He didn't release me.
Darius tightened his grip on my neck and wrist, his cold hand still a subtle, terrifying promise.
"Let us go. The night is short, and I am weary of waiting for what is already mine."
He opened the shed door with a lazy flick of his free hand, bathing the darkness in moonlight. He didn't drag me. He simply walked, his hand on my neck a leash, guiding me out of the shadows.
We were out of the shed and onto the grass in a single, impossible blink. One second I was breathing in gasoline; the next, the freezing, humid night air slammed into my sweat-damp skin. It was a physical shock, and my body reacted instantly, a deep, rattling shudder tearing through me.
It was a show of weakness I hadn't intended, and I braced myself for the mocking cruelty that usually followed a crack in my composure.
But Darius didn't sneer.
He stopped, pulling me flush against his side, his large frame shielding me from the chill. I looked up, stunned, as his mouth curved into the faintest of smiles. Not the predatory smirk, but something... complacent. And then he did the impossible.
He released his grip on my neck entirely. With one swift motion, he stripped off his immaculate, tailored suit jacket. The expensive wool was instantly replaced by the raw, muscular tension of his chest beneath a heavy, black inner vest, and the sight was a devastating physical blow. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. But of course, he was no man. He was a monster.
He moved behind me, and before I could process the confusion, he draped the jacket over my shoulders.
It was instant, overwhelming warmth. The weight of the garment was heavy, and the sleeves hung down past my hands. More importantly, the cloth was saturated with him: a deep, intoxicating blend of something cold and clean, ancient leather, and a faint, metallic scent that somehow smelled like danger and old roses.
The scent calmed the frenetic panic inside me instantly, silencing the screaming voice of my adrenaline. I felt my shoulders drop, my tense muscles easing into the suffocating softness of the foreign material. It was a devastating, manipulative act of care, and it made me feel more captive than any chain.
Why? The word stuttered through my exhausted mind. Why would a creature like him offer comfort? Why would he bother pretending to be gentle when he'd already proven he didn't need gentleness to break me?
My throat tightened, fury and confusion twisting together until I couldn't breathe around them. I didn't want his warmth. I didn't want his scent settling into my lungs, pushing away the terror, muting it, smothering it like a velvet hand over my mouth.
"I don't want—"
The sentence died when he stepped in front of me.
Darius looked down at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. It was too calm to be predatory, too knowing to be compassion. His eyes were their usual cold, arresting crimson, but there was something else layered beneath them. Something that made my stomach clench.
"You are trembling," he said softly, as if that explained everything.
"I'm cold," I snapped, tightening the jacket around myself anyway. "Humans get cold."
He hummed, a low sound that vibrated like distant thunder. "Yes. Fragile things always do."
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. I wanted to rip the jacket off and throw it at his face. I wanted to spit in his direction and run again, even if it meant he caught me in seconds and snapped my spine for the trouble.
But I couldn't.
I couldn't force my fingers to let go of the warmth. My body. My traitorous, exhausted, freezing body, would not give it up.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Darius's smirk returned for a fractional heartbeat, but then... vanished. His face settled back into something neutral. Too neutral. As if he was forcing down an instinct, smoothing out a reaction I wasn't supposed to see.
Without warning, his arm slid beneath my knees.
"Wait—don't you—!"
And then I was in the air.
He didn't cradle me. He didn't sweep me up like some absurd gothic bride. No. He hauled me up and over his shoulder with smooth, monstrous ease, like I weighed no more than a stray sack of grain.
My stomach lurched with the sudden inversion. The ground swayed dangerously far below me. His shoulder was solid iron digging into my ribs, and one of his hands anchored at the backs of my thighs, holding me in place with humiliating, unshakable control. The proximity was overwhelming. I was pressed against the unyielding muscle of his torso, smelling the rich velvet of his jacket lining and the dangerous, clean scent of his skin.
I kicked out on instinct. Useless of course. The movement didn't even make him sway.
"Put me down!" I hissed, pounding my fists weakly into his back.
He didn't so much as grunt. He began walking, each slow, deliberate step vibrating through his body into mine.
"No."
My face burned. From anger, from fear, from the hot flush prickling through my already-overheated skin from the jacket. My hair fell over my face, my breath coming fast and ragged.
"This is not—this isn't how you carry people!"
"It is how I carry you," he said, smooth and unbothered.
The worst part wasn't his strength or the effortless dominance.
The worst part wasn't the humiliation or the helplessness.
The worst part was that, draped in his jacket, pressed against his back, the cold retreating from my bones—
My body relaxed.
Not willingly of course. Not even consciously. But it did.
Bit by bit, my fight drained out of me, seeping away like warmth into snow. The adrenaline that had kept me upright was gone, leaving only exhaustion and the steady, rhythmic shift of his muscles beneath me.
I hated it. Hated him. Hated myself most of all for the way my trembling slowed.
He carried me toward the faint glow of headlights waiting beyond the park's trees. It was some sleek, dark vehicle half-hidden in the shadows.
My voice broke. "Where are you taking me?"
"To safety," he said.
A lie, but spoken with such quiet certainty it wrapped around me like a second jacket.
I swallowed hard. "I don't— I can't—"
"Listen to me, little runner," he interrupted, his eyes meeting mine. "Where we are going, your world ends, and mine begins. It is an act of power, not mere speed, that takes us there. It will be unpleasant, and it may knock you unconscious. Well, it will definitely knock you unconscious."
"The Supernatural Realm," I managed, the words tasting like ash.
"The Supernatural Sphere," he corrected. "A connected dimension where mortals cannot survive without significant intervention. I have ensured your passage, but the transit itself will be rough."
He shifted my weight, securing me tighter against his body.
"Do not fight the sensation," he commanded.
He slid onto the plush leather seat, still holding me tight, placing me beside him rather than across from him. The door clicked shut, plunging us into absolute, silent darkness.
The low, guttural vibration of the engine started, not sounding like combustion, but like a deep, internal hum.
Then, the pressure hit.
It was a sudden, sharp, sickening force, clamping down on my chest and skull like a thousand feet of deep water. My vision swam, the darkness swirling into dizzying, impossible colors. From deep reds and sharp golds, to swirling obsidian. My ears popped violently, and I tasted copper.
I gasped, reaching out blindly for the one solid thing in the collapsing world...Darius.
His arm was instantly around me, bracing me against the cold, unyielding wall of his chest. His strength was the only constant as reality dissolved.
"What is this—" I choked out, the pressure squeezing the breath from my lungs.
"Breathe," Darius commanded, his voice cutting through the sensory chaos, sounding distant, powerful, and utterly calm. "Relax. The loss of consciousness is a protective measure. It prevents your mortal mind from shattering. Rest. When you wake, you will be home."
The cold, possessive certainty of his voice was the last thing I registered before the pressure intensified, squeezing all consciousness from my mind. The world dissolved into a profound, heavy darkness, leaving the silver locket the only cold sensation against my rapidly chilling skin.