tightened, his lips barely ghosting over my ear.
"You think you still have a choice?"
Damon's POV
She was so smallagainst me.
So fragile. So breakable.
I could feel the wild thump-thump-thump of her heart, racing for me—because of me.
She was terrified.
But underneath it—deep, buried—there was something else.
Something she didn't even realize.
Something mine.
Her body trembled, heat sinking into my skin through the thin barrier of her clothes.
I had touched so many women before.Ruined them. Used them. Left them.
But this one?
This one was different.
She smelled like sugar and sin. Warm vanilla and fear.
She was wild—terrified, fighting, but not screaming.
I liked that.
I liked her.
More than I should.
More than was safe.
I dragged a gloved finger along her pulse, feeling it stutter beneath my touch.
Her breath hitched, and I smirked.
"Do you know what happens now, angel?"
A shudder ran through her.
She didn't answer.
So I leaned in, my lips barely grazing the shell of her ear.
"You don't walk away from this."
Her breath came faster, her fingers curling into helpless fists.
I should have ended this. I should have slit her throat, wiped her from existence, let the night swallow her whole.
But I didn't.
Because I wanted to keep her.
I wanted to watch her fall apart in my hands.
I wanted her to tremble for me.
Her voice broke when she finally spoke.
"P-please…"
God.
Her fear was intoxicating.
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply.
And I knew—l wouldn't let her go.
For now I let her go not before saying " one word about this and you are dead .Got it ?".
She gasped , her breath hitching, but she didn't answer.
I tightened my grip, my fingers dig into her delicate wrist." Got it?"
Her head bobbed in a frantic nod." Y-yes", she shuttered.
I let her go
She ran. Of course she ran.
But it didn't matter.
She had already given herself to me.
Not with words. Not with choice. With the way she trembled under my touch.
I had touched countless women. Used them. Tossed them aside like forgettable whispers.
But this one—this trembling little thing with wild black hair and a heart that beat too fast—
She was different.
Even if I had to break her, shatter her world, and drag her to hell itself—she would be mine.