Damien's brother stepped closer when she didn't make a move to get up, his gaze softening for a brief moment as he observed her pain. Without a word, he crouched down, his movements smooth, calculated—almost too effortless—as he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. The heat of his body sent a shiver through her, and despite herself, she stiffened, instinctively trying to pull away. But the agony in her leg made any effort to escape impossible. The pain from the twisted ankle flared, and she hissed through clenched teeth, feeling the burn climb up her leg as if it were being set on fire.
"You're heavier than you look," he muttered under his breath, his tone oddly neutral.
Lena didn't respond. The weight of the situation was pressing down on her, suffocating her. He's carrying me. I'm a prisoner again. I'm completely at their mercy. The walls of the mansion closed in on her, and she couldn't help but feel like the world around her was shifting. She was sinking, and there was no way to claw her way out.
He moved through the house without a word, his grip firm and unyielding. Every step he took felt like a step further into hell, each hallway a deeper spiral. Lena's mind raced with questions she could barely process. What do they want from me? Why is he doing this? She couldn't understand why Damien's brother, the more composed one, was even here. He seemed so different from Damien, yet... he was here, carrying her like she was nothing more than an object to be disposed of.
Her eyes flicked up to his face, trying to find a clue, some sign of humanity, but his expression was unreadable. His jaw clenched with every step, and his dark eyes remained fixed ahead, focused on the path in front of him.
She opened her mouth, desperate to break the silence. "What's your name?" she asked, her voice raspy. She was terrified, but there was no harm in trying to get something from him, was there? If she could find a chink in his armor...
He didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was low and dismissive. "Does it matter?" The question hung in the air between them, laced with the same indifference he wore like a second skin.
Lena's stomach twisted. Of course it mattered. She needed to know who he was, anything that could help her make sense of what was happening. "I'm not asking for your life story," she snapped, a little more forcefully than intended. "Just your name. So I can at least know who's name to curse when you kill me later."
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was gone too quickly for her to read. "You won't be screaming," he replied flatly, as though her threat had no weight. "Not if you know what's good for you."
He finally reached her room, the one she had fled from earlier. She felt the weight of the moment settle around her, the realization that she was being thrown back into the same cold prison that she had tried to escape from. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, walking past the threshold before unceremoniously dropping her on the bed.
The bed creaked under her as she landed with a thud, the pain in her leg flaring sharply at the impact. She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, blinking back tears as she curled into herself, trying to find some semblance of comfort despite the overwhelming sense of dread.
Before she could even sit up, the door slammed shut behind him. The soft click of the lock sent a chill down her spine.
Lena remained there for a moment, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She was alone, trapped, and utterly helpless. There was no escape. No one would hear her. The weight of it all crashed down on her in an instant.
And then, the dam broke.
Tears welled up in her eyes as the exhaustion, the fear, the frustration, and the hopelessness all bubbled to the surface. She curled tighter into the bed, clutching at the sheets, her body shaking with silent sobs. The room was suffocating, the silence deafening, but it wasn't the silence that hurt most—it was the knowledge that there was no way out.
Her mind raced, thoughts swirling too fast for her to catch. Why is this happening? What do they want from me?
But no answers came.
The exhaustion from the ordeal, from the pain, from the emotional toll of everything she'd endured, finally caught up with her. Her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts blurry and unfocused. The sobs slowed, turning into quiet hiccups, and then nothing at all.
Lena drifted into an uneasy sleep, her body finally succumbing to the darkness that had claimed her long before she closed her eyes.
________________________
Lena awoke with a start, the sensation of suffocation pulling her violently from sleep. Her chest heaved, and she tried to turn, her sluggish body convinced the oppressive weight was nothing more than a heavy blanket tangled around her. But the pressure didn't relent.
And then she heard it—that voice. Low, sardonic, and dripping with amusement.
"Well, look who's finally awake," the voice murmured, smooth as silk but laced with mocking endearment.
Her eyes shot open, terror jolting her into full consciousness. There he was. Damien. Sitting casually beside her on the bed, one leg bent beneath him and the other draped lazily over the edge, like he belonged there. His dark eyes glittered with mischief as his lips curved into that familiar, unsettling smirk.
Lena froze. Her breath hitched as she tried to sit up, but before she could move, his hands planted firmly on either side of her, caging her in.
"Ah, ah, ah," he drawled, leaning closer, his movements unhurried and predatory. "Let's not ruin the moment."
She tried to scream, panic surging through her veins, but his palm clamped over her mouth before the sound could escape. His hand was warm, strong, and unyielding, silencing her completely. She thrashed beneath him, her eyes darting around the dimly lit room in search of a way out. The door was shut. No escape there.
Lena's gaze flicked back to him, her terror intensifying as she took him in. He was impossibly beautiful, like something crafted by a divine hand—but there was an unnatural sharpness to his features, a haunting edge that sent chills racing down her spine. His pale skin seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight streaming through the window, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead, framing his piercing eyes that glinted with cruel delight.
"You know," he began, his voice dripping with mock affection as he leaned on one elbow, his face now unbearably close to hers, "I've missed my little shadow."
Her stomach churned. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but his hand stayed firmly over her mouth.
"I was worried," he continued, his tone lilting like they were sharing a joke only he found funny. "You've been so... difficult lately. Running away, getting into trouble. And after everything I've done for you?" He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. "You wound me, Lena."
She glared up at him, her wide, tear-filled eyes burning with defiance despite the overwhelming fear gripping her.
Her fingers crept along the mattress, searching blindly for anything she could use to defend herself. But as her hand brushed against the bedside table, Damien's sharp gaze flicked down, catching her subtle movement.
"Big mistake, little shadow," he murmured, his smirk deepening.
Before she could react, his head dipped lower, his lips brushing against her neck. She stiffened, her body going rigid as terror coursed through her veins.
"Shh," he whispered, his voice soft but chilling. "It'll be over in a second."
Tears spilled freely from her eyes as she whimpered against his hand, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Damien's smirk faded, replaced by a look of something darker, more primal. "This would've been over much sooner," he murmured, "if he hadn't interrupted us."
And then, without warning, she felt it—the piercing, razor-sharp pain as his teeth plunged into her neck.
Lena screamed against his hand, the sound muffled but raw, her entire body convulsing as pain radiated through her. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before, as if he were tearing her very soul from her body. Her hands clawed at his chest, at his shoulders, desperate to push him off, but it was like trying to move a mountain.
Damien didn't flinch, didn't pause. He tightened his grip, shifting his weight until he was fully over her. His hips pinned hers to the mattress, his strength unrelenting as he held her down.
Lena thrashed beneath him, her screams turning to ragged sobs as the sensation of her blood being drained sapped her strength. Her vision blurred, dark spots creeping in at the edges as her body grew weaker and weaker. She cursed him silently, hating the monster that had reduced her to this—helpless, broken, and utterly at his mercy.
Her movements slowed, her resistance fading as her limbs grew heavy. Finally, she stilled, her body slumping beneath his. Her vision dimmed, but before the darkness consumed her entirely, she managed one last look at him.
Damien's face was terrifyingly calm, his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction as he fed, a predator reveling in his kill.
And then everything went black.