Thunder cracked across the midnight sky as the rain beat mercilessly against the roof of the Valerio estate. The scent of blood still lingered in the air, thick and metallic, clinging to the walls like a ghost refusing to pass on.
Selena sat curled in the corner of the grand bedroom, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The silk sheets of the four-poster bed were stained, the plush rug soaked in crimson. Her mind refused to process what she'd seen—what he was.
Dante.
The man who had saved her from the clutches of a rival family, only to reveal himself as something far more dangerous.
A monster.
But monsters didn't look at you with such intensity, with such sorrow buried behind glowing red eyes.
The door creaked open, and instinctively, her body tensed.
He entered slowly, shirt discarded, blood streaking his bare chest and arms. Yet there was no remorse in his gaze—only possession. Only hunger.
"Selena," he said her name like a prayer, a curse, a promise.
She scrambled backward, heart racing. "Don't come near me."
His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. "You think I'd hurt you?"
"You already have." Her voice broke, trembling but resolute.
"I did what I had to," he said, stepping closer. "To protect what's mine."
"I'm not yours," she whispered, even though every part of her traitorous soul screamed otherwise.
He was too fast. One second, she was alone—the next, he was in front of her, crouched down, his face inches from hers. He didn't touch her. Not yet.
"You don't understand what I am. What this bond means."
"I don't want it," she spat, though her pulse quickened under his gaze.
He inhaled deeply, as if her fear, her defiance, was the finest wine. "It doesn't matter what you want. You stepped into my world, Selena. Now, you're tethered to me."
She slapped him.
The sound echoed in the silence.
His head turned slightly, but he didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Fiery little dove."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Why me?"
He finally reached out, his clawed hand now retracted, warm fingers brushing along her jaw. "Because fate is cruel. And so am I."
Her skin burned where he touched. Not in pain—but in awareness. The bond. The curse. Whatever dark magic bound them—it was real.
"You killed them," she said. "All of them."
"They were going to take you," he said simply. "I can't let that happen."
"I'm not a possession."
"No," he murmured. "You're an addiction."
She closed her eyes. But even in the darkness behind her lids, he was there. Always.
"You can run," he whispered. "You can scream. But I will always find you."
Her voice was barely audible. "What are you?"
He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "The nightmare you'll never wake from."
And somehow, even knowing the truth, even wrapped in terror—her heart beat not just in fear, but something else.
Desire.
He stood, looking down at her with the cold fire of a thousand lifetimes in his eyes.
"Sleep," he commanded.
And her body obeyed.
Because she was no longer just herself.
She was his.
Whether she liked it or not.