Selene's breath came in sharp, panicked bursts as she sprinted down the narrow alley behind the motel. Gravel crunched under her sneakers, and the thin sweater she had thrown on did nothing to ward off the chill of the Bucharest afternoon. The two black SUVs in the parking lot had men fanning out—professional, calm, scanning every exit like they did this every day.
She didn't wait to see if they spotted her. She ran.
The alley opened onto a busy side street near the eastern ring road. Horns blared as she darted between cars, earning curses in Romanian. Her legs still ached from last night—every stride reminded her of Viktor's powerful thrusts, the way he had pinned her down and claimed her completely. Wetness gathered between her thighs at the unwanted memory, mixing shame with a dark, lingering heat. She hated how her body betrayed her.
A yellow taxi idled at the corner. She yanked the door open and threw herself inside. "Old Town. Lipscani district. Fast. Please."
The driver, an older man with a thick mustache, nodded and pulled into traffic without questions. Selene slumped low in the seat, heart hammering. She glanced back through the rear window. One of the dark-suited men was already on his phone, eyes locked on her cab as it merged into the flow. They had seen her.
"Shit," she whispered.
The ride toward the city center felt endless. Bucharest's wide boulevards blurred past—Șoseaua Mihai Bravu giving way to busier streets packed with trams and pedestrians. She kept checking her phone. More unknown calls. A text from an unrecognized number: You can't run forever, Selene. He doesn't like to lose what's his.
Her stomach dropped. Viktor. It had to be. How did he find her so quickly? Who the hell was he?
The taxi dropped her near Piata Unirii, close to the bustling heart of the Old Town. Selene paid with trembling hands and melted into the crowds of tourists and locals weaving through the cobbled streets of Lipscani. Narrow lanes lined with colorful buildings, bars spilling laughter and music, the scent of grilled mititei and strong coffee in the air. It was the perfect place to disappear—chaotic, vibrant, full of hiding spots.
She ducked into a small souvenir shop, pretending to browse racks of embroidered blouses while catching her breath. Her core throbbed with residual soreness, and every brush of fabric against her breasts made her nipples tighten. Flashes of Viktor's mouth sucking them deep kept invading her mind. She squeezed her thighs together, mortified at how easily her body responded even now.
After ten minutes she slipped out and moved deeper into the district, weaving past lively terraces and underground clubs that wouldn't open for hours. She found a quiet café tucked in a side alley off Smardan, ordered a strong espresso and a pastry she barely touched, and tried to formulate a plan. Delete all social media apps. Use cash only. Get to the airport tomorrow morning no matter what. Forget last night. Forget the way Viktor had looked at her like she was the only woman in the world while he buried himself inside her virgin heat.
Her phone buzzed again. Another unknown number. She powered it off completely.
Outside, the afternoon light began to soften toward evening. Shadows lengthened between the historic buildings. Selene paid and stepped back into the flow of people, aiming for a cheap hostel she had seen listed online near the University area—somewhere anonymous with multiple exits.
She didn't notice the two men following at a discreet distance, one speaking quietly into an earpiece.
In the Draven Tower penthouse, Viktor stood before a wall of monitors, arms crossed, dark eyes fixed on live feeds from his teams. Darius Vale stood beside him, tablet glowing with coordinates.
"She's in Lipscani now, sire," Darius reported. "Slipped the initial net at the motel. Took a taxi to the Old Town. Our men are shadowing her—two blocks back. She's smart, staying in crowds, but she's exhausted and running on adrenaline. No sign she's contacted anyone else."
Viktor's lips curved in a slow, predatory smile. The mate bond pulsed stronger with every hour, letting him sense faint echoes of her fear… and her arousal. Even now, miles away, he could almost taste the slick heat between her thighs. "Good. Let her think she's winning. Push her gently toward the northern edge. I want her tired, frightened, and aching when we bring her in."
He turned away from the screens and poured himself a glass of deep crimson blood-wine from a crystal decanter—vintage from his private cellars, mixed with a trace of Selene's own blood he had carefully collected last night. The taste exploded on his tongue, sweet and potent, hardening his cock instantly.
"She gave me her virginity, Darius. Clenched around me like she was made for my cock. Screamed my name while I marked her. And then she runs?" His voice dropped to a velvet growl. "Tonight she learns there is no escape from a king."
Darius nodded, unflinching. "The estate is prepared. East wing ready with silk restraints, warmed blood-wine, and the blackout curtains. Your private jet is on standby if she tries for the airport. Shall I tighten the net at sunset?"
Viktor drained the glass and set it down. His fangs had lengthened, eyes glowing faintly red. "At dusk. Bring her to me gently—but make sure she feels the hunt closing in. I want her wet and trembling when she sees me again. Remind her exactly how good it felt to be fucked by me."
Darius issued new orders into his comms. Teams repositioned quietly around the Old Town, blocking easy exits toward the airport routes while leaving just enough gaps to keep Selene moving deeper into Viktor's influence.
Selene felt it—the prickle at the back of her neck, the sense of being watched no matter how many corners she turned. She quickened her pace through the cobbled streets, ducking into a narrow passage between bars. Music thumped from nearby venues preparing for the evening crowd. Her legs burned, and the soreness between them had turned into a persistent, needy throb that made her want to scream.
She spotted a small guesthouse down a quieter lane—cheap, discreet, with a back entrance. Perfect. She hurried toward it, already counting her remaining cash.
But as she reached the door, a tall figure stepped out from the shadows across the street. Not one of the suited men. This one had silver-streaked dark hair and cold, assessing eyes. Darius Vale. He didn't approach. He simply met her gaze and gave a single, deliberate nod—as if to say, We see you.
Selene's blood ran cold. She spun and bolted down the lane, heart slamming against her ribs. Footsteps echoed behind her—not chasing aggressively, but steadily closing the distance.
Tears stung her eyes as she ran. Part of her wanted to stop, to turn around and demand answers. Another part—the traitorous, aching part—wondered what it would feel like if Viktor caught her. Would he punish her slowly with that massive cock? Would he bite her again while he drove deep inside her, turning fear into screaming pleasure?
She shoved the thought away and kept running as the sun dipped lower, painting the Old Town in golden hues that would soon give way to night.
The vampire king's hunt was closing in.
And Selene was running out of places to hide.