DAMION
I didn't let her walk in front of me.
Not tonight.
Not after what I saw.
Not after the shadow that moved with inhuman speed through the hallway and vanished before I could catch it.
That wasn't a normal man.
And whatever he was, he shouldn't have been that close to her.
Mira.
My control thinned every time I said her name in my mind.
Her pulse was still trembling under her skin — I didn't have to touch her to feel it. Her heartbeat called to me even from a step behind. And every instinct I possessed told me to wrap her in my arms and refuse to let anything in this world lay a hand on her.
I didn't though.
Because once I touched her again, I wasn't sure I'd stop.
She followed me out of the building and toward the private elevator that led directly to the penthouse I kept above my company headquarters.
She hesitated the moment she saw where we were going.
I felt the shift in her energy before she spoke.
"Damion… where exactly are you taking me?"
"Somewhere safe," I said. "Somewhere he can't reach you."
Her brow furrowed at the word he.
My jaw tightened.
I shouldn't have said that.
Not out loud.
Not yet.
But she didn't ask who.
Smart girl.
She understood the weight of it without needing details.
Still, she stopped just short of stepping into the elevator.
"I'm not scared of being with you," she said quietly. "But you're acting like something is hunting me."
I turned to face her fully, letting the elevator doors slide shut behind me.
"Mira," I said softly, "something is."
Her heartbeat stumbled.
I lifted a hand — slowly, giving her every chance to move away — and brushed a stray curl from her cheek without touching her skin.
Her breath hitched.
"You'll stay with me tonight," I continued. "And until I tell you otherwise, you don't go anywhere without me. Not alone. Not with security. Not even with your brothers."
Her lips parted. "Damion—"
"It's not a request."
She stared at me, trying to parse whether this was dominance, control… or fear.
The truth was both.
But she didn't run.
She stepped inside the elevator.
I stepped with her.
The doors slid shut.
And the air in the small space thickened like gravity itself tightened.
She stood close, but not touching.
I felt the nearness in places I shouldn't.
Her heat pressed against the restraint I'd been holding onto by torn threads.
Her eyes lifted to mine.
And the elevator ride suddenly felt much too slow.
"Mira," I murmured, unable to look away.
"Yes?" she whispered.
I reached for the railing behind her, caging her between my arm and the wall without touching her body.
Still giving her a path to escape.
Still hoping she wouldn't take it.
"Tell me you trust me."
She swallowed.
Hard.
And in that trembling breath, I felt her decision.
"I trust you," she said softly.
It hit me like a blow.
Not because she said it… but because she meant it.
The elevator chimed.
The doors opened.
And her fate for the night sealed itself.
MIRA
His penthouse was nothing like I expected.
It wasn't the cold, stone, gothic vampire lair I'd imagined in my darker fantasies.
Nor was it the sterile, billionaire CEO vibe with glass walls and chrome tables.
It felt… lived in.
Dark wood.
Warm lighting.
Deep, red-toned furniture.
Heavy curtains that kept the city lights out.
It smelled faintly of cedar, old books… and him.
Damion stepped inside first, scanning the room with the kind of attention that told me he wasn't just… looking. He was sensing something. Someone.
Or making sure nothing else had followed us.
"Is someone going to jump out at us?" I whispered nervously.
"No," he said. "Because I'd kill them before they got close."
"Oh."
My brain short-circuited a little at how casually he said that.
He wasn't being dramatic.
He wasn't joking.
He meant it.
He turned to face me.
"Mira," he said softly, "come here."
I knew I shouldn't move.
I knew stepping toward him was crossing a line I couldn't uncross.
But I went anyway.
He held out his hand.
Palm up.
An invitation, not a demand.
I placed my hand in his.
And something shifted.
He exhaled — like he'd been holding his breath since the parking lot.
His thumb brushed my knuckles gently.
Too gently for a man like him.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"I—I'm not," I whispered.
"You are."
"I'm cold."
He stepped closer.
"No," he said slowly. "You're not."
His hand released mine, but only so he could slide it up my arm, fingertips barely grazing my skin — a ghost of a touch that made my knees weaken.
"Damion…"
"Look at me."
I did.
His gaze pinned me in place.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
"…no," I whispered honestly.
Soft heat warmed his eyes — dangerous heat, but not cruel.
"Good," he murmured. "Then let me be the one thing in this night you don't fear."
I couldn't breathe.
He lifted his hand toward my face again — slow, deliberate, measured.
This time he touched me.
His fingertips brushed my cheek.
Soft.
Warm.
Too gentle for the kind of man who could kill someone with a flick of his wrist.
I shivered.
His thumb traced the curve of my lower lip.
My breath stuttered out.
"Mira," he whispered, voice roughening, "you shouldn't look at me like that."
"How am I looking at you?"
"Like you want me."
"I—"
My voice cracked.
His hand slid along my jaw, tilting my face up just slightly.
"Say my name again," he murmured.
"Damion…"
A sound left him — low, deep, almost broken.
"You're going to ruin me," he whispered.
His forehead pressed gently to mine, our breaths mixing.
"You say the wrong things," he said, voice dropping to a sinful growl.
"What… wrong things?"
"I told you…"
His lips brushed my cheek — barely not kissing.
"…I only want to hear my name on those lips."
I trembled.
"Damion…"
He closed his eyes like the sound fed some starving part of him.
His hand slid to the back of my neck — slow enough for me to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn't.
His breath touched my mouth.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
But God, he was close.
"Mira," he murmured, "tell me to stop."
"I can't," I breathed.
His body tensed like he was fighting himself.
"You should."
"I don't want to."
He inhaled sharply, like my confession ignited something he'd been burying for too long.
His nose brushed mine.
"Damion…" I whispered again.
This time he groaned quietly — a sound of restraint fraying at the edges.
His lips hovered a breath above mine.
"If I kiss you," he whispered, "I won't be able to stop."
My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
"Then don't stop."
Something shattered in him — a wall, a restraint, a lifetime of self-control.
His lips were just—
Just—
About to touch mine—
The lights flickered.
Damion froze.
Not a human freeze.
Not confusion.
Instinct.
Predatory.
He lifted his head, eyes snapping toward the hallway.
Everything inside him changed — softened heat replaced by lethal silence.
"Damion?" I whispered.
He didn't look at me.
His hand slid from my neck to my waist, pulling me behind him.
"Stay close," he murmured.
"What's happening?"
He didn't answer.
He moved toward the hallway with the silent, controlled grace of a hunter.
I followed — my pulse thundering.
Halfway down the hall, he stopped abruptly.
Something was on the floor.
A small white envelope.
My name written on it.
In the same handwriting I'd seen for years.
My blood turned to ice.
Damion stepped in front of it, blocking my view, then bent down and picked it up with slow, controlled movement.
He inhaled once.
His eyes went murderous.
He turned to me.
"Mira," he said quietly, dangerously, "you're not leaving this penthouse. Not tonight. Not until I find him."
I swallowed hard.
"Find who?" I whispered.
He looked at me.
And for the first time that night, I saw fear buried beneath his anger.
"Mira," he said softly, "your stalker wasn't watching you tonight."
My chest tightened.
"He was inside."