I drifted in and out of consciousness, awareness coming in thin, broken waves—like trying to stay afloat while sinking underwater. Darkness pressed against my eyelids, but sounds reached me in fragments. Heavy breathing. Footsteps. Two men muttering, arguing, cursing under their breaths.
I couldn't make out all the words, but the tone was unmistakable: panic.
Someone grabbed my throat—large fingers closing firmly, testing if I was alive or if I'd finally given up the fight. I wanted to jerk away, to claw at him, but my body was a useless weight. The moment his grip tightened, my world blacked out again.
The next time consciousness returned, it was better—still blurry around the edges, but enough for me to understand the voices around me.
"Look at what you've done," one man hissed.
"Don't you see she's human? What if you killed her?" another snapped.
Human. The way he said it—like it was a question, a possibility rather than a certainty—sent a chill down my spine.
"Are you even sure this chick is human?"
It was the man who had struck me earlier—the one whose shadowed face twisted with satisfaction when I fell. His voice dripped with something between suspicion and fear.
"You saw the way she fought us," he continued. "I'm not sure she is."
Their words echoed inside my skull. Human. Not human. Me.
But my head throbbed too violently for me to think straight.
A small sound escaped my lips—a groan, unintentional, helpless. Immediately, silence fell, and I felt their attention snap toward me like claws gripping flesh.
"Looks like sleeping beauty is awake," the one closest to me said, his voice slick with mockery.
I blinked slowly, vision swimming. Shapes formed—three of them now, looming above me. Their expressions shifted between fear, annoyance, and something ugly I couldn't name.
"Call Carl," one of them barked. "See if they managed to get the other girl."
Carissa.
My sluggish mind jolted at that name.
Carissa. They were after her too.
My chest tightened with anger. Fear. And something deeper. Whatever they wanted with her, it had nothing to do with the petty street harassment I initially assumed this was.
"Assholes," I spat, pushing myself up despite the way my limbs trembled violently. "Your fight is with me."
The effort made my head spin. My entire body felt like it was on fire—hot, heavy, throbbing from the earlier blow. Every breath burned.
"Well, well," the man sneered. "Seems you're up for round two."
He raised his fist, muscles bunching as he prepared to strike again.
I knew I couldn't dodge this one. My body was too weak, too slow.
I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself, jaw clenched for the impact.
But the hit never came.
Instead—
A sharp sound cracked through the air, like flesh meeting flesh with brutal force. A grunt followed it—a pained, shocked noise that definitely didn't come from me.
Silence.
Then—
A voice. Low. Calm. Completely out of place in the dark, violent alley.
"…Who the f*ck do you think you are?" one of the men snarled, though I could hear the uncertainty underneath.
I forced my eyes open.
A blurred figure stood only a few feet away. Tall. Broad shoulders. Hands hanging relaxed at his sides, but something about his posture radiated danger—controlled, coiled, quiet danger.
My vision was still foggy, but even in the blur I could tell this man didn't belong in the chaos of this night. He looked like he belonged to a different world entirely. Something sharp and powerful emanated from him, and it made the three men hesitate.
The hesitation didn't last long. One of them lunged toward him.
It was over in a heartbeat.
The stranger stepped aside, fluid like water, and the man crumpled to the ground with a single hit that I barely saw. Another tried to attack from behind, but the stranger twisted, moved, struck—and the second man hit the pavement with a broken groan.
Only the first man—the one who struck me—remained standing.
Barely.
"What the hell—who are you?" he stammered.
The stranger didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
His silence was far more terrifying.
The last man attempted to flee but didn't get far. A low sound—like someone clearing their throat—rumbled near my ear. I turned my head sluggishly.
He was suddenly beside me.
His presence washed over me like warmth after a winter storm. Strong arms steadied me just as my knees buckled.
"Easy there, lovie," he murmured, voice deep and soothing in a way that cut through the haze.
"Don't want you getting hurt. More than this."
That voice…
I knew it.
I remembered it from before—on the night I ran.
Before I could speak, he scooped me up in his arms, lifting me effortlessly into a bridal carry. His chest was warm beneath my cheek, steady and grounding.
"I can walk by myself," I protested weakly, trying to push away from him. My hands were trembling; I couldn't tell if it was fear or adrenaline or something else entirely.
"Of course you can," he said, tone laced with gentle mockery. "That's why you did all that."
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
Even half-conscious, I felt the embarrassment bloom.
He chuckled softly—low, warm, almost affectionate.
"I wonder," he murmured, eyes sweeping over my face, "if you are what I'm looking for."
The way he said it—gentle but edged—sent a shiver through me. His gaze held something unreadable, something that made my breath hitch. Was it suspicion? Fascination? Recognition?
I couldn't tell.
But his eyes felt like they were seeing through me.
"You still owe me one," he added lightly, though his voice dropped into something deeper. "For fleeing like you did."
My cheeks burned hotter, humiliation mixing with something far more dangerous—awareness. His accusation wasn't harsh, but it struck something inside me. His chuckle, soft and amused, only made it worse.
"Let me get you home," he said.
The world around me blurred again, growing soft around the edges as my exhaustion surged back. My body relaxed involuntarily against him, my head resting against the solid beat of his heart. His warmth wrapped around me like a shield, shutting out the cold, the fear, the memory of hands around my throat.
As I drifted, slipping back into unconsciousness, only one thought lingered:
I should be terrified. I should be running.
But instead…
All I could think was how safe he made me feel.
So safe that sleep pulled me under without a fight.
The rhythm of his heartbeat was the last thing I felt, echoing softly through my mind as darkness claimed me again—steady, warm, impossibly comforting.