chapter 14 No Light, Just Him

Alinas pov

The music slowed, and so did we. His hand moved up my spine, his fingers pressing gently at the nape of my neck. I should've shivered. I should've pushed him away.

But I leaned in.

Just a little.

Just enough to feel the warmth of him through my dress, just enough to feel like maybe—for a fleeting moment—I could forget what had happened. What I'd seen. What I knew.

"I used to love nights like this," I murmured.

His head tilted, listening.

"When my parents were alive. Before everything turned cold."

There was silence between us. And then—

"They would have been proud of you," Damon said. "You fight the dark every day and still manage to smile."

The compliment struck something raw in me.

Maybe it was the way he said it. Or maybe because, for once, someone saw more than the broken girl behind the mask.

I looked up at him then, truly looked. And for a second, I didn't see anything.

I saw… Damon.

Just Damon.

Not a savior. Just a man with too many secrets and a gaze that burned straight through me.

But that second didn't last.

My phone rang. It was grandmother.

"Ma?" I answered softly.

"Alina! Where are you, girl? It's late—it's not safe! Come home quickly, Kevin is waiting for you!"

"Yes, yes, Ma, I'm coming. Don't shout!" I said, rolling my eyes.

I hung up and glanced at Damon. "Indian grandma things. Sorry—I need to go."

He raised an eyebrow. "I can drop you."

"No need. I can go myself," I replied calmly.

"I don't think it's safe."

Just then, Atlanta appeared beside him. "It was nice having you, Alina."

Before I could reply, Noah came running up to me. "Come to my room! I need to show you my toys—now!"

"Noah, don't disturb her. She needs to leave," Atlanta said gently.

But I smiled. "It's okay." I followed him to his room, let him show off his favorite toys, and after a few minutes, I knelt beside him.

"I have to go now, sweetheart. But I'll come tomorrow, okay?"

He looked disappointed, but nodded. I gave him a quick hug and walked toward the hallway.

Just as I reached the end of the corridor— A hand. Rough. Smothering. Clamped over my mouth before I could scream.

A scream died in my throat as I was dragged backward, into darkness. I thrashed hard, kicked, but the grip was too strong. The door slammed shut behind us.

The room smelled damp. Cold. My heart pounded.

"Hello, baker girl," a voice hissed into my ear.

It was him.

The man from before.

My heart thundered as I clawed at the man's hand, his nails biting into my skin as he shoved me against the cold wall. My breath hitched, panic clawing its way up my throat.

"Let me go!" I tried to scream, but his grip was iron, his breath hot and rotten against my neck.

"You're so soft," he whispered, his hand brushing against my waist. "I've been waiting for you again, baker girl… So sweet, always running away—"

I bit his hand.

He cursed, yanking it back. I bolted toward the door, fumbling in the dark, searching for a handle—anything.

But he was faster. He grabbed my arm, twisted it behind my back. "You think you can fight me? Stupid girl—"

The man's grip tightened on my throat, his breath hot against my skin. Panic clawed at my chest as I tried to tear myself free. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only struggle. His hands were rough—gritty with something that felt too much like ownership.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

But it was. The walls closed in, and the darkness felt thicker now, colder. Suddenly, a voice—low, dangerous.

"Let her go."

A voice. Low. Cold. Sharp as a blade.

Everything stilled.

The man froze. I did too. Because that voice... I knew it.

"Who the hell are—"

A gun clicked.

"You touch her again, I'll repaint this room with your blood."

The man froze, terror running through him as surely as it ran through me. But when my gaze shot toward the door, I saw him—the last person I ever expected to see. Damon.

Of course.

He's always here.

I could taste the cold steel of his voice, sharp like a blade. But the most terrifying part of it? It wasn't just the words. It was the way I knew he meant every damn one of them.

I believe him.

The man backed away slowly, raising his hands. "I didn't know she was yours, man."

"I said to you she's with me," Damon said, stepping forward from the shadows, his presence swallowing the room whole.

His eyes met mine.

Dark. Wild.

Possessive.

He walked past me like I wasn't even there—like I was already his. He grabbed the man by the collar, slammed him against the wall. "You'll apologize."

The man trembled. "I-I'm sorry—"

"Not to me." Damon tilted his head toward me.

My lips trembled. My legs were shaking.

"Say it." Damon growled.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know—"

"She's not just a girl," Damon said, voice dropping. "She's mine." I couldn't hear what he said.

He let the man fall, then turned toward me, his features suddenly softening like velvet sheathing a blade.

"You're shaking."

I stepped back.

"Don't touch me."

But he did. Gently. He wrapped his coat around my shoulders like I was breakable,It smelled like him—like cedar, smoke, and something sinful, like he hadn't just threatened a man's life.

"Let's get you out of here, Alina."

And despite the storm in my chest… I followed him.

Damon's POV

She smelled like panic and lavender.

Even before I opened the door, I could taste her on the air—raw, trembling, electric. And when I stepped inside and saw her—the way her eyes widened in terror, her lips parted in a muffled scream, her dress twisted around her knees as she struggled—I didn't see a girl.

I saw mine.

The mask I wear for the world cracked. The civilized man. The host. The brother. All of it fell away.

There was only the sound of her breath catching. The tremble in her legs. The way she fought him, even in fear.

I should have waited. Should've been smarter, softer, hidden my fury like I always do. But rage makes me honest.

He wasn't supposed to touch her.Just scare her. Remind her she needed me. But fear is a fickle thing—it can either push you away or drag you closer.

To make her heart race. To etch fear back into her bones. A whisper in the dark, a shadow tugging at her soul, so she'd run back into my hands without even knowing why.And he chose the wrong kind.

But he crossed the line. He put his hands on her.

He thought he could touch what's mine.

And so— I stepped out of the shadows.

"You touch her again," I said, voice coiled with steel

He backed away, but I didn't care. Not about him. My eyes were on her. Only her.

She looked at me like she didn't know whether to thank me or run. That small body, pressed against the wall like it might swallow her whole. Eyes full of ghosts.

And yet—she still hadn't cried. That's what undid me.

Even in her fear, even in the dark, she stood like she had something left. Something she refused to give.

I remembered what she said only moments before.

"I used to love nights like this," she'd whispered. "When my parents were alive. Before everything turned cold."

I had felt it then—her softness blooming in my hands. The way her body leaned into mine, not out of lust, but longing. She had wanted to forget. Wanted to feel something that didn't hurt.

And I had almost given it to her. Almost. Until her phone rang. Until she was reminded of who she was supposed to be.

Sweet. Good. Safe.

Not mine.

Not yet.

So I followed her—not out of concern, but out of instinct. The moment she walked down that hallway alone, I knew the danger had not passed.

He got to her before I did.

And now, here we were.

I stepped toward him, grabbed his collar, and slammed him against the wall. "Apologize."

Not to me. To her.

"D-Damon, man—I didn't know—"

"You had one job. One."

"She looked at me, and—"

"Apologize to her," I growled.

He turned to her, stammering. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—".

I wanted her to hear it. To feel that power. To know that no one—no one—could harm her without answering to me.

I'll even paint this room with his blood for her if anybody dare to touch her and he made a big mistake.

Touching my girl.

And when he said it—when he stammered his sorrys like a beaten dog—I watched her. Not him.

Her lips trembled. Her chest rose too fast. Her eyes darted like a trapped animal.

But she was still looking at me. Still seeing me.

Not as a savior. Not as a monster.

Just me. The man who shouldn't care. But does.

Too much. Too dark. Too deep.

"She's not just a girl," I said to him, low and quiet. "She's mine."

I didn't care if she heard it. In fact, I wanted her to.

I wanted the words to live inside her like a second heartbeat. I wanted her to wake in the night remembering the heat of them, the weight of them.

She's mine.

But when I turned to her, everything shifted. Because she looked so small beneath my coat of fury. She flinched from me—'Don't touch me'—and for a second, I almost did

Nearly.

Instead, I stepped close. Wrapped my coat around her like I was placing armor on something holy. She didn't pull away.

Not this time.

And when I told her, "Let's get you out of here, Alina," and she followed me—no questions, no protests—I knew something inside her had already begun to shift.

It wasn't surrender. Not yet. It was something more dangerous.

Trust.

The dangerous kind. The kind that's born not from love, but survival.

She doesn't know it yet, but she's already stepping deeper into the labyrinth. And I'll be at the center of it.

Waiting. Watching. Wanting.

Because no matter how many times she runs, no matter how many ghosts I wear—

She'll always find her way back to me.

Not because I'm her light. But because I am the darkness that knows her name.

And in the end… That will be enough.

And storms— They don't ask for permission. They consume.

Alina pov

The house felt colder than usual. Or maybe it was just me.

I hadn't realized my fingers were still shaking until. He said nothing.

"I should go home ," I murmured, voice barely audible.

He nodded once but didn't move. Just stood there, watching me with an unreadable gaze, like he was trying to memorize every fracture.

"You can stay here a bit and get relaxed a bit and then I'll drop you".

I said to Atlana everything and she gave a guest room for her.

"I'll wait outside your room," he said. "Call me if you need anything."

I hesitated. "You… you don't have to."

His expression softened, painfully beautiful. "I want to."

That shouldn't have meant anything. But somehow, it did.

I moved into my room on unsteady feet, peeled off the night's bruises in the form of ruined clothes, and changed into a soft oversized teewhich Atlana gave me. My eyes caught the mirror—dark smudges under them, a faint red mark blooming at the side of my neck where rough fingers had gripped too hard.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

But the reflection didn't change.

I opened the door, and he was there. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall outside my room like he'd been doing this his whole life.

"I can't sleep," I said.

"Then I'll sit with you."

He entered like a shadow, silent and sure.

We didn't speak. I sat on the edge of my bed, and he pulled the chair from the desk and turned it to face me, resting his elbows on his knees, his body angled forward like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You don't have to pretend," he said after a while. "Not with me."

I looked at him.

"You can cry if you need to. Or scream. Or say nothing at all."

My throat tightened.

"Why?" she whispered.

Damon tightened his jaw. "Why what?"

"Why are you always there?" Her voice cracked. "At the worst moments… Why do you always find me?"

Because I never stopped looking. Because I put you in those moments.

Because I wanted you afraid… just not like this.

But I couldn't say that.

So I diverted her thoughts, so Softly. Carefully.

"You've been through hell," he whispered. "But I swear to you, Alina, I'll never let anyone touch you again."

The tremble in his voice caught me off guard.

As if he felt something, too.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

He didn't blink. "Because you're the only thing in this world I don't want to lose."

I looked away, heart stuttering painfully.

It sounded too sincere. Too broken. Too true.

I should've questioned it. I should've run.

But instead, I whispered, "Will you stay… just until I fall asleep?"

His hand brushed mine. "As long as you need."

Damons pov

She curled under the blanket, her dark hair spread like ink against the pillow. And I sat. Watched.

Her breaths slowly evened. The tremor in her shoulders faded.

And I waited until she was asleep to whisper what I couldn't say while she was awake:

"You'll never escape me, Alina."

I leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

I had tasted her fear. Held her shivers. And tonight, she chose me. Not knowing what she was choosing.

She believed my lie. And that was all I needed.

For now.

Alina's pov

She stretched softly under the warm weight of the blanket, blinking at the early light streaming through the windows.

No nightmares.

No shadows whispering behind her eyes.

Just peace.

She sat up, rubbing her face, and that's when she saw him—again.

Damon. Sleeping on the couch, arms crossed, face turned slightly toward her.

He was still here.

Something inside her shifted.

He hadn't left her. Not even when he could have.

Her eyes traced the sharp line of his jaw, the dark lashes brushing his cheeks. She should have hated him. Should have feared him. But…

He made her feel safe.

He made the chaos feel… still.

She checked her phone.

8:04 AM.

"Crap," she whispered and started moving, carefully tiptoeing around to grab her things.

But the couch creaked.

"You're awake," his voice came—low, sleepy, rough with wear.

Alina froze. "I didn't mean to wake you…"

"You didn't," he said, sitting up. "You slept well."

She gave him a look. "Why do you keep watching me sleep?"

He smiled, lazy and unreadable. "Because you look peaceful."

Her breath caught.

She should be angry.

But all she felt was her heartbeat, too fast and too warm.

"I have to go. My grandmother—"

"She already thinks you spent the night at Atlana's," Damon said, standing. "Atlana called her at seven and said you were with her. She believes it."

"You told her to do that?"

"I didn't want you to panic," he said simply. "You needed rest."

Alina stared at him.

He did all this. Covered for her. Let her sleep. Protected her.

A lie. It had to be.

And yet she melted.

Like wax under heat, she softened again.

"I don't understand you," she whispered.

"I don't need you to," he said, stepping closer. "Just let me take care of you."

His fingers brushed hers. Light. Almost hesitant.

She didn't pull away.

---

Later

The ride was quiet again. No tension. Just the sound of wind and tires and the slow, steady thud of her confused heart.

When they reached her house, he didn't say goodbye. He leaned in slightly, his voice velvet.

"Call me if anything happens, Alina. Anything."

She nodded, swallowing hard.

And as she walked to her door, she didn't look back—

But she felt his eyes.

Watching.

The door clicked shut behind her, but her heart was still out there—somewhere in the quiet hum of his car, in the shadow of his presence.

He had lied for her.

Protected her.

Watched over her.

And yet… her skin still prickled with confusion, with a phantom ache of something she couldn't name.

Not fear.

Not anymore.

She dropped her bag and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She should've felt violated, disturbed by how easily he orchestrated things behind her back.

But all she felt was the memory of his voice, low and certain: "Just let me take care of you."

No one had said that to her since her father.

She covered her face with both hands, hating the warmth spreading through her chest. She shouldn't feel this way about someone she didn't trust.

She shouldn't.

But last night… it had been the first time she'd slept through the night in weeks.

Damons pov

She disappeared behind the door, and still, he stayed.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming against his thigh. Waiting.

Not for her to return—but for his obsession to ease.

It didn't.

He could still feel the ghost of her touch, still see the way her lips parted in surprise when he brushed his fingers against hers. Like she hadn't expected gentleness from him. Like it unraveled her more than cruelty.

Damon smiled, cold and hollow.

She was starting to crack in the ways he wanted. Not with force, but with need. Confusion. The kind of emotional unrest that made people cling to whatever felt solid.

And to her now—he was solid.

Safe.

His lie, Atlana's voice, the seamless cover—it had all worked. Like a carefully set stage for a tragedy written in advance.

He lit a cigarette and took a slow drag, watching the thin tendrils of smoke curl in front of him.

"Let me take care of you," he had said.

It wasn't a request. It was a binding.

A promise with poison beneath the silk.

Because the truth—if she ever learned it—would shatter her.

And Damon wasn't sure anymore if he'd let her survive it.