"Who are you?" Anna demanded, her voice steady despite the fear creeping up in her spine.The man didn’t answer Anna’s question. His expression was cold and serious. Instead, he asked firmly, “Where is she? Where’s Bonnie?”Anna tried to step away, but he blocked her path swiftly. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me where she is.”Rose stood from her seat, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Anna, what’s going on? Do you know this guy?”“I have no idea who he is,” Anna replied, her voice steady despite the growing tension.Rose took a step closer, her tone sharp. “Hey, dumbass, take your hands off her.”The man’s expression darkened as he reached into his back pocket. A glint of metal caught their eyes just before he raised a pistol and fired a shot into the air.The deafening echo of the gunshot lingered in the air, and the bar erupted into chaos. People scrambled for cover, overturning tables and knocking over chairs in their desperate attempts to escape. Anna’s heart raced,
The dimly lit room was thick with the scent of cigar smoke, the air heavy with tension. Damon leaned back in his chair, a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as he listened to the suppliers seated before him. They were a rough bunch—three men with hardened faces, each bearing the scars of a life spent in the underworld.The leader of the group, a middle-aged man with slicked-back gray hair and a jagged scar running from his cheek to his jaw, leaned forward. "The shipment came in last night. High-quality stuff, pure as it gets," he said, tapping his fingers on the wooden table. "Now, about the payment—"Before Damon could respond, the heavy doors to the room swung open, and his right-hand man, Victor, strode in with urgency written all over his face."Boss, we need your attention."Damon didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly before speaking. "I'm in the middle of a deal, Victor. Wh
A sleek black SUV—more like a heavily armored jeep, was parked in the middle of a forest, its polished surface reflecting the pale light of twilight. Damon leaned casually against it, a thin roll of smoke curling from his hand as he observed the surroundings.Out of the undergrowth, three of his tough-looking men emerged, their steps silent but with purpose. One of them stepped forward and reported, "Boss, we are ready."Damon nodded slowly. "What about the guy who shot my wife?" he asked, his tone measured.The man replied, "We have him chained in the barn, just as you requested."A brief smile flickered across Damon’s face. "Good, good. You guys are free to go. I'll take it from here."They bowed respectfully, then quickly spread out and into another vehicle parked close by. As the SUV’s engine rumbled away in the distance, Damon checked his wristwatch. It read 7:50 PM. He chuckled lightly and stepped away from the jeep, heading deeper into the forest. After about ten minutes of
Damon sat quietly in the warehouse, his eyes fixed on his wristwatch. It was 10 PM, and the solar-powered lights outside cast a harsh brightness over the area, illuminating the empty lot and the dark silhouettes of nearby trees. He exhaled slowly, the smoke from his cigarette curling up into the cool night air. Despite the calm appearance he projected, his mind was already calculating his next move.Suddenly, the quiet was shattered by the sound of engines rumbling through the forest. A group of bikes—rough, and black, trolled in droves. About twenty men, their faces set in grim determination and their hands never far from their guns, rolled in. They spread out methodically, their task clear: search the perimeter for any sign of trouble. Among them, four of the bikers veered off and sped toward the warehouse. When they saw Damon sitting there like a king surveying his domain, they quickly signaled to their boss.Moments later, a man in his fifties, with weathered skin and eyes that
The first thing I noticed was the weight pinning me to the bed, as if my body had forgotten how to move or too weak to move. My eyelids fluttered, heavy and blurry, until a sliver of light broke through the darkness. A steady beep pulsed in the background, soft but insistent, tugging me back to reality. My senses sharpened, I'm in a hospital, I felt a firm, gentle pressure on my stomach. firm hands.I turned my head, the motion slow and sluggish, and there he was. Damon. Sitting beside me, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, his presence filling the dim hospital room like he owned it. His hands rested on my stomach, steady and warm, and a sweet sensation fluttered through me—butterflies, wild and unexpected, dancing beneath his touch. It was a feeling so alive it almost drowned out the dull ache radiating from the wound beneath his fingers.Our eyes locked, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. His gaze was piercing, blue and endless, pulling me in. But then—somethi
Scarlett Manzoni, Mario's sister, stood tall behind her desk, her thick frame exuding authority in the well lit office. Her vicious blue eyes bore into Bob, Anna’s father, as she turned to face him. At forty-five, she retained a striking beauty, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a defiance against time. With Mario dead, she was next in line to lead the Manzoni clan, and she carried the weight of that responsibility with a powerful resolve."I strongly believe Damon is behind my brother’s death," she said, her voice steady and cold. "What do you think, Bob?"Bob shifted uneasily in his chair, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. A man of average build, his graying hair and worry-lined face. "I don’t think Damon did it," he replied, his voice faltering slightly. "He has an alibi."Scarlett’s eyes narrowed, her gaze sharpening like a blade. "Are you saying this to protect your daughter?" she pressed, suspicion lacing her tone. "Are you picking your daughter over me?"Fear
Damon stood alone in the big compound of his mansion, the night air cool against his bare torso, dressed only in trousers, his shirt abandoned somewhere in the heat of his torment.Before him stood a magnificent golden lion statue, its jaws parted to release springs of water that splashed into a marble basin below. The constant flow shimmered under the moonlight, a wide contrast to the emptiness that gripped his heart.His eyes, filled with tears that refused to fall, were fixed on the statue, though his thoughts were elsewhere—lost in memories of Anna, in the promises he’d made, in the hollow ache of her death The sound of footsteps broke through his internal agonies, soft but steady, approaching from behind. He turned his head just enough to see Ghost, his sister, stepping into the faint glow cast by the mansion’s lanterns.“I’m sorry about Anna,” Ghost said, her voice thick with sympathy.Damon didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, and he turned his gaze back to the lion, unwilling
A man in his early fifties stood at the imposing iron gates of Damon's mansion. His coat was slightly rumpled, and his hands fidgeted with the strap of a leather bag slung over his shoulder. Two security guards approached, their broad frames and stern expressions signaling that no one entered unvetted."Hands up," one of them ordered gruffly, his voice cutting through the stillness. The other guard stepped forward, patting down the visitor with practiced efficiency, searching for any trace of a weapon. Finding none, he nodded to his partner."He's clean," the second guard muttered.The first guard fixed the man with a hard stare. "Who are you?""I'm Doctor Francis," the man replied, his voice steady but laced with a hint of nerves. "I'm here to see Mr. Damon."The head of security, a towering figure with a scar running across his jaw, stepped closer. "Damon’s not around," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "But his sister might want to hear you out." He tur
Anna's POV But his face was stone-serious, his eyes digging into mine, waiting for an answer I didn’t have.“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I managed, my voice a shaky whisper. My heart hammered, each thud ringing in my ears. What did he mean I smelled like an alpha? And a pack? The questions piled up, suffocating me with no answers in sight.He tilted his head, his brow creasing like my confusion threw him off. “You don’t know?” he asked, his tone softening, almost curious. “But you carry the scent. It’s unmistakable.”I backed up, my shoulders hitting the elevator wall. The cold metal steadied me, but my thoughts were chaos. That voice earlier, my eyes flashing red in the mirror, the sudden craving for meat despite years as a vegetarian—it was all unraveling, and this man’s words were tugging at threads I didn’t want to pull.“I’m not… I’m not part of any pack,” I said, my voice trembling. “I don’t even know what that means.”He stared at me,
Anna's POVI woke up to the softest sheets I’d ever felt in a very long time, the kind that makes you feel like you're floating in a cold swimming pool under a hot sun.But as my eyes fluttered open, confusion crashing over me with the speed of light. The last thing I remembered was the hospital—the sterile smell, the cold bed, the seizure that had ripped through me, leaving pain blooming in my stomach. Now, I was here, in a place so exquisite it didn’t make sense.The room was breathtaking. A massive bed decked in silky blue linens stretched beneath me, and the walls glowed a soft cream under the warm light of a crystal chandelier. A plush armchair sat in one corner, a sleek glass desk in another, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed a sprawling city skyline I couldn’t place. It was a hotel, maybe, but one so luxurious it felt unreal. How had I gone from a hospital bed to this?I sat up slowly, my breath catching as I pressed a hand to my stomach. I’d expec
Seven old women sat in a circle on the damp forest ground, their frail bodies bent like crooked branches. These were the elder witches, and they looked as worn as the earth beneath them. Their black gowns hung loose, the fabric torn at the hems and patched with mud. Wrinkles carved deep lines into their faces, and their gray hair stuck out in wild, matted clumps. Some had gaps where teeth once were; others had cloudy eyes that barely saw. Yet, their hands, though shaky, gripped small, rusty knives with purpose. Damon’s mother was one of them, her thin fingers clutching her blade tightly, her face pale under a tangle of silver hair.The meeting kicked off with a strange ceremony. The witches pushed themselves up, their old bones cracking like dry twigs, and raised their knives high. In their tattered gowns, they started chanting words no one else understood—harsh, foreign sounds that rolled off their tongues. Damon sat off to the side, legs crossed, watching them. Too much drama
Under a full moon, the forest stretched cold and silent, save for the distant howls of wolves and faint, eerie laughter that drifted through the trees. Damon pressed forward along a narrow path, Anna’s limp body slung across his shoulders. His red Lycan eyes glowed fierce in the dark, cutting through the shadows like a blade. Tall trees towered above, their thick branches choking out the moonlight, leaving only slivers to speckle the ground.Wild animals lurked nearby, drawn by the scent of Anna’s death. A wolf pack edged closer, their eyes glinting with hunger, until Damon let out a deep, rumbling growl. They bolted, tails low, and even the bolder creatures—bears, foxes—slunk back into the undergrowth. But as he reached a small clearing, Damon slowed. Ahead stood a threat no growl would scatter.Three werewolves blocked his way, their blue eyes glowing bright and unyielding. Guardians of the territory, they bristled with tension, claws flexing. Damon didn’t hesitate. He strode to
Tiger sat alone in the hospital’s technical office, his eyes fixed on the flickering CCTV footage displayed on the monitor before him. The small room felt cramped, packed with humming computers and cables that spilled across the desk. He’d been at it for hours, watching an endless stream of doctors and nurses passing through the hospital’s hallways on the big screen. A yawn escaped his lips as boredom settled in. Most of the faces were unfamiliar but expected—medical staff going about their routines. The only exception was Damon, who had stormed through earlier. Other than that, nothing seemed out of place.Still, Tiger wasn’t convinced. Anna’s death gnawed at him, and he needed answers. Pushing back from the desk, he stood and crossed the room to the door. He opened it and leaned out into the hallway. “Doctor,” he called.Moments later, the doctor who had first brought him into the technical office appeared, his white coat slightly wrinkled. “Yes?” he asked, stepping closer.Ti
The helicopter descended into a small clearing nestled deep within the Mexican tropical forest, its rotor blades chopping through the thick, humid air. The sound was a relentless whump-whump, sending gusts of wind that bowed the towering pines and scattered dry leaves in swirling patterns across the ground. A semicircle of mercenaries stood waiting. Six men, hardened by years of conflict, gripped their rifles with steady hands, barrels pointed slightly downward but ready to snap up at a moment’s notice. Dust kicked up by the chopper’s landing swirled around their boots as it settled with a soft jolt, the skids sinking slightly into the earth. No one seemed to come out from the helicopter. The mercenaries shifted uneasily, exchanging quick, wordless glances. Their leader, a burly man known simply as the boss, stepped forward. His scarred forehead twitched faintly as he squinted at the chopper’s dark windows. His heavy boots crunched against the dry ground, each step deliberate, h
The uninhabited forest of La Mosquitia in Mexico stretched out beneath a hot midday sun. The air hung thick with humidity, carrying the faint swamp of insects and the occasional cry of birds. High above the dense forest, a mercenary lay flat on his belly on top of a rugged mountain, his body pressed against the warm, hard rock. His eyes were locked on a pair of binoculars, scanning the horizon. He was the lookout, tasked with a single, pivotal role in the ambush about to unfold below.His face, toughened by years of mercenary living, reflected no emotion as he adjusted the binoculars. A deep voice had spoken through the walkie-talkie earlier, barking orders that still played in his mind: “Watch out for any sign of a Gulfstream G-159, a chopper. Target is Damon. Alert the others when you sight him. Do you copy?” “Yes, boss, I copy,” he’d replied, “No sign of any chopper yet. I’ll keep watching.” That had been over an hour ago. Now, as sweat formed on his forehead like morning de
A man in his early fifties stood at the imposing iron gates of Damon's mansion. His coat was slightly rumpled, and his hands fidgeted with the strap of a leather bag slung over his shoulder. Two security guards approached, their broad frames and stern expressions signaling that no one entered unvetted."Hands up," one of them ordered gruffly, his voice cutting through the stillness. The other guard stepped forward, patting down the visitor with practiced efficiency, searching for any trace of a weapon. Finding none, he nodded to his partner."He's clean," the second guard muttered.The first guard fixed the man with a hard stare. "Who are you?""I'm Doctor Francis," the man replied, his voice steady but laced with a hint of nerves. "I'm here to see Mr. Damon."The head of security, a towering figure with a scar running across his jaw, stepped closer. "Damon’s not around," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "But his sister might want to hear you out." He tur
Damon stood alone in the big compound of his mansion, the night air cool against his bare torso, dressed only in trousers, his shirt abandoned somewhere in the heat of his torment.Before him stood a magnificent golden lion statue, its jaws parted to release springs of water that splashed into a marble basin below. The constant flow shimmered under the moonlight, a wide contrast to the emptiness that gripped his heart.His eyes, filled with tears that refused to fall, were fixed on the statue, though his thoughts were elsewhere—lost in memories of Anna, in the promises he’d made, in the hollow ache of her death The sound of footsteps broke through his internal agonies, soft but steady, approaching from behind. He turned his head just enough to see Ghost, his sister, stepping into the faint glow cast by the mansion’s lanterns.“I’m sorry about Anna,” Ghost said, her voice thick with sympathy.Damon didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, and he turned his gaze back to the lion, unwilling