The storm outside should have been enough to drown out the soft knocks that came again — steady, patient, like the rain tapping the glass was whispering secrets only Ann could hear.
But Damian didn't care about the storm. Not tonight.
He held her pinned under him, his lips brushing her neck as if he was tasting every pulse that made her human — every heartbeat that reminded him she was real, warm, breakable.
"Listen to me, Ann…" His voice was a low growl against her throat, his breath cold enough to raise goosebumps down her chest. "You hear them?"
She did. The knocks. The faint scrape of nails on wood. A hush that wasn't quite a voice but felt like it wanted to crawl inside her ears and plant doubt where he'd buried his promises.
Damian's hand slid down her side, fingers cold on her burning skin. His other hand stayed tangled in her hair, anchoring her head back so she couldn't look away from him.
"Don't open it again," he said, softer now — but it was a threat too, hidden in silk. "I can keep you safe. I want to keep you safe. But you have to choose me. Every time."
Ann's chest rose and fell too fast. She felt drunk on his closeness — the way he smelled of rain and something metallic she didn't dare name.
"What if they don't stop?" she whispered. Her voice cracked when his thumb brushed her lips, pressing them open until her breath shivered between them.
"They won't." His mouth curved in that crooked smile she hated to love. "They never do. But you have me, Ann."
His lips met hers — not gentle this time, but demanding. The kiss tasted like midnight secrets and sharp cold, like he was pouring all his darkness into her mouth so she wouldn't have any left to give to the things knocking at their door.
When he pulled back, his eyes glowed with something hungry and possessive. He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath rough.
"They want you because you're warm," he murmured. "Because you feel. Because your fear tastes sweet to them."
He dragged his mouth along her jaw, down to the curve of her shoulder where he bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her gasp.
Outside, thunder cracked like a gunshot. The knocks came again — louder now, impatient.
Damian's laugh was soft against her skin. "Let them knock."
He pulled her tighter, rolling so she straddled his hips — his hands gripping her thighs, cold fingers digging into warm flesh.
"You're not going anywhere." His eyes locked with hers — that storm-gray gaze that never looked fully alive, yet burned hotter than anyone else's touch ever had.
Ann's hands slid up his chest, over his collarbones, her nails grazing his throat until his breath hitched. She shouldn't want this. She shouldn't want him. But the storm outside couldn't drown the storm he'd put inside her.
She bent down, kissing him with all the questions she didn't want answered — what he was, where he went when he left her in the dark, what waited behind that door when she was too weak to keep it closed.
His tongue tangled with hers, stealing her thoughts one by one until there was only this — the cold and the heat, the fear and the craving that tasted like a promise she could never break.
When she pulled back for air, Damian's fingers caught her chin, tilting her face until he could whisper against her lips:
"When they knock again, do you know what to do?"
Ann's breath came shaky, her voice softer than the thunder rolling over the glass.
"I won't open it."
His smile was a ghost against her mouth. "Good girl."
The knocks came a final time — loud enough to rattle the bedroom door in its frame. But neither of them moved. Damian's hand slid up her back, burying in her hair as he pulled her mouth down to his again.
Outside the storm howled, and something in the walls scraped and begged to be let in. But inside, she was exactly where she'd chosen to be — trapped under the weight of his darkness and the warmth of his kiss.
And as long as she stayed right here — the door would never open again.