Elena's palms burned against the marble as she pushed herself backward, gown hissing over the floor. The chandelier above trembled, scattering sparks of light across the room. Across from her, the man she had married wasn't a man at all.
Damian's chest heaved. The remains of his shirt clung to him like torn shadows. Light from the city snared in the gold of his eyes—too bright, too alive. His claws pressed into the glass as if it were nothing but skin; long white lines followed his fingertips.
"Don't—" The word rasped out of him, half growl, half plea. "Don't come close."
"As if I would," she whispered, voice shaking.
For a moment neither of them moved. Then something shifted—inside him, inside the room, inside the night itself. The pressure that had pressed on her lungs loosened by a fraction. Damian tore his gaze from her and turned his face toward the moon, jaw clenched against an invisible hook tugging at his bones.
He dragged in a breath. Another. Another. The gold in his eyes dimmed to embers.
When he spoke again, his voice was still rough but closer to human. "Look away."
Elena didn't. She watched him fight his own body—saw muscles pull against sinew, saw claws blunt to nails, saw too-long teeth recede behind bloodless lips. It wasn't a neat reverse. It was a wrestling match with something powerful and hungry, and he won only because he refused to lose.
At last he stood upright, a man again—no less dangerous for looking human. He was breathing hard, sweat at his temples, hands braced on his knees like a runner at the end of a race.
The room seemed to exhale with him.
Elena's legs steadied enough to hold her. She rose slowly, bouquet forgotten, petals bruised beneath her shoes. A dozen questions swarmed her tongue, but only one made it out.
"What are you?"
Damian didn't answer. He went to the bar, poured water, drank. His throat moved as he swallowed, and absurdly she thought of the priest's question, of how easily he had said I do.
"Answer me," she said, straighter now.
He set the glass down, knuckles white against the crystal. "Something the world is not kind to," he said. "Something the world would hunt if it understood."
"That's not an answer. That's a description." She swallowed. "You're a—"
"Don't say it." His gaze snapped back to hers, sharp enough to cut. "Names invite attention."
"Elaborate."
"No." A beat. His tone softened a degree, from glacier to winter stream. "Not yet."
She folded her arms to keep from shaking. "Then what was I supposed to do? Clap and return to the guest room?"
"You were supposed to listen when I told you to stay away." The cold slid back into his voice, but she heard strain under it now. "You could have been hurt."
"By you?"
"By what I am when I'm not careful."
"You mean by the thing you just were."
His jaw worked. He looked away first.
Silence stretched between them. Outside, the city kept breathing, indifferent to the way her world had tilted. Inside, Elena adjusted her crown of fear until it fit like resolve.
Elena's voice cut the silence. "You told me this marriage was a contract. A bargain. But you didn't mention claws, fangs, or—whatever that was."
Damian's shoulders stiffened. He picked up his tie from the counter, as if fabric could restore normalcy, and looped it around his neck with precise motions. "Because it isn't part of the contract."
Her laugh broke sharp in the quiet. "No? Seems relevant."
His gaze snapped to hers, glinting with warning. "Do you think your father would have signed the papers if he knew? Do you think your family's board would have agreed to merge?"
The truth landed like a slap. He wasn't wrong. But still—"You deceived me."
"You wanted salvation. I provided it." His voice dropped lower, steady and merciless. "And if I had told you, you'd have run. The deal would be broken. You'd have nothing, Elena. Nothing but the ashes of your family's company."
Her stomach turned, not with fear this time but anger. "So I traded one beast for another. Debt or you—what a choice."
He didn't flinch, but the muscles in his jaw flexed. For the first time, she thought she saw the smallest crack in his mask. Not regret. Something darker.
"You don't understand what you saw tonight," he said, quieter now. "You think it makes me a monster. But it makes me alive. More alive than most. That's the curse. That's the power."
Her breath caught. "You make it sound like there are others."
His silence was confirmation enough.
A chill crawled up her spine. "How many?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he moved toward the window, the city sprawling out like a jeweled map beneath his hands. "There are rules," he said at last. "If you stay in this house, if you stay my wife, you will follow them."
Her pulse quickened. "Rules?"
"Never leave the penthouse alone at night. Never look at the moon when it's full. Never speak my name outside these walls unless you want ears you cannot see to hear you. And never—" He turned, eyes burning gold again for a fleeting instant. "Never tell anyone what you saw tonight."
Elena's hands clenched at her sides. "And if I break these rules?"
He held her gaze, unblinking. "Then you won't live long enough to regret it."
The words were not shouted, not even said cruelly. They were spoken like fact. Cold, immovable fact.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. For a moment, she believed him. For another, she wanted to test him.
"You sound very sure of yourself," she said, lifting her chin.
"I have to be." His mouth twisted—not in amusement, but in weariness. "That's the only way to survive."
The quiet that followed wasn't empty. It was full of things unsaid, heavy as smoke.
Elena's throat worked as she swallowed down the lump rising there. "And what about me?" she asked softly. "What am I in this bargain now? A wife? A hostage? Or just a liability to your… secret?"
Damian's eyes flickered, some unreadable storm flashing behind the steel-gray mask. For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then, finally—"You're my responsibility."
The words weren't gentle. They weren't affectionate. But they carried a weight that made her chest tighten.
"Responsibility," she echoed, letting the syllables linger on her tongue like something bitter. "That's not what marriage vows are made of."
"We don't have a marriage. We have an arrangement." His tone sharpened, cutting away any fragile hope that might have crept into her heart.
Elena bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron. He wanted her silent, obedient. But silence had never been her strength.
She stepped closer, her gown trailing across the floor, her fear masked with defiance. "If this arrangement requires me to live in your cage, then you'll have to accept that I'll ask questions. I'll demand answers. I won't be another shadow in this penthouse."
For the first time that night, Damian's lips curved—not into a smile, but into something wry, almost dangerous. "Careful, Elena. Shadows sometimes bite."
She didn't retreat. She lifted her chin, her voice clear despite the tremor running through her veins. "Then I'll bite back."
The air between them crackled, tension sparking like flint against steel. His gaze roved over her, not as a man looking at a bride, but as a predator assessing prey that refused to bow.
Finally, he turned, exhaling a low, controlled breath. "Go to your room," he said, each word laced with command. "Lock the door. Do not come out until I say otherwise."
Her defiance wavered, replaced by a pulse of unease. "And if I don't?"
His golden eyes flashed, just for a heartbeat. "Then you may not see the sunrise."
Her skin prickled. She wanted to argue, but the weight of his presence pressed her into silence. Without another word, she gathered her skirts and moved toward the hallway.
The penthouse stretched endlessly, shadows pooling in the corners. Each step echoed in her ears, until she reached the guest room door. She hesitated, hand trembling on the knob.
Behind her, Damian remained by the window, a silhouette cut from moonlight and menace. She could feel his gaze even as she closed the door between them.
Inside the room, she leaned against the wood, breath shaking out of her lungs. Her mind spun—debts, contracts, monsters. And rules. Always rules.
She touched her chest, feeling her heart hammer. The truth had clawed its way into her life, and there was no undoing it.
What had she married into?
Outside, somewhere beyond the glass towers, a howl carried faintly on the night air—low, haunting, and not entirely human.
Elena's blood ran cold.
This wasn't just about Damian.There were others.
And she was trapped in the center of it.