Two

The soft patter of rain against the windows woke her before dawn. Angela needed a moment to gather herself, her thoughts still tangled in the haze of dreams—or were they nightmares?

Everything had felt blurred since she arrived in the village. As if she were living between two worlds.

She dragged herself from the makeshift bed and walked into the small kitchen. While the water boiled, her gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, the forest stretched like a living wall, its ancient trees swaying gently in the cold breeze.

And for a second, she swore she saw a shadow moving between the trees.

Zane.

His name echoed in her mind like both a curse and a promise.

The encounter from the night before had left her restless—caught between fear and a raw attraction that threatened to consume her.

Angela shook off the thoughts. She had more urgent things to handle. She needed to go into the village for supplies. Her pantry was nearly empty, and the little she had left from her inheritance would keep her afloat… for now.

She slipped on a heavy coat and braced herself before stepping out.

The streets were emptier than ever under the rain. Montemori looked like a ghost town. Only the sound of her footsteps kept her company on the way to the local market.

The little shop felt lost in time: wooden shelves lined with hand-wrapped goods, sacks of flour stacked in corners, herbs hanging from the ceiling.

Angela scanned the shelves, gathering what she needed.

“You’re new.” A harsh voice cut from behind her.

She turned and found a group of men. Their clothes were simple, but something in their eyes—hostile, suspicious—made her instinctively step back.

“Yes,” she answered, keeping her voice steady.

“It’s not safe here for anyone who isn’t pureblood.” One of them spat on the floor beside her.

Angela frowned, confused.

“I don’t want trouble,” she said quickly, trying to move past them.

But they closed in, the stench of alcohol and smoke thick in the air.

“You should go back where you came from,” growled the one who seemed to lead, his narrow eyes glinting with more than just anger.

Fear tightened in Angela’s chest. Her fingers trembled. She opened her mouth to speak—or scream—but she didn’t get the chance.

A large, warm hand settled on her shoulder.

The touch was like a wave of heat, an electric current surging through her body, silencing the panic.

Angela looked up—and met another pair of eyes.

Not golden this time, but a deep green, like a forest under storm.

The man was tall, but unlike Zane, there was a fierce calm about him. A quiet strength that didn’t need to be announced.

“Is there a problem here?” His voice was low, heavy with threat.

The men faltered, exchanging uneasy glances.

“No problem, Theo,” they muttered, scattering like frightened rats.

Angela stood frozen, stunned.

Theo turned to her, his gaze softer now, and slowly released her shoulder—as if afraid to hurt her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, though her body still shook.

“Thank you.” Her voice cracked, and she hated the fragility in it.

Theo gave a faint smile—a sad one, like he already knew the weight she carried.

“No need to thank me.” He studied her for a moment, then added gently, “You’re new here… but you’re not weak. Don’t let them make you believe otherwise.”

Angela blinked, caught off guard.

There was something different about him. Something she couldn’t name.

His touch still burned on her skin, even now that he’d let go. An invisible energy lingered between them—warm, protective… magical?

She rubbed her arms, trying to shake the feeling.

“I’m Theo.” He offered his hand.

Angela hesitated before taking it.

The heat of his touch enveloped her, so intense she almost gasped aloud.

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat the world vanished.

No market. No rain. No fear.

Only the two of them and that impossible, magnetic connection.

Theo frowned slightly, as though he felt it too.

Then he let go, slowly, and stepped back.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said cryptically.

Angela wanted to ask used to what, but Theo was already turning away, walking to the counter to pay for her groceries.

She stood there, heart racing, watching him.

The way he moved—like a predator always on guard, elegant yet dangerous—fascinated her.

And somehow, she knew this wouldn’t be the last time their paths crossed.

Nor the last time his eyes tried to hide their secrets.

Angela gathered her things and stepped back into the rain, sensing a shift in the air—like the world itself was bracing for something monumental.

And she, without knowing it, was at the very center.

The rain grew heavier as Angela walked through the empty streets, each step echoing between ancient buildings. The grocery bag swung from her hand, her fingers numb from the cold. Meeting Theo had left her shaken, a strange heat still humming beneath her skin.

She couldn’t forget what she had felt at his touch—like being enveloped, protected… and marked.

What’s happening to me?

Angela turned a corner, distracted—

and stopped dead.

A figure stood in the middle of the street.

She stumbled back, her heart lurching.

He was taller than both Zane and Theo, dressed in a black coat that whipped with the wind. His hair was as dark as midnight, but his eyes—

Oh, those eyes.

Red.

A deep, burning crimson, glowing like embers in a face carved by shadow itself.

Angela froze, torn between the instinct to flee and the irrational urge to step closer.

He studied her with a gaze that stripped her bare, piercing through flesh, through soul.

“You,” he said, his voice a rough whisper, like thunder rolling from afar, “do not belong to this world.”

Angela swallowed, every nerve on edge.

“I—I…” she stammered.

He walked toward her, slow and deliberate, a predator toying with prey.

Unlike Zane, who radiated wildness, and Theo, who carried the calm of the forest, this man was pure darkness. Pure possession.

When he stopped before her, Angela could barely breathe.

The air around him seemed to warp, thick with unseen power.

Energy so intense her skin tingled.

“Who are you?” she whispered, almost a moan.

He smiled. Not a comforting smile, but a warning.

“Damian.”

The name fell over her like a spell.

Angela clutched the grocery bag to her chest, trying to shield herself—though she knew it was useless.

“Why… why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, braver than she felt.

Damian tilted his head, crimson eyes locked on hers.

“Because you carry something that belongs to us.” His voice was deep, almost a growl.