Caught In The Crossfire

I stared straight at him, my breath catching in my throat. For a fleeting moment, I swore I saw something... otherworldly in his eyes.

It wasn't just the way they shimmered unnaturally under the dim light—it was as if they were pulling me in, unraveling every thought in my head.

"No wonder they wanted you so badly," he said, his voice low and deliberate.

"Your blood... it's unique."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what he'd just said.

"That's ridiculous," I finally managed to stammer, though my voice betrayed my fear. "I just want to go home."

He shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable.

"You're not safe out there. Not right now."

I stepped back instinctively, my hands trembling at my sides.

"I don't even know who you are," I snapped. "I don't know how I got here, and I can't remember a single thing about what happened last night."

His face softened just slightly, but it did nothing to calm the storm brewing in my chest.

"My apologies," he said, inclining his head as if he were bowing.

"I should have introduced myself sooner. My name is Xander."

He extended his hand to me, his movements slow, deliberate. But I didn't take it. Not right away.

Instead, I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to run, to get away from this stranger who was talking about blood and danger as if I were part of some twisted game.

Finally, I forced myself to speak.

"Leighton," I said quietly, almost wishing I hadn't.

"Leighton," he repeated, my name rolling off his tongue as if he'd said it a hundred times before.

His voice was softer now, less threatening, and yet it carried a weight I couldn't ignore.

"Listen to me. I can't explain everything right now, but you have to trust me. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you."

His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I couldn't look away. They weren't just intense—they were searching, probing, like he was peeling back layers of me I hadn't even known existed.

"They're hunting for you, Leighton," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "All because you made one small mistake—you walked into the Devour Club."

The name sent a jolt through me, though I had no memory of it. Yet, somehow, it felt... familiar, like a forgotten dream resurfacing.

I shook my head violently, desperate to push away the growing sense of dread.

"No. This isn't real. It's just a bad dream. I'll wake up any second now."

"It's real," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"And if you don't trust me, you're going to get yourself killed."

"No!" I shouted, stepping back farther.

"I don't believe you. I just want to go home. Let me go!"

A tense silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. He watched me, his jaw tightening, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

For a moment, I thought he might argue, but instead, he sighed heavily.

"Fine," he said at last, his voice laced with something that almost sounded like regret. "If that's what you want, I'll give you a ride. Just tell me your address."

I hesitated, unsure if I could trust him. But what other choice did I have? I was lost, confused, and utterly alone.

"Trinity College dorm," I muttered.

He nodded curtly, motioning for me to follow him outside.

Xander stopped by the passenger door, holding it open as if this were the most normal situation in the world.

"Get in," he said flatly.

I hesitated, staring at the absurdly luxurious car and then back at him.

"Seriously, this is your car?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

I blinked at him.

"No, it's just... are you secretly a prince or something?"

His expression didn't change.

"No. I just have expensive taste. Now, get in."

I climbed into the car reluctantly, sinking into the plush leather seat. It felt like sitting on a cloud that could probably pay off my student loans.

As the door shut with a soft click, I glanced over at him.

"So... why a car like this? Isn't it, I don't know, a little too noticeable for someone who claims I'm in danger?"

Xander slid into the driver's seat, his movements fluid, controlled. He glanced at me briefly before starting the car. The engine purred like a beast restrained, its power palpable.

"Subtlety isn't really my style," he said.

"No kidding," I muttered, earning a faint smirk from him.

As we pulled away from the curb, the awkward silence in the car stretched on. I kept glancing at him, wondering what his deal was.

He seemed calm, almost bored, as if driving a car worth more than my life was just another Tuesday for him.

"So, uh," I started, unsure how to break the silence, "are you going to tell me what the Devour Club is?"

"No," he said simply.

"Why not?"

"Because you're not ready to know," he replied, his tone flat, like he'd already had this conversation a dozen times in his head.

"Right," I muttered, leaning back into the seat.

"Of course. A mysterious stranger refuses to give me answers. How original."

His lips twitched, almost like he was holding back a laugh, but he said nothing.

I stared out the window, the city lights blurring past.

"This feels like a really weird fever dream," I mumbled.

"It's not," he said, his voice quieter this time.

I glanced at him, but he kept his eyes on the road. For the first time, he looked... uneasy. Whatever this was, it was real to him.

And that terrified me.