2

Claire

“Ugh fuck!” I groaned as I flashed my eyes open.

The first thing I felt was cold air. Then pain. A dull, heavy throb at the back of my head as I stretched my right hand towards it.

When I opened my eyes fully, I didn’t see the hospital. I didn’t see anything familiar.

All I saw was a white sheet, gold curtains and a chandelier dangling right above me.

Everything looked… expensive. Too expensive and I only saw places like this in the movies.

“What the hell?” I whispered. I sat up slowly, my body weak, dizzy. My hand went straight to my neck — no bite, no blood. Just a small bruise near my shoulder.

I looked around again. The room was huge. The bed alone could fit five people. The walls were covered in framed art and warm lights that hummed quietly.

It didn’t feel like a hospital. It felt like a movie.

“Where am I?” I hissed.

My voice sounded small, swallowed by silence.

I stood, wobbling a bit, and walked to the door. I jacked and shook on it but it didn’t open. I turned the knob harder. Still locked.

“Hello?” I called. “Is anyone there?”

I was met with the echo of my own voice.

I banged my palm on the door. “Hey! Let me out!”

Nothing. Just my own voice echoing back.

A wave of panic hit me. My chest tightened. I hit the door again, harder this time. “Somebody! Please!”

I was met with a deafening silence again.

I stepped back and looked around for another way out — a window, maybe. There was one, but it was too high, sealed shut. I tried anyway, tugging at the glass like a crazy person.

“Ugh, come on the fuck!”

The knob clicked.

I froze. I had prolly just opened the door I thought.

The door opened slowly.

And then a man walked in.

He was tall, Sharp, and had these calm, bewitching eyes. He was dressed in black — simple shirt, sleeves rolled up exposing tattoos on his hands, a quiet authority in the way he moved. His eyes met mine, steady and dark.

For a second, I forgot to breathe.

He closed the door behind him softly.

I took a step back. “Who, who are you?” I stuttered but trying to maintain boldness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he set a tray down on the table — water, bread, some kind of soup.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Breakfast,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You should eat.”

“Where am I?”

“In my house.”

“Your house?” I repeated, confused. “Why am I here? Who the hell are you? What did you do to me?”

He looked at me calmly, distant, like my questions didn’t matter. “You were unconscious. I brought you here.”

“Unconscious? I was attacked—” I stopped. My heart started racing again. “Wait… that thing—”

He raised a brow. “Thing?”

“The man from the store! He—he wasn’t human! His eyes—”

“Careful what you say,” he said quietly.

Something about his tone made me freeze. It wasn’t threatening, but it wasn’t kind either.

My hands balled into fists. “You were there, weren’t you? You’re with him.”

He looked almost amused. “ I don’t even know what you are talking about”

His calmness only made me angrier. “You’re lying. Let me go.”

He sighed. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“Watch me.”

I tried to push past him, but he moved faster — stepping into my path, firm but effortless. His arm brushed mine, solid as stone.

“Move!” I snapped.

He didn’t. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep this up.”

I shoved again, and the tray he brought slipped off the table. The glass tipped, water splashing across my shirt.

I gasped. The fabric clung to my skin instantly.

He paused. Just for a second. His eyes flickered to my breast, then away — sharp, restrained, like he hated himself for even looking.

I stepped back, glaring. “Happy now?”

His jaw tightened. “You’re impossible.”

“Good. Now open the door.”

“No.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“You don’t even know where you are.” His tone was calm, almost mocking. “And your phone—” He pointed to the table. “It was broken.”

My throat went dry.

He turned toward the door. “Eat something and rest, You’ll need it.”

“Need it for what?” I snapped.

He didn’t answer. He just shrugged mildly and smirked as he walked out and locked the door again.

I stared at the knob. My chest felt heavy — part fear, part anger.

“Fuck!!!” I screamed my voice out angrily and banged on the door.

I searched every inch of the room — behind the curtains, under the bed, even inside the closet. Nothing. No secret exits, no phones, nothing sharp enough to break the window and even if I managed to break the window, I was literally at the top floor and that would be suicidal.

When I finally sat on the bed again out of exhaustion and anger, I buried my face in my hands.

“What the hell is happening?”

I hated that part of me noticed how his voice sounded. Or how his eyes looked when he said you’ll need it. I hated that something about him made me curious.

I lay down, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned.

And eventually, I fell asleep.

(POV — Damien)

I stood in my study, staring out the window. The night beyond the glass felt unnaturally quiet, almost eery. Her beautiful face wouldn’t leave my mind — the way her eyes flashed, how she fought me, the way her boobs stacked together all juicy as the water splashed on her, that stubbornness baked into every movement. Every fucking thing about Claire was making me lose my mind and I wasn’t used to such. Someone I was supposed to kill was finding her way to my head.

“She’s not ordinary,” I muttered and shook my head to thrust the thoughts away.

“Sir?”

I turned slightly. Kane my right-hand man — waited by the door with a folder in his hands.

“I got what you asked for, Don” he said, setting the file down on my desk. “Her name’s Claire Avery. Twenty-two. Orphan. Works as an auxiliary nurse. Nothing special.”

I opened the file and skimmed the pages. “No family?”

“None.”

Good, I thought, and closed the file halfway. For a moment my expression softened, then shifted into something more thoughtful.

“You know the rule,” Kane reminded me. “Humans who see the Alpha doing the ”

“I know the rule,” I cut in. My tone was sharp enough to make him fall silent.

After a beat I exhaled. “The Council will intervene if I don’t handle it soon.”

“So what’s the plan?”

I didn’t answer. I just stared at Claire’s photograph — her face, those eyes — something about it nagged at me.

Finally I leafed to the last page.

I froze.

For a long second I didn’t move. My jaw tightened. What I saw on that page pulled the calm right out of me.

“Sir?” Kane prompted, frowning.

I said nothing. I closed the file slowly, feeling the darkness in my gaze deepen.

“Leave it,” I said. “I’ll handle her myself.”