Chapter 7: The Kiss

“Did you give the letter?!”

The question echoed in my mind, relentless and sharp, as I stared at the crumpled note in my hand. The words on it were maddeningly cryptic, yet they tugged at me like an invisible thread, pulling me toward the forest.

Big mistake.

The forest was darker than I remembered, its canopy thick and oppressive, the trees whispering ominously in the wind. The path ahead blurred as anxiety clouded my thoughts. My instincts screamed at me to turn back, but stubborn curiosity drove me forward.

Then I heard it—a faint rustle, deliberate and out of place. I stopped, my heart hammering in my chest.

I wasn’t alone.

Three men stepped out from the shadows, their faces obscured by the dim light filtering through the trees. Yet, something about their silhouettes struck a chilling note of familiarity.

One of them smirked, his teeth bared like a predator toying with its prey. Between his fingers, he held a rolled paper, the tip glowing faintly as he took a drag.

“You’re lucky,” he sneered, his voice low and taunting. “We’ve been waiting for someone to play with.”

The pungent, acrid smell hit me—drugs.

Their eyes, bloodshot and hollow, gleamed with a mixture of malice and unhinged amusement. My stomach churned as their grins widened, feral and hungry.

Another mess, Cassandra? Really?

I couldn’t help but think that I must have some invisible sign on my forehead screaming **"Trouble Magnet!"** And this time, there was no one to blame but Vander Tyler Laurent and his cryptic, maddening note.

One of them chuckled darkly. “We heard about you. Amazon, huh? Think you’re tough?”

They laughed, the sound cold and mocking. I instinctively took a step back, but before I could retreat further, a rough hand shot out and clamped around my arm.

A chill ran down my spine as I felt the press of something cold and sharp against my side.

Not again.

“Let’s play, Cassandra,” the man sneered, his breath reeking of smoke and cheap liquor.

My pulse raced, but I forced my voice to remain steady. “Who are you? What do you want?”

They didn’t answer. Instead, the pressure of the knife increased, slicing shallowly into my skin. Pain seared through me, sharp and hot, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

“She’s tough,” one of them muttered, sounding almost impressed. “Bleeding, but not even flinching. Crazy bitch.”

The others laughed, their amusement growing as the first one leered.

“Let’s see how tough she is without her clothes.”

The sound of fabric tearing reached my ears, and something inside me snapped. Fury roared through my veins like fire, drowning out fear.

I yanked my arm free, spinning around and slamming my fist into the nearest man’s face. The satisfying crunch of cartilage was short-lived as another lunged at me, his fist swinging. I caught his wrist, twisting it sharply until he yelped in pain.

But there were too many.

A third man’s boot collided with my stomach, sending me sprawling to the forest floor. Pain erupted across my ribs, and the air rushed out of my lungs. I gasped, clawing at the dirt to push myself up, but the shadow of the man with the knife loomed over me.

“Fuck you!” I spat, my voice hoarse but defiant.

“Fuck you too, bitch!” he snarled, raising the blade.

This is it, I thought. Goodbye, Cassandra.

But the blade never came.

The next thing I knew, the men were on the ground, groaning and crumpled like discarded toys. A new figure stood among them, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Van.

Vander Tyler Laurent.

His eyes, glowing an unnatural yellow-green, locked onto mine with a feral intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t just angry—he was unhinged, his clenched fists trembling at his sides.

“What did they do to you?!” he growled, his voice low and guttural, almost animalistic.

I opened my mouth to respond, but his gaze fell to my torn shirt, and his expression darkened further.

“They—did they—”

“Nothing!” I interrupted, clutching the remnants of my shirt to cover myself. “I’m fine. Calm down, Vander.”

But he wasn’t calming. His breathing was erratic, his eyes unfocused, the faint glow in them intensifying. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of fear—not for myself, but for him.

“Van,” I said softly, taking a cautious step back. “Van, calm down. Please don’t hurt me.”

His head snapped toward me, and in an instant, he was in front of me, his grip like iron as he grabbed my arm. His face was dangerously close, his growls deepening.

Panic surged, and instinct took over.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

The growling stopped.

Van froze, his glowing eyes wide with shock. Slowly, the eerie light faded, leaving behind the familiar stormy gray-green I knew so well.

I pulled away, breathless and blushing furiously. “Err, are you sane now?” I muttered, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks.

He blinked at me, seemingly as stunned as I was.

“I’m bleeding,” I added, breaking the awkward silence.

His gaze dropped to my boobd, and I snapped, “Not there, asshole!”

For a moment, I thought I saw the ghost of a smirk. But instead of responding, Van scooped me into his arms with ease.

“Can you cover that?” he asked, his tone gruff as he stared straight ahead.

I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him. “What, already over my kiss?”

He didn’t reply, but his jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

By the time we reached the clinic, my mind was a chaotic swirl of embarrassment, confusion, and something I couldn’t quite name.

Later that night, as I lay in bed replaying the events, one thought refused to leave me.

Why did Van save me?

And why couldn’t I stop thinking about the way his lips felt against mine?