As Stella finally calmed down, she pulled away from Simon, wiping her tear-streaked face with trembling hands. Her gaze dropped to the damp spot on his shirt, the dark fabric now soaked with her tears. "I'm really sorry about your shirt," she muttered, her voice laced with embarrassment. The thought of Simon finding out that she wasn't human sent a shiver through her.
Simon glanced down at his shirt and shrugged, his expression indifferent. "It's no problem," he said softly, his tone almost too calm for the tension that lingered in the air. "Do you want me to take you home?"
Still feeling the remnants of fear and confusion from the attack, Stella nodded gratefully. She followed him to his motorcycle, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on her shoulders. Just as she was about to climb onto the back, a nagging thought surfaced in her mind, one that refused to be ignored. She paused, hesitating before speaking.
"By the way," she began, her voice tentative, "how do you know so much about vampires?"
For a moment, the air between them seemed to freeze. Simon's expression darkened, his features hardening in a way that made her stomach twist with unease. His eyes, once neutral, now gleamed with something sinister, something dangerous. The flicker of darkness in his gaze sent a chill down her spine. She didn't realize it yet, but she was asking a vampire about vampires.
Simon held her gaze, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension. He could sense her confusion, her fear, and something primal within him stirred at the scent of it. His lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile, but his eyes remained cold, unreadable.
"I'm a vampire hunter, Stella," he replied, his voice low and laced with menace. The words dripped from his tongue with a practiced ease, but there was a sharp edge to them, a subtle threat lurking beneath the surface. His tone was so smooth, so convincing, yet there was something about the way he said it that sent a jolt of fear through her.
The darkness in his eyes deepened, a dangerous glint flickering in the shadows of his soul. He lied with such precision, with such cold, calculated ease, that it made her blood run cold. She had no idea who—or what—she was truly dealing with, and the realization crept into her mind like a whisper in the night, unsettling and terrifying.
Simon watched her closely, his smirk fading as he added, "And if I were you, I'd be very careful about the questions you ask." His voice dropped, carrying a weight of warning that left no room for doubt.
Stella wanted to ask more, the words hovering on the tip of her tongue, but something in Simon's darkened gaze held her back. There was a line she was afraid to cross, a sense that whatever lay beyond his smooth lies was far more dangerous than she was prepared to confront. She kept her silence, letting the heavy tension simmer between them as they rode quietly through the streets.
When they finally arrived at her home, Simon slowed his motorcycle to a stop, waiting as Stella dismounted. He didn't say a word, his expression unreadable as his eyes followed her movements. She fumbled for her keys, her body still trembling slightly from the night's events. As she reached the front door, it swung open, revealing Mallory standing there, her sharp gaze immediately landing on Stella's disheveled appearance.
Mallory's eyes widened in surprise, taking in the hand marks on her neck, the bloodstains, and the shaken look on her friend's face. But her attention quickly shifted from Stella to Simon, and in an instant, her expression hardened into something cold and lethal. Mallory's usual aloofness vanished, replaced by a steely edge that made the air feel suddenly thick.
"It wasn't him, Mal," Stella whispered hastily, sensing the growing storm in her friend. She knew that look all too well—the cold, calculated fury that came when Mallory felt someone had wronged her or those she cared about.
Mallory's piercing gaze remained fixed on Simon for a long, tense moment before her expression cooled, but only just. The sharpness in her eyes dulled, though the icy wariness lingered beneath the surface. She gave a small, stiff nod in response to Stella, not taking her eyes off Simon as she stepped aside to let her friend pass.
"Go inside, Stels," Mallory said softly but firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Stella hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously between the two, but eventually nodded and slipped inside, the weight of the night pressing heavily on her shoulders. As soon as she was out of sight, Mallory stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the porch as she approached Simon.
She stopped just a foot away from him, her presence radiating an unnerving calm. Her eyes, once again as cold as ice, locked onto his, unflinching. "I don't know what happened out there," she said quietly, her voice smooth but laced with a threat. "But if you ever put her in danger again, I'll make sure you regret it."
Simon's smirk returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his tone just as smooth, but there was something dark lurking beneath the surface, a tension neither of them was willing to break just yet.
The tension between them hung heavy in the air, like a storm about to break. Neither of them moved, both unwilling to be the first to yield.
Mallory didn't blink. "And it would be better," she continued, her voice lowering to a whisper that felt colder than the night air, "if she doesn't come to the training center during this holidays. After the holidays, she will come. Not before."
Simon's smirk deepened, but his eyes hardened. There was no amusement in them now, only a quiet calculation. "Fine by me," he said, his voice still smooth, though the edge in it had sharpened.
Without a word, Mallory turned and made her way back into the house, her bare feet moving silently across the wooden porch. She didn't bother to look back, didn't need to. She knew Simon's eyes followed her, that his darkness lingered just beyond the door, waiting, watching. But Mallory wasn't afraid.
The door clicked shut with a quiet finality, leaving Simon in the silence of the cold night. His eyes stayed fixed on the door, a shadow passing over his face as he allowed the tension to settle deep within him.
Slowly, his hands relaxed from the handlebars of his bike, and with deliberate ease, he reached into his pocket, feeling the smooth, cool surface of what he had taken—what she had unknowingly left behind. As his fingers curled around the small, delicate object, a dark satisfaction stirred in his chest.
He pulled the pearl out, and under the dim glow of the porch light, it gleamed—a tiny, perfect drop, shimmering in red like the tears she had shed only moments before. A single drop of blood, turned into something so much more. It wasn't just an ordinary pearl . It was evidence. Proof of who Stella truly was. Of what she was.
"Just as I thought," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if savoring each word. His eyes, dark and predatory, glinted in the night. The pearl rolled between his fingers, fragile and priceless. "A high-quality mermaid."
But as he stared at the pearl, something deeper clicked inside him, a decision so powerful it made his pulse quicken. She was no longer just a curious girl, no longer just another pretty face. No, Stella had become something more—something that belonged to him now. He had taken part of her, and there was no giving it back. At that moment, with the weight of her tear resting in his palm, Simon made a choice, one that would seal her fate.
Stella Adams was his.
The thought pulsed through his veins, filling him with a dark, possessive thrill. She might not know it yet—might not even realize what had begun—but Simon had already claimed her in his mind. She was his to unravel, his to keep. No matter what happened, no matter who stood in his way, Stella would be his in every sense of the word.
The smirk on his face deepened, though it barely touched his eyes. It wasn't just a smirk of amusement anymore. It was something far more dangerous, far more calculated. Simon was no stranger to obsession, and now, that obsession had found its mark. He rolled the pearl once more between his fingers, a reminder of her vulnerability, her secrets—secrets he would soon know.
"Careless Stella," he whispered, the mockery in his tone like a shadow creeping over the night. She had made a mistake, one she would soon regret. She didn't know who he truly was. What he was capable of. But that didn't matter. He would teach her, show her piece by piece, until there was no part of her life he hadn't touched.
The pearl disappeared back into his pocket, its presence comforting him like a promise. A bond between them, even if she didn't realize it yet.
The engine of his bike roared to life, the sound breaking the eerie silence that had settled around him. But as he drove off into the night, the streets blurring beneath the rush of wind, the smirk never left his face. In his mind, there was only one thought that consumed him: Stella had no idea what kind of danger she was truly in. She might have been a beautiful mermaid, full of innocence and grace, but Simon was the hunter. The predator. And now, with her tear in his possession, she was already ensnared.
The game had changed, and from this moment on, Stella was playing by his rules.
As the darkness swallowed him whole, Simon felt the decision harden in his chest. He would stop at nothing. She was his now. Whether she realized it or not, Stella Adams was already his. And soon, she would know it too.