Enzo’s POV
I’ve been lying on my back for what feels like a lifeti, the ticking sound of the clock on the wall count out the seconds with its lazy, uneven ticks. Outside, the afternoon light has slanted into gold, then bruised itself purple, and still Alaric hasn’t co back. Every creak in the hallway startles half upright; every motorcycle engine three blocks away drags hope through my aching ribs then lets it go.
He said he was going to "take care of" the man who hurt . At the ti those words had sounded protective, almost gentle, but hours later they ring tallic in my skull. "Take care of" can an flowers and soup; it can also an blood and concrete. I was beginning to worry more than I should have to. I digged under my pillow for my phone, I wanted to call him or text him but then in clicked on , I don’t have his phone number.
Think, Enzo. How do you reach a man who lives in shadows? How do you stop him once he’s slipped beneath the surface to hunt?
My chest tightens. Worry is useless static buzzing in my veins, but it’s either move or drown in it. I swing my legs over the mattress, joints protesting, and press bare feet to the cold terrazzo floor. The apartnt is pin-drop silent l no humming fridge, no neighbor’s radio just the hush that cos after violence, when everything waits to see if the nightmare is really over.
"I need air," I mutter, voice rusty from disuse.
The balcony door sticks a little old paint, swollen wood then groans open. Cool night wind slides over my face like a balm. The view isn’t postcard-worthy: a modest tangle of rooftops, flickering streetlamps, neon signs already losing letters. But the breeze slls of fried plantains, diesel, and faint sea salt, and for a mont that’s enough. I brace my elbows on the railing, hug myself against the chill, and watch traffic trudge along the main avenue. Horns, laughter, snatches of music drift upward life happening at full volu while mine’s been paused.
My fingertips graze the bruises blotched across my neck. They’re sore, swollen ridges of the terror I had to go through. Instantly the mory unfurls, vivid and intrusive: the man’s fingers tightening, death clogging his every breath, his hissed threat in my ear, the way he warned to stay away from Alaric. I swallow hard, force the scene back into its box. A single shiver slips down my spine.
"Who was he, anyway? Alaric’s lover? A jealous ex?" The thought escapes before I can leash it, drifting into the night like a question for the stars.
Arms coil around my waist quiet, sudden. They’re chilled from the open air yet unmistakably strong. My pulse kicks. I didn’t need to turn to know who they belonged to.
"What took you so long?" I whisper, trying to keep the relief out of my voice and failing.
Alaric’s chest rumbles against my back. "First things first," he says, low, deliberate, "Philip is neither my lover nor my ex."
I twist in his hold, ignoring the sharp stab in my ribcage, to see his face. Shadows hood his eyes, but I catch the glint beneath the first warning. "What are you talking about?"
"You wondered out loud." He lifts his hand, gloved in moonlight, and tilts my chin side to side, inspecting the bruises like cris he ans to solve personally.
"I I didn’t realize I’d said it," I murmur.
"I stayed longer because I had unfinished business," he continues, tone calm in a way that curls my stomach.
The words land heavy. I step back, but he reels closer with effortless strength. My palms flatten against his chest; my instincts shoot up, did he do what I think he did?
"What did you do, Alaric?"
"I gave Philip exactly what he earned," he says. "No more, no less. He had no right to touch you no right to make choices that belong to ."
Anger burns behind the quiet; veins stand in sharp relief along his neck. Night sounds fade. It’s just us, and the two heartbeats thundering too loud.
"Did you kill him?" The question scrapes out raw, a secret carved into the dark.
"Why are you so concerned for a man who left you bleeding in your own house?" He releases and stalks inside. Shock freezes my feet before I follow, the balcony door banging shut behind us.
"Calm down, Alaric. I’m not concerned for him I’m concerned for you." My voice trembles, but I keep it low, wary of neighbors. "The threats you made before you left they scared the hell out of . I needed to know if you ant them."
He turns, a panther’s prowl in slow motion. "You say you don’t care about him then why are asking if he’s alive? And Enzo..." He draw out my na.
He suddenly started taking slow steps towards , the way he said my na and the look on his face scared to death so I started slow steps backwards until my back his the wall. He stood in front of he hands buried in pockets, shoulders loose he didn’t locked in with his hands, I could run away from him but I couldn’t. The look in his eyes, the way stared at grounded .
"You killed him?" I repeat, quieter than a prayer.
"What he did demanded an answer." he was inches away from , I could feel his breath on my face. "Let this be a lesson to anyone who thinks they can touch what’s mine. They won’t even share your air."
Then contradiction incarnate he cups my face with hands unexpectedly gentle and claims my mouth in a hard, searing kiss. The taste is an eclipse of everything else: copper, adrenaline, a promise of dark salvation. For a heartbeat I lt into it, into him then sense jolts back. Panic. I shove him away with every bit of strength I had left in . My cracked ribs sent a bolt of pain that left screaming. The world tilts; I collapse to the carpet, coughing for air.
"Enzo," he called out, worry lace his voice.
Without permission without effort Alaric scoops up. I beat weakly at his shoulders; he doesn’t flinch. Mattress springs sigh as he settles on the bed. I thrash, but he straddles my hips, pinning with ease, my wrists yanked above my head and trapped in one brutal hand.
"Stop," I gasp, voice shredding. "I don’t want"
He bends, lips brushing my ear, heat and danger coiling around the words. "Breathe, little human. You’re safe with ."
Safe. Such a fragile claim from the mouth of a man who may have murdered tonight. My pulse thrums beneath his palm like a captured bird. Anger, fear, desire all tangle until I can’t na which is louder.
Alaric kisses again slower, claiming rather than conquering while I hang in the suspended mont between resistance and surrender, between terror of the monster he’s shown and the magnetic pull of the protector he insists on being.
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