DAMON'S POV
The dream clung to him like smoke.
Half memory, half prophecy—Alina in white, walking toward him through fire, whispering his name like a prayer and a curse.
Damon blinked into the dark.
The ceiling above was gilded in faint moonlight.
But it wasn't the dream that stopped his breath.
It was her.
Curled beside him.
Alina.
Her breath was soft and steady, her lips slightly parted. One hand rested near his chest, the other curled close to her own heart like a frightened child protecting something fragile.
He hadn't moved all night.
Didn't dare.
He stared at her now, almost angrily.
How had she ended up here, in his bed, in his arms, in his head?
This—this stillness she brought him—was a lie. A slow toxin.
And yet…
He reached out and brushed his thumb across her temple, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. Just one. Reverent. Possessive.
She didn't stir.
Damon closed his eyes again.
Then—his phone buzzed.
He almost didn't check it.
But the second buzz came with a code: ⚠️ MAX // URGENT.
With a groan, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He padded barefoot to the far end of the room and answered in a low voice.
"Talk."
Max's voice crackled on the other end, breathless with nerves. "Sir… Kevin found something. About you."
Damon's blood turned cold.
Max continued, "We tracked his system. He breached the encrypted file list. Corvani files. The symbol, everything. We shut it down and left a message."
Damon clenched his jaw. He wanted to roar, to obliterate the idiot who'd dared lift the veil.
But then his eyes drifted back to Alina—sleeping in his bed, wrapped in his scent, the curve of her spine framed in silk and shadows.
His peace.
His only soft place.
He swallowed the rage.
Voice flat and cold, he said, "Deal with him now."
"But—sir?"
"Take him to Warehouse 9. Quietly. I don't want headlines. I don't want a mess."
Max hesitated. "You want me to… handle it personally?"
"Yes." Damon's tone sharpened. "He's not worthy of my time. He wants to fight a devil. Let him choke on his own illusions instead."
A pause.
Then Max nodded through the silence. "Understood."
The call ended.
Damon stood there for a moment, the weight of control like ice in his bloodstream. He had built empires on silence, on secrets, on brutality that never saw daylight.
And yet now—here she was.
Sleeping inches away, unaware that her protector was the same devil she feared in the dark.
He walked back to the bed.
Knelt beside her.
Just looked.
Her lashes fluttered in a dream. A sound escaped her lips—soft, warm, like his name might be buried inside it.
"Alina…"
His voice was a whisper.
A vow and a sin.
> "You made me weak, little flame," he murmured, brushing a hand down her arm. "And I'll burn the world to keep you asleep like this… just a little longer."
KEVIN'S POV
3:27 AM — Downtown L.A., His Apartment
The cursor blinked on his laptop, mocking him.
Kevin ran a hand through his messy hair, nerves raw. He had just uncovered a name the world was never meant to remember—Damon Antonio Corvani. A name soaked in blood and silence.
His apartment was dim, the only light coming from the screen and the occasional flash of a passing car below.
Then he heard it.
A soft thud.
From the balcony.
Kevin's breath caught.
He lived on the sixth floor.
He stood up slowly, heart pounding. He wasn't brave, not really. Just desperate. For answers. For Alina.
He crept toward the sliding door. Curtains fluttered slightly—he had locked it. He knew he had.
Crack.
The glass spider-webbed instantly.
"No—"
Too late.
The door was ripped open and two shadows poured inside like liquid death. Black-clad, masked, fast.
Kevin tried to run.
A hand grabbed his hoodie, yanked him back with terrifying strength. He thrashed, kicked—his knee connected with something solid. One of them grunted.
But it didn't matter.
He wasn't trained. Just a student with too many late nights and a laptop full of secrets he should've never touched.
He barely got out a scream before a cloth was shoved over his mouth.
Chemical. Sharp. Bitter.
Chloroform.
His vision blurred instantly.
He clawed at the hand, fought to stay awake. A flash of the Ouroboros tattoo near one man's wrist seared into his brain.
He wanted to scream Alina's name.
But his voice never made it out.
The last thing he saw before his knees gave out was his laptop crashing to the ground and the cold, dark glint of the city beyond the window.
Then—nothing.
---
CUT TO BLACK
> Kevin was gone. The serpent had claimed another shadow. And no one would know until it was far too late.
The message came in silent.
"Target secured. Warehouse drop in 30."
Damon's eyes snapped open, scanning the glowing screen.
Kevin was in his custody now.
The boy had flown too close to a flame meant to burn. And Damon… was the flamekeeper.
He should've felt relief.
Instead, sleep was a distant myth.
But his body was tired—not from the war outside, but from the peace sleeping within his room. On his bed.
Alina.
She had curled up beside him hours ago, warm and trusting. A quiet storm wrapped in a woman's skin. And now, with the world outside begging to be destroyed, Damon stayed seated, half-slouched in the chair beside her, arms resting over his knees.
Just watching her breathe.
---
ALINA'S POV
Something felt different.
Alina stirred awake, blinking through the dim gray light of early dawn. The world was still, the kind of still that only comes before storms—or confessions.
She turned slightly… and froze.
Damon was there.
Not in the bed.
But in the chair next to it, head tilted down, arms crossed over his chest, long lashes casting shadows against sharp cheekbones. His breath was soft, slow. A few strands of hair had fallen over his brow, wild and careless.
He looked nothing like the man who terrified her.
He looked almost… heartbreakingly human.
She swallowed and leaned closer—just a little.
Her fingers reached out before she could think better of it, gently tucking the stray hair behind his ear, her fingertip brushing the rough edge of his jawline.
His lips parted.
She stilled.
And then, without warning—
His arms moved. Fast.
Alina gasped. "Ah—!"
He had pulled her effortlessly into his lap, her knees straddling him now, her hands pinned to his chest. He was still half-asleep—but his instincts were never asleep.
His eyes opened slowly. And when they met hers, they were liquid fire.
"Touching me while I sleep, little dove?" he rasped, voice thick with sleep and sin. "How bold."
"I—I didn't mean to—" she whispered, heart pounding against his.
He leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"Careful, Alina. I take what's offered."
She tried to move back, but his hand slid up her spine, holding her there.
And then he laughed—low, rich, dangerous.
"Startled you, didn't I?" he whispered, his breath warm against her neck.
She tried to glare. "You pretended to be asleep."
"I was," he said, pulling her closer. "But I'm always awake… when it comes to you."
His fingers trailed up to her jaw, tilting her face. His voice dropped to a wicked whisper.
"You looked at me like you wanted to kiss me."
"I didn't," she lied.
His eyes darkened, smirk twisting. "Shame. Because I do. Right now."
And before she could answer, he leaned in—
Like he was memorizing her scent.
"You smell like mine," he said against her lips.
And for a terrifying, beautiful second—Alina didn't move.
Didn't fight.
Because a part of her, the part drowning in dreams and heat, didn't want to.
His hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, possessive, slow.
He didn't rush. He simply looked at her—studied the tremble in her lashes, the way her breath hitched.
"I'm going to kiss you, Alina," he murmured, voice barely above a breath. "And I won't ask again."
And then he did.
Not with violence.
Not with restraint either.
But with a hunger that felt like prayer.
His lips brushed hers—once, twice—testing, tempting.
She didn't pull away.
So he kissed her deeper.
His mouth moved over hers with maddening control, coaxing her lips apart, breathing her in as if the taste of her would absolve all the sins he had yet to commit. She whimpered against his mouth, her hands fisting in his shirt.
It wasn't just a kiss.
A silent promise: You are mine, even if you hate me for it.
And when he finally pulled back—just an inch—he stayed there, forehead resting against hers, hearts thudding in tandem like a warning drumbeat in the dark.
"I take what's offered. And you… you gave me more than you know."
Her breath trembled against his mouth.
Still, she didn't move.
Still, she didn't push him away.
He waited—a beat too long—his thumb tracing the edge of her jaw, the tip grazing the corner of her lips as if to memorize them before they were his.
And then he kissed her.
Not quickly. Not hungrily.
But like a storm beginning at sea—inevitable, patient, vast.
His lips brushed hers once—just once—soft as sin. Testing. Tempting.
She inhaled sharply, and that was all the permission he needed.
The second kiss came deeper.
His hand cradled the back of her neck, angling her mouth to his, anchoring her where he wanted—closer, tighter. His lips moved with aching precision, coaxing her open, dragging a sigh from her throat as he pulled her further into the gravity of him.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the fabric like a lifeline she hated needing.
And when her mouth parted for him, when her breath faltered and her body leaned into his—
Damon lost the last thread of control.
He devoured her.
Tongue tasting the corners of her mouth, teeth grazing her lower lip—not to hurt, but to own. His kiss deepened, turned molten, slow but devastating.
There was no rush. No fear of time. Just the low thrum of obsession stretching between them, taut and electric.
He kissed her like he had waited lifetimes.
Like this—her breath, her taste—was what the nightmares had been warning him about all along.
She gasped softly into his mouth, and he drank it in like wine. His thumb traced her throat, feeling her pulse race wildly beneath her skin. Alive. Fragile. His.
She was trembling now. Not with fear.
With the weight of surrender she didn't understand.
He broke the kiss only when they both were breathless, their foreheads pressed together, air hot and uneven between them.
Her lips were swollen, eyes glazed.
She pulled back.
Slowly. Reluctantly.
Like waking from a fever dream she wasn't ready to admit she'd wanted.
Her breath trembled between them. Her fingers slid from his shirt, leaving behind creases like bruises—evidence of how hard she'd held on.
Her lips were parted, kiss-bitten and unsure, and her eyes… God, her eyes.
Wide.
Glass-bright.
As if she'd just seen her own reflection in him—and didn't know whether to run or fall again.
> "I need to go," she said, barely more than a breath. It cracked at the edges, like something breaking that had never been whole to begin with.
Damon didn't stop her.
He didn't move.
He simply watched.
Half-lidded eyes, lips still parted from the taste of her, that fire-soft collision of surrender she thought she could take back.
> "Alina…"
His voice was quiet thunder.
Dangerously tender.
> "Don't run from something that made you feel alive."
She turned her face slightly, like that alone might save her.
But he saw her. All of her.
The way she stood, frozen in place. The way her chest rose too fast, her pupils still blown wide with heat and confusion.
She looked at him then.
Really looked.
The man whose silence wrapped around her like safety…
And yet sometimes felt like a noose.
The man whose kiss had stolen breath from her lungs…
And left a truth she didn't want echoing in her bones.
> "I shouldn't have—"
The words tangled. They didn't stand a chance against the war inside her.
Damon stood.
Not rushed.
Not threatening.
Just… inevitable.
Like dusk sliding toward midnight.
> "You kissed me back."
His voice was a velvet blade. "Don't pretend you didn't."
She flinched—not from fear, but from the mirror he held up to her.
Her back met the wall.
When had she moved?
When had he followed?
His hand rose—but stopped short of touching her. Hovered beside her cheek. A breath of warmth. A breath of warning.
> "I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered.
"No," he said, gaze flicking to her lips. "But I do."
Something in her cracked.
She wanted to argue.
To accuse.
To understand.
But none of it came.
Just silence.
Just him.
Too close, too calm.
> "I should leave."
His jaw tensed. But his voice stayed low.
> "Do you want to?"
That pause.
That hesitation.
It was louder than a confession.
> "I don't know," she whispered.
His gaze softened. Barely. Like he was giving her a chance to believe in something gentler than what he truly was.
> "Then stay," he said, stepping just close enough for her to feel the heat of him. "Just for a little longer."
And God—how she wanted to.
But her fear was stitched into every breath.
Into every nightmare she still couldn't name.
> "I need air," she said, voice a whisper of retreat. "Just… don't follow."
She slipped past him like smoke.
Like something sacred that didn't know it was already claimed.
The door closed behind her.
Soft.
Final.
Like the snap of a trap she didn't realize had been laid in velvet and silk.
---
DAMON'S POV
He didn't follow.
Didn't call her back.
Didn't have to.
He just stood in the quiet she left behind—heart beating calm, smile curling slow.
Dark.
Certain.
> "Run, little flame," he murmured to the door.
"You'll come back. They always do—when I already own the air they breathe."
His fingers rose to his mouth.
To the place where her fear had trembled…
and her kiss had stayed.
As soon he heard the door click sound he went to his ruthless face.
Kevin.
Damon's jaw tightened as the name formed like poison in his mind.
The boy who couldn't stay in his lane.
The man who thought he could protect her. Who thought truth could save her.
He had kissed her like she was his last breath—but now he needed to see the man who tried to take it away.
In the warehouse
Kevin was unconscious, slumped in the chair, his wrists bound tightly behind his back. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows along the concrete walls of the abandoned warehouse.
Damon leaned against the table, watching Kevin with unreadable eyes.
He should've killed him already. It would've been easy. A single bullet, a quiet disposal, and Kevin would never be a problem again.
But no—Kevin had to suffer first.
Because he had come too close. Because he had dared to dig into Damon's past.
Because he had dared to think he could save her.
Damon's fingers curled around the hilt of his knife as Kevin groaned, slowly regaining consciousness. His head lolled forward before he blinked rapidly, confusion shifting into horror as realization set in.
"Finally awake," Damon murmured, his voice dark with amusement.
Kevin struggled against his restraints, his breath ragged. "You're making a mistake," he rasped.
Damon chuckled, crouching in front of him, tilting his head. "You're the one who made the mistake, Kevin."
Kevin swallowed hard, but he lifted his chin. "Alina will find out. No matter what you do to me, she'll know."
Damon's smirk didn't waver. If anything, it sharpened into something more sinister. He grabbed Kevin's jaw, forcing him to look into his cold, unyielding gaze.
"You think so?" Damon's voice was silk over steel. "Let me tell you what's going to happen."
He leaned in closer, his grip tightening.
"You will disappear. No body, no trail. Just another missing person in a city that forgets faces too easily."
Kevin's breathing grew erratic, but he clenched his jaw. "She'll look for me."
Damon's smile deepened. "And I'll be the one comforting her."
Kevin let out a bitter laugh despite the pain. "She's smart. She'll know something's wrong."
Damon tsked, shaking his head. "You underestimate how much she wants to believe in me." He leaned in, his breath chilling against Kevin's ear. "You should've seen her last night. How she moaned my name, how she clung to me like I was her world."
Kevin stiffened, his jaw locking. Damon chuckled at the reaction, his grip tightening on Kevin's shoulder.
"She's mine, Kevin. And she loves me."
Kevin shook his head, defiant. "No. She doesn't know what you are. When she finds out—"
Damon interrupted with a dark chuckle. "And what will she find out, exactly? That the man who makes her scream in pleasure at night has a darker side? That the man she's falling for isn't who she thinks he is?" His smirk widened. "She won't leave, Kevin. She can't. She's already mine."
Kevin's breathing was ragged, fury burning in his eyes. He lunged forward, straining against his restraints, his voice a growl. "You son of a—"
Damon struck him hard across the face, silencing him. The sound echoed through the warehouse, leaving a sharp sting in its wake.
Kevin's breathing turned harsh, his eyes blazing with unchecked rage. But Damon simply straightened, pocketing his phone with a satisfied smirk.
"You should've stayed out of this, Kevin," Damon murmured. He loosened his hold, letting Kevin's head slump forward. He had won.
Alina would never know the truth.
And Kevin?
Kevin would never see her again.
Saying that and making him defeat he went to his car like asking
The rain drummed against the windshield like a soft lullaby to the chaos he had left behind. Damon leaned back in his leather seat, eyes half-lidded, a satisfied smirk still lingering on his lips.
The scent of blood and rain clung to him, a reminder of the night's pleasures—but none compared to what awaited him at home.
The city blurred past in streaks of gold and gray, but his mind was already somewhere else—already with her.
Alina.
He chuckled darkly, fingers tapping against the leather seat. She had been exquisite. The way she had trembled beneath him, whispered his name
His fingers tightened. He never cared beyond the night, never let a woman linger in his thoughts once the pleasure faded. But Alina… he wanted to keep her. Until his last breath.
Yet, Kevin's words gnawed at the edges of his satisfaction.
She's smart. She'll figure out the truth.
His jaw clenched. Kevin had always been an inconvenience, a shadow in Alina's life that he had tolerated for too long.
That ends now.
His fingers twitched with the urge to see her. To watch her expression when she faced him again. He lived for the way she blushed, the way she tried to fight what they both knew was inevitable.
A deep hunger coiled inside him.
"Take me home," he ordered, his voice a silken threat.
"Faster," he told the driver, his voice calm but sharp like a blade wrapped in silk.
He needed to see her.
Flashback:
I crouched before Kevin, watching as he gasped for air, his body broken but his spirit still foolishly clinging to hope. It was almost admirable—his desperate defiance, the fire in his eyes despite the bruises darkening his skin. Almost.
Leaning in, I let my voice slither between us, dark and intimate, as if we were old friends sharing a secret.
"Tell me, Kevin," I murmured, my fingers tracing the bloodied edge of his jaw.
He rasped, "She doesn't love you." A whisper, but defiant.
I chuckled aloud.
"Did she call for you last night? Did she whisper your name when her body trembled beneath me?"
His breath hitched, his swollen lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Just a sharp inhale, a tremor of rage.
Good. Let him feel it. Let it consume him.
I exhaled slowly, savoring the moment before delivering the first strike.
"The alley murder. The one that haunts her nights. The one she saw with her own terrified eyes." I smiled, watching the way realization bled into his face. "That was me."
His body tensed, a shudder rippling through him. A beautiful reaction.
"And the man in the club? The one who watched her from the shadows? The one who reached for her, left traces of himself in the air she breathed?" I tilted my head, my voice deepening, sinking into something dangerously soft. "That was me, too."
His hands curled into fists, the muscles in his arms straining, but he was weak. Broken. He could do nothing but listen. And so, I continued.
"The one who entered her room when she was fast asleep, when the moon painted her skin in silver… the one who touched her, tasted her." I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment, reliving the memory, my lips curling as the hunger returned. "Me."
Kevin let out a choked sound, somewhere between a growl and a plea. A plea for what? Mercy? Retribution? None of it mattered.
I leaned closer, close enough that he could see the certainty in my gaze, the inevitability of what was to come.
"You were right about one thing, Kevin." My voice dipped into something almost reverent. "She was never paranoid. She was right all along."
His breaths turned ragged, frantic. His entire frame trembled, the weight of the truth crushing him from the inside out. And yet, I wasn't done.
I lifted my hand, trailing a thumb idly over my lower lip, my mind wandering to the image of her—bare, vulnerable, untouched by the corruption of this world until I stained her with my presence.
"You see, I wanted more than just to haunt her nights. I wanted to watch her. Always. Every flicker of emotion in her eyes, every unguarded moment when she thought she was alone." I let the words linger, my gaze flicking over Kevin's battered form, savoring his growing unease. "So, I did."
A slow pause. Silence stretching thin, suffocating.
Kevin swallowed hard. "What... what do you mean?"
I smiled, feigning thoughtfulness. "You'd be surprised how easy it is to slip into a life. To become the ghost in someone's world without them even realizing."
His brows furrowed, confusion flickering before a deeper dread seeped in.
"I knew everything, Kevin. Every time she sighed in frustration. Every time she laughed. Every time she cried."
His breath grew heavier. "No..."
I leaned in, whispering it like a lover's confession.
"Cameras, Kevin. Everywhere. Her room. Her bathroom. Every single place where she let her guard down."
Kevin's body jerked violently, as if he could shake off my words, as if sheer denial could undo what had already been done. His breath came in short, furious gasps, and for a fleeting second, I thought he might lunge at me.
But he didn't. He couldn't. Because deep down, he knew.
He had already lost.
"You're lying," he choked. "You sick, twisted liar."
I enjoyed as I saw his helpless state " Do I need to explain the moles in her body or how she curls her toes in fear or how she holds her breath before crying or the way she fingers that tiny scar on her wrist when she's deep in thought ?".
Kevin froze. His mind raced. Alina had never told anyone about that scar—not even him.
Damon's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "She got it when she was ten, didn't she? Tripped over that old swing in her backyard. She doesn't even remember it clearly. But I do."
"You fucking monster!" he roared, but his voice cracked, filled with the raw agony of betrayal.
I only laughed, rising to my feet, towering over him like the predator I was.
"Monster?" I tasted the word like wine—aged, bitter, exquisite. "Perhaps. But tell me, Kevin—who do you think she belongs to now?"
I turned to leave, slow, deliberate steps echoing against the cold walls.
Let him rage. Let him suffer.
Because no matter what he did, no matter how desperately he tried to fight…
Back in the Warehouse – Kevin's Last Moments of Consciousness
Kevin's blood stained the concrete beneath him, a slow drip that matched the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Every word Damon had spoken carved itself into his mind, into the very marrow of his bones.
The cameras.
The scar.
The mask.
Damon was the monster in the dark.
And Alina—sweet, fragile Alina—was still walking straight into his arms.
"No…" Kevin choked, his voice barely a whisper. "I have to warn her…"
Kevin's vision blurred as blood trickled down his temple, hot and thick, mixing with sweat and dust. The warehouse air was heavy—metallic, damp, suffocating. His limbs were numb, but not his mind. That was still alive. Still screaming.
Damon's footsteps had long since faded, the echo of his sick laughter still clinging to the walls like a curse. The silence now was worse. It meant Damon didn't care. It meant Kevin wasn't a threat.
Not anymore.
But he was wrong.
Kevin's jaw ached, his ribs throbbed with every shallow breath, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something raw. Not fear. Not defeat.
Resolve.
She doesn't know. She's still with him. She still believes him.
A low sound tore from his throat, half groan, half growl. He shifted, testing the ropes that bound his wrists. Pain screamed through his shoulders, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
He had seen the truth.
He had heard the truth.
And if he didn't get out now, Alina would never know. She would fall deeper into Damon's trap—into the arms of a man who wore her nightmares like a second skin.
Kevin gritted his teeth, forcing one wrist to twist, the rope biting deep enough to draw blood. Good. That meant he could feel. That meant he was still alive.
He thought of her laugh. Her stupid morning coffee rituals. The way she always hummed under her breath when she thought no one was listening.
She deserved better.
She deserved the truth.
His voice was barely more than a whisper, a vow swallowed by the shadows.
"I need to escape."
And he would.
Even if it killed him.
But his head slumped, too heavy to hold up. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision like a curtain slowly drawing shut.
The last thing he heard was Damon's voice from earlier, echoing like a curse in his mind—
> "She's already mine."