Luna's Second Chance; Love, Lust, Hate, and Revenge

Aria's POV

I saved a stranger from death and in return, he vanished with my heart and left me with his heir.

It started like a mistake I wasn't supposed to make.

It was supposed to be a typical night except that it wasn't. I had my headphones plugged in, hoodie up, and my mind set on the leftover sesame noodles in my freezer. The streets were too empty for a normal Manhattan street and maybe that was why I noticed him. Maybe that was why fate wouldn't let me walk.

He was bent over in the alley, half-hidden in shadows and bleeding into the bricks like he was part of the night. I thought he was a corpse at first and I froze at the spot. My first impulse was to run but then he suddenly groaned. It was faint but enough to know he was alive and struggling. Everything within me screamed to simply turn a blind eye and walk away but I couldn't.  

As I stepped closer and my eyes adjusted to the darkness, something in his eyes pulled me in. They were glinting under the glow of a flickering streetlight, piercing and stormy, and drowning all at the same time. He looked tall and muscular even when he was slumped over, with a split lip and blood oozing on his side.

"You need to get to a hospital," I said, moving a step closer.

"I don't do hospitals," he snarled.

"But you're bleeding."

"I've had worse. It's just a bruise." He replied but his face looked like even breathing was a difficult task.

I hesitated and then cursed under my breath, I couldn't just leave the man there. 

"I might regret this, but you'll have to come with me to my place. I could help you tend to your wounds. "

I dragged him to his feet, slung one of his massive arms over my shoulder, and flagged a taxi. He didn't speak during the entire ride, just clenched his teeth and faced the window and all that while, I couldn't help but wonder if I had run mad, inviting a total stranger into my home. 

Finally, we got to my apartment, a third floor walk-up with peeling paint and a hallway that smelled of incense and lemon fresh cleaner. I fumbled with my keys, holding him up. The second the door opened, he lurched in and collapsed onto my couch.

"Don't bleed on the cushions," I muttered.

I watched the sides of his mouth go up. Was that a smirk?

"Yes, ma'am.". Yes ma'am he simply said, acting like he did nothing. I got the first-aid kit from under the sink and quickly dropped to my knees beside him.

"Lie back," I instructed.  

He looked at me a little longer than necessary before he finally obeyed. It was a struggle to strip his shirt off. Not just because of the cut near his ribs, but because the skin underneath was a tempting battle ground: old scars, tattoos, and bruises that should have had me terrified but instead, it fuelled my curiosity. His chest rose and fell in shallow irregular motions as I worked. Swallowing hard, I tried to focus. 

He didn't flinch when I cleaned the wound, but his jaw tightened with every dab of antiseptic. "Do you always patch up dying men in your living room or was I just too hot to ignore? " he asked, voice rough but teasing. 

"Oh, please.” I said, rolling my eyes. “It is all thanks to my kind heart or I would have let you bleed to death. "

His lip curled slightly. "Lucky me.".

I bandaged the cut with trembling hands and tried not to look at him too intensely. But I couldn't look away from him either. There was something about him. Something different and dangerous, but quiet..

"Do you have a name?" I asked.

He didn't answer immediately. Then, he chuckled softly, "No."

I raised an eyebrow. "Okay, Mr No. You're lucky I didn't leave you in that alley.".

"I'd have managed to find my way out."

Was that his best? That's the thank you I could get? I stood up angrily and tossed him a clean T-shirt. "Bed's down the hall. You can stay for the night. Just don't bleed on the sheets."

He caught the shirt in mid-air. "And here I was thinking you weren't hospitable."

I rolled my eyes and went to the bathroom. I needed space. Air to breathe away whatever strange current was buzzing between us. I had not expected him to be at the window when I got back. He was not wearing the shirt. His back was to me, bare, broad, and in shadow, hot. 

The rain had started again, softly hitting against the glass, and tracing lines of light down his back. Something tightened in my chest. He turned as I approached and his eyes locked with mine. Suddenly, time stopped. 

He reached for me, slow and tentative like he was asking permission. His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, then traced the line of my jaw. The heat of his touch lingering on my skin, birthing emotions I had no idea I had the ability to feel. 

I should've said something, done something. Anything. But I didn't. Instead, I caved, watching him bend towards my face. I stood on my toes and I leaned in, expecting a kiss, but it never came. Instead he leaned just a little further and whispered in my ears.

“Do you have a drink?” 

I froze, totally embarrassed and mentally gave myself a slap. What exactly had I been thinking of trying to kiss a total stranger I had found bleeding in the street? Get a grip girl. He didn't look moved, actually he just raised an eyebrow and edged closer. "I want something strong," he continued, whispering.

"I think I have tequila," I stammered, trying to clear my throat.

"Okay. That would work."

I moved back with a sense of urgency, enjoying the space. I walked into the kitchen, took the bottle, and poured him a shot, fingers shaking slightly. 

When I held it out to him, he drank it in one smooth motion, then held out the glass again.

"Another."

Who did this man think he was throwing orders around like that? But still, I poured. I poured myself one this time, too. I needed something to take the edge off. I literally downed it, the burn cutting through the fog in my chest.

And just like that, we started talking. About nothing at first then suddenly about everything. At first it was awkward, ragged forced conversations but between the second and the third, the awkwardness started to break down. By the fourth, I was laughing too hard and he was looking at me like I was something besides a stranger who had an extra couch.

His eyes remained on me and mine did not look away either. Before we knew it, an hour melted away. I stood up, swaying ever so slightly, and picked up the half-full bottle. "I should put this away before we get stupid," I said, heading toward the kitchen.

I walked up to the counter, set down the bottle, and stood for a while and suddenly, there was a body behind mine. He was behind me and he was close… too close. He pressed  against me, and I stopped moving. Hard muscle against my back. His breath on the side of my neck and something else. I caught myself opening my mouth to say something or do something. Anything, but then his hand closed around my ass. A hard, full grip.

I gasped, but I didn't step away. I should've but I didn't. His other arm came around my waist, slow and heavy with intent. I felt his heat emating from his body,his fingers tracing the outlines of my hips, sliding lower. My breathing stopped and yet it stirred something between my legs.

“We shouldn't be doing this.” I said, barely above a whisper and he turned me around in one fluid motion. My back was pinned against the wall, and his hands were on me everywhere- touching and claiming. 

The kitchen lamb shone on his face and now, I could see his features clearly. The intensity of his eyes, the small scar just above his right eyebrow. It was supposed to make him look dangerous but it mad him look sexy. Dangerously so.m

And yet, I craved for more. I paused, for a moment.

I had never done this before but he was tempting and as I ran my hands through his skin, in that moment, nothing else mattered. 

He looked me straight in the eyes and kissed me. It was rough and forcefully and I kissed him back.

Our bodies entwined quickly, as if we had been waiting for this. We managed to get onto the bed somehow and I allowed it all to happen.

His hands found my waist, pulled me closer like he needed to feel every inch of me to stay alive. My hands tangled in his hair. We shifted blindly, silently. Just instinct and need and flame.

Clothes dropped away and breaths hitched. The moment we fell into bed, time melted away.

It wasn't just sex. It was something else. Something quiet. Something that clawed beneath my skin and rewrote something inside me.

It was the wildest night of my life, sacred, and yet I didn't even know his name.

………

I woke to morning light inching its way across the hardwood floor and the muted thrum of the city beyond. I felt completly different, strangely refreshed.  A wuzzy comfort that blurred dream and memory.

I rolled over with a small smile but the other side of the bed was cold.

I blinked.

The pillow was in place and the sheets barely rumpled. The T-shirt I loaned him sat neatly folded on the bed. I quickly hopped up and went in search for him. 

“Hello?" I called out because I had no idea what his name was. No answer. I tossed off the blanket, heart racing now for an entirely new reason. My bedroom door was open. I stepped out into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the floorboards and listened. The apartment was quiet.

I checked the bathroom. Empty.

The couch. Empty.

Kitchen. Empty.

But the front door was unlocked. He was gone, he'd vanished into thin air.

No name. No number. Nothing but memories of the wildest three hours of my life and  the lingering scent of skin and the recollection of his hands on my flesh.

He was gone. And I didn't know who he was.