The penthouse was silent when Maya awoke. Too silent.
Her dreams had been restless—shadows chasing her, chains clinking faintly in the dark, silver eyes glinting every time she closed her own. She sat up, her hair tangled, her heart heavy. For three nights she had lived under Damon Blackthorn's roof, and still it didn't feel like hers. It never would. The place was all glass and sharp edges, as though warmth had been outlawed.
But today was different.
Today she would see Ana.
She hurried through a shower and tugged on her cleanest blouse, the one she usually saved for job interviews. It still had a faint stain near the hem, but she prayed no one would notice. She grabbed her bag and was halfway out the bedroom when she froze.
Damon stood in the hallway, waiting.
Not in his perfect suit this time, but in dark jeans and a black shirt that stretched across his shoulders like it had been made for him alone. His hair was tousled, like he hadn't bothered with mirrors. He looked… dangerous, even stripped down. Especially stripped down.
"You're taking me?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
"You thought I'd let you wander into a hospital alone?" His silver eyes flashed faint amusement. "You're mine. I don't leave what's mine unprotected."
Her skin prickled. She hated the way that word curled around her—mine. She hated even more that some secret, hidden part of her thrilled at it.
"I can take care of myself," she muttered.
"Really?" His voice was low, too smooth. "Should I remind you about the alley?"
Heat flushed her face. She brushed past him. "Let's just go."
The hospital loomed white and sterile against the gray sky. Blackthorn Memorial. Maya had heard of it—everyone had. A place where the rich bought miracles. She had never thought she'd set foot inside, not when she could barely afford groceries.
Damon walked beside her, a shadow of quiet power that turned heads. Nurses straightened as he passed. Doctors lowered their voices. People looked at him, then quickly looked away, as if meeting his gaze too long might burn.
Maya's stomach knotted. What had she brought Ana into?
They found her sister in a private suite on the top floor. The sight nearly broke her. Ana looked so small in the massive bed, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her skin pale against the sheets. Machines hummed softly, a rhythm that echoed like a clock ticking too loudly.
"Ana," Maya whispered, hurrying to her side. She took her sister's frail hand in both of hers.
Ana's eyes fluttered open. They were the same dark eyes Maya had stared into her whole life, but now dulled with exhaustion. Then they brightened faintly. "Maya."
Her voice was a rasp, but it was there.
Maya bent close, fighting the sting in her eyes. "I'm here. I'm right here."
She felt Damon's presence before she saw him—standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded, silver gaze softened in a way she hadn't expected.
"Who…?" Ana's gaze shifted weakly to him.
Maya hesitated. What was she supposed to say? Husband? Contract? Monster?
"This is Damon," she settled on, her throat tight.
Ana's lips curved in the faintest smile. "He's tall."
Damon's mouth twitched, almost—almost—a smile. "You should rest," he said gently, his voice a hushed rumble.
Ana's eyes fluttered shut again. Maya sat there, stroking her hand, trying to steady her own heartbeat.
When she finally looked up, Damon was watching her.
"What?" she asked, defensive.
"You love her," he said simply.
"Of course I do."
"You'd sell yourself to the devil for her."
Maya's chest tightened. "Maybe I already did."
The silence stretched, heavy as chains. Then Damon said quietly, "I am not the devil."
She laughed bitterly. "You could've fooled me."
They stayed for hours. Damon made a call and within minutes a specialist appeared, rattling off treatment plans that sounded like hope disguised as science. Words like trial medication and private therapy unit and latest technology tumbled out, and for the first time in months, Maya let herself believe Ana might live.
When they left the hospital, rain had begun to fall again, steady and relentless. Damon handed her into the waiting car, his touch brushing her arm, sparking heat she wished she didn't feel.
"Thank you," she said softly. It slipped out, unguarded.
He didn't reply right away. Instead, he studied her with those impossible eyes. Finally: "You thank me as if I didn't give you what you paid for."
Her chest clenched. "This isn't about money."
"No." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "It's about blood. And bonds. And choices you don't understand yet."
Her pulse stumbled. "What do you mean?"
But Damon leaned back, looking out the window as if the conversation had already ended.
Maya turned away, frustrated, confused, her emotions a storm. She hated him. She needed him. She wanted him.
And she feared that one day soon, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
That night, she dreamt of wolves.
Silver eyes glowing in the dark. Teeth grazing her throat. A low voice murmuring: Mine.
When she jolted awake, breathless, Damon was standing at the window of her room, watching the city. His silhouette was carved by moonlight, his presence overwhelming even in silence.
"You're dreaming loudly," he said without turning.
Her heart thudded. "What are you doing in here?"
He finally looked at her, his gaze unreadable. "Making sure you're safe."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." His voice was soft, final. He stepped closer, the shadows clinging to him, his presence filling the room until it was hard to breathe. He stopped at the edge of her bed, close enough that the heat of him seeped into her skin.
"One day," Damon said, his silver eyes burning into hers, "you'll understand why."
Then he turned and left, leaving her trembling in the moonlight.