Chapter 2: His possessiveness.

Lila POV

I woke up with my neck throbbing and the taste of blood still in my mouth.

The bite was real. The deep ache between my legs was so real . And that steady pull under my ribs…like someone had hooked a thin string to the center of my chest and was gently, constantly tugging... Darian’s bond. I could feel him even though he wasn’t in the room. I still couldn’t fully believe I’d done it. I’d bonded myself to a vampire.

I sat up slowly and touched the mark. It was already scabbed over, dark against my skin. My scrubs from last night lay in a heap on the floor. I still smelled like him—cold night air, something metallic, and that clean, sharp scent that was just Darian.

I still had to go to work. Bills didn’t stop because I’d let a vampire bite me and fuck me senseless. I’d talk to him about it. He couldn’t possibly expect to control my entire life now.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Unknown number.

**I’m outside.**

That was all it said. I knew it was him.

I walked to the window and looked down. He stood on the sidewalk under the streetlight, coat collar turned up, hands in his pockets, staring straight up at my apartment like he already owned the building. When he saw me he didn’t wave. He just tilted his head slightly, waiting.

I could have ignored him. I could have called the police and said a strange man was watching my window. But I couldn’t. I was already his. So I pulled on a sweater and went downstairs.

He didn’t move when I stepped outside. Rain was still falling, light and cold.

“You left,” I said.

“You needed sleep.” His eyes dropped to my neck. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He stepped closer. “That means the bond is settling. You’ll feel me stronger over the next few days. My hunger. My mood. When I want you. It’s not just a mark, Lila. It’s a tether. Two-way. You’ll know when I’m near, when I’m angry, when I’m starving. And I’ll know the same about you.”

I crossed my arms. “And what if I don’t want that?”

“You already chose it.” His voice stayed quiet, almost gentle. “Last night you climbed on that table and told me to fuck you. You came with my teeth in your throat. You kissed your own blood off my mouth. Don’t pretend you’re confused now.”

Heat crawled up my neck. He was right and we both knew it.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Because I can feel you.” He lifted one hand and brushed his thumb over the bite. The contact made my knees weak. “You’re sore. You’re wet. And you’re trying very hard not to ask me upstairs.”

I hated how accurate he was.

“Come up,” I said.

We didn’t talk in the elevator. The second the apartment door closed behind us he had me against the wall. His mouth found the bite again, but he wasn’t feeding this time—just pressing open, deliberate kisses over the scab while his hands shoved my sweater up and off. I helped him with his coat. Then his shirt. His skin was still cool, but under my palms it felt alive, almost vibrating with that same pull I felt under my ribs.

“Slower this time,” I said against his mouth.

“I remember.”

He walked me backward toward the bedroom, stripping the rest of my clothes on the way. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress he pushed me down and knelt between my legs. His eyes stayed locked on mine while he spread me open with his thumbs and licked a slow, thorough stripe up my center.

I jerked. “Darian—”

“Stay still.” He licked again, slower, then closed his mouth over my clit and sucked. Not gentle. Focused. Like he was cataloguing exactly what made my hips twitch. One finger slid inside me, then a second, curling while he kept working me with his tongue. The wet sounds were obscene. I came faster than I wanted to, thighs shaking around his head, hands fisted in his hair, a broken sound tearing out of my throat.

He didn’t stop until I pushed at his shoulders, oversensitive and trembling.

Then he climbed up my body, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and pushed inside me in one steady thrust. I was still pulsing from the orgasm and the stretch made me gasp.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered. He held still for a second, buried deep, forehead against mine. The bond flared under my ribs—his satisfaction, his hunger, the sharp edge of possession.

He started moving—slow, deep, deliberate. No rushing. Every stroke dragged over the spot that made my toes curl. I wrapped my legs around him and met him halfway.

“Harder,” I whispered after a while.

“Not yet.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “I want you to feel every inch. I want you to remember who put this mark on you.”

I dug my nails into his back. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re soaked.” He finally picked up the pace, still controlled but deeper, the wet sound of him fucking me filling the room. “Tell me who you belong to.”

I didn’t answer right away. He stopped moving completely, cock buried to the hilt, and waited. The silence stretched. The pull under my ribs tightened.

“You,” I said.

“Louder.”

“You. I belong to you.”

He started thrusting again, harder now, and reached between us to rub my clit with his thumb. “Come on my cock. Then I’m going to feed.”

The second orgasm hit me harder than the first. I clenched around him and he groaned, hips snapping a few more times before he buried his face in my neck and bit down over the existing mark. The pain mixed with the pleasure and turned into something sharper, brighter. I felt him drinking, felt the pull of blood leaving me, and still kept coming in small aftershocks, body locked tight around him.

When he finally lifted his head his lips were red. He licked them clean while he finished inside me, pulsing deep, eyes locked on mine. The bond hummed between us—satisfied, possessive, almost warm.

We stayed like that for a long minute, breathing hard.

“You’re going to bruise,” he said, voice rough. He touched the fresh blood on my neck with two fingers and then sucked them clean. “Wear a scarf if you’re going out.”

“I don’t own a scarf.”

“Then I’ll buy you one.” He rolled off me but kept one hand on my stomach, possessive. “Sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

I turned my head on the pillow and looked at him. “You’re staying?”

“The bond doesn’t like distance right now. Neither do I.”

I should have told him to leave. Instead I closed my eyes and let the steady pull of him settle deeper under my ribs.

When I opened my eyes again it was evening. The rain had stopped. I looked to my side—empty. For a second my stomach dropped, thinking he’d left. Then I heard a sound from the kitchen.

I stood up, pulled on a shirt, and walked out. He was at the stove, moving with quiet efficiency. Something smelled actually good.

I leaned against the doorway. “You can cook?”

He glanced over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Of course I can cook. I’ve lived for a couple of hundred years. You think I survived on blood alone?”

“I mean… vampires don’t eat food. They only drink blood. That’s the whole thing.”

He turned fully, smiling properly now. “That’s what humans think. We eat. Just not the overcooked garbage most of you live on. And no, we don’t sleep in coffins. Clear enough?”

I laughed despite myself. “Crystal.”

He plated the food. It looked real—eggs, some kind of seared meat, greens. My stomach growled.

“I have to be fast,” I said, sitting down. “I still have to go to work later tonight.”

He went still. Then he looked up, expression unreadable. “I told you. You don’t work there anymore.”

I set my fork down. “You said that. I never agreed.”

“You don’t have a choice. You stopped working there last night.”

Something hot and stubborn flared in my chest. “Just because we fucked doesn’t mean you get to dictate my life. I need to work. I have bills. I have a life.”

He moved.

One second he was across the kitchen. The next he was right in front of me, so close I had to tip my head back. His eyes had gone red at the edges. The bond under my ribs tightened like a fist.

“I don’t like it when I’m disrespected, Lila.” His voice was low, quiet, dangerous. “If you’re worried about money or bills, don’t be. I can take care of you. I’m rich. In case you haven’t noticed.”

I didn’t back down. My heart was slamming, but I held his gaze. “I’m not stopping my work. And your money is yours. Let me keep my job. Please.”

He was quiet for a long moment. I could feel the conflict in him through the bond—anger, protectiveness, something almost like fear. Finally he exhaled.

“Fine.” The red faded from his eyes, but the intensity didn’t. “But I drive you home when you close. Now that you have my mark and we’re bonded, it’s going to be more dangerous for you. Other vampires will smell me on you. Some won’t care. Some will. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He reached into his coat—still draped over a chair—and pulled out a small gift box. Held it out.

I opened it. A beautiful scarf, soft and dark, expensive-looking.

“Thanks,” I said, quieter.

He watched me for another second, then his eyes unfocused slightly, like he was listening to something I couldn’t hear. When it stopped he stood.

“The Council knows about you already.” He took out a necklace—a dark crystal that looked almost like frozen blood—and fastened it around my neck before I could protest. “Wear this. Don’t take it off. If you’re in real trouble, I’ll know.”

He kissed my forehead, lingering for half a second, then left without another word.

I sat there in the quiet kitchen, the scarf in my lap and the crystal cool against my collarbone, wondering what the hell the Council was—and why the sound of that word made the bond under my ribs pull tight with something that felt a lot like dread.