“What…” He paused, drawing in a deep breath. “What just happened?” he asked, his voice low and laced with honest confusion.

A peel of laughter burst from my lips before I could stop it—light, wild, and completely unrestrained. The kind of laugh that came not from humor, but from sheer adrenaline and release.

Exhilarated, I looked up into the eyes of my obsession. The flickering streetlight above cast him in shifting light and shadow, just enough to illuminate the stunned expression frozen on his face.

This male was… gorgeous. No, more than that—stunning.

This close to him, he looked nothing short of perfect. He stood towering at six feet ten, his very presence commanding attention. Thick, dark eyebrows framed his face, adding gravity to features already chiseled to perfection. His nose was sharp, his jawline defined, and his eyes—those piercing, inescapable eyes—seemed to bore straight into my soul.

Yet despite their intensity, they held nothing. No warmth. No cruelty. Just two glittering pools of deep ruby, cold and unreadable, revealing nothing of the thoughts behind them.

I rose onto my toes, leaning in, my lips near his ear, my breath ghosting across his cheek.

"You are awfully mistaken," I murmured, my voice husky—almost seductive. It surprised me. This side of me was unfamiliar, but I welcomed it now. "Between the two of us, you know who lit this spark."

He turned slightly, just enough to look at me. Our lips hovered dangerously close. I knew how this must look—how I must look. Practically throwing myself at a stranger.

But that strange electricity between us... I couldn’t resist it. I didn’t want to. I’d tasted something new, something I hadn’t even known I was starving for—and I craved more.

His gaze was unsettling, a silent interrogation that revealed nothing. As if he wore those red eyes like a mask, hiding every thought, every feeling, while seeing through all of mine. And still, I was drawn in—helpless, like a moth to a flame.

His fingers brushed mine, and the contact shot through me like a jolt. Shivers rippled down my spine. My heart hammered in my chest. The air between us felt charged, volatile—like a storm about to break.

We stood like that, locked in a silent, electric trance.

Then the sound of sirens cut through the moment, sharp and jarring. Reality came crashing back, dragging me with it, reminding me of the chaos I’d left in my wake. Startled, my hands dropped from the lapels of his shirt. The fabric I had clutched so desperately was now wrinkled and creased—evidence of my earlier grip.

The wails of sirens grew louder, closer, like they were zeroing in on me. And just like that, thoughts of my now-crushed silver car shot through my mind. If—by some miracle—my face hadn’t been caught by one of the dozens of CCTV cameras lining the highway, the totaled vehicle would more than make up for it. Enough evidence to trace everything back to me.

I’d set out today with the mindset that this whole Crazy plot was a do-or-die affair. What I hadn’t done was account for the after.

I inhaled slowly, mentally preparing for the worst. I couldn’t afford to think about anything else. Not now. Not if I wanted to keep moving without hesitation.

On the bright side, my plan had worked. Unfortunately, that probably meant I’d be spending the rest of my life behind bars. The thought sent a hysterical laugh bubbling up from my throat. All that effort—gone. I might never get to see him again.

My controlled breathing faltered, breaking into shallow, shaky gasps. The edges of my vision blurred, white noise ringing in my ears. I recognized the signs well enough—panic. It clawed its way in, faster this time, sharper, because now it was tied to the idea of losing him.

Desperate to ground myself, I reached out without thinking, brushing my still-bleeding hand against his. Pain exploded up my arm, cutting through the fog of panic like a blade.

I looked down and saw the blood, fresh and bright. He might be the embodiment of masculinity—an immortal sculpture come to life—but damn, he was solid. A soft, pitiful whimper slipped from my lips as the pain bloomed again, sharper without the cushion of adrenaline. It must have always hurt this badly—I just hadn’t felt it until now.

I grabbed at the edge of my top, ready to tear a strip from it for a makeshift bandage—until strong hands closed gently around my elbows.

Stunned, I looked down.

His touch was large, grounding, and careful—he didn’t go near the jagged lines or the worst of the injury. He just held me, steady and still.

"Let me," he said quietly.

I watched, breath held, as he examined the wound, his hands still bracing my arms as he tilted them this way and that. The sirens were nearly here, rounding the corner—too loud, too close.

I opened my mouth to tell him. To run. But he must have already known.

Before I could blink, my hands were looped behind his neck and his arms were wrapped firmly around my waist—and then we were moving.

Fast.

Too fast.

The world blurred into streaks of color. Wind roared past my ears, whipping my hair into a frenzy. Once again, I found myself clinging to his corded neck, smears of my blood marking his flawless skin.

And that’s when it hit me—if this male really was what I thought he was… if he wasn’t just a fantasy cooked up by my adrenaline-fueled brain—

How was he resisting the scent of my blood?

How was he carrying me like I was precious, instead of prey?

Just as I let myself sink into the feeling of freedom—of wild, reckless escape—he stopped.

Abruptly.

Startled, I looked around. My vision was still catching up, but I managed to make out tall, dark trees… and a massive brown door stood right in front of us, leading to a world beyond.

I clutched his neck tighter, my eyes darting around to take in the new space. My jaw dropped in awe.

Mom and I were actually comfortable financially—not that she ever agreed with that description. After Dad passed, he left us well off. Investments. The company. Real estate. A trust fund. Insurance. We didn’t have to work a day in our lives. Some would say I was born with a silver spoon, but I’d never cared much for things like that.

Even so, even I could recognize old money when I saw it.

The room was a masterpiece of luxury—every detail carefully chosen and paired to exude wealth and timeless elegance. I wanted to explore every inch of it, to run my fingers over the carved furniture and silk-draped windows, but the thought slipped away the moment he gently set me on my feet.

Even through my boots, I swore I could feel the caress of the plush carpet beneath me.

My eyes stayed locked on him as he ran a hand through his messy, absurdly perfect hair. He seemed to come to some decision, because he raised his right hand to his mouth. I caught the barest flash of a fang before he bit into it—sharp and deliberate—then brought the bleeding hand to my lips.

This mysterious male of mine had a habit of throwing me off balance from the very start. I didn’t know what made me trust him. I didn’t know what made me crave him. But I wasn’t going to run from it—not anymore.

Trusting him felt like second nature now.

Without hesitation, I looked into his glowing ruby eyes and took a sip of the warm liquid he offered.

But it didn’t taste like blood.

There was no bitter tang, no metallic sting. Instead, it felt enriching. Nourishing. A sensation I couldn’t quite name—powerful and overwhelming, like swallowing starlight.

The tension between us crackled to life again, magnetic and electric, pulling me closer without a single touch. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. And judging by the intensity in his gaze, he couldn’t look away from me either.

When he seemed satisfied with how much I’d taken, he slowly withdrew his hand. I licked the remnants from my lips, trying to calm the racing of my heart.

Then, before I could stop myself, I broke the silence.

"You didn’t tell me," I said, voice soft but pointed.

"What?" he asked, low and cautious, as though afraid to disturb the hush that blanketed the surrounding space. A flicker of confusion crossed his features.

"Your name. You never told me your name."

He grunted in response, dismissing the question with casual indifference.

But then he took my hands in his again, inspecting the wound I’d nearly forgotten about—and what I saw made my breath catch.

The injury was gone.

I rubbed the dried blood away to get a better look, heart thudding wildly.

No pain. No scar. No sign of injury at all.

I looked up at him, breathless, my earlier panic replaced by something quieter. A strange calm. A knowing.

"How... How is this possible?" I asked, voice full of reverence, sure that the wonder in my eyes gave away everything I was feeling.

He tried to move past me into the room, but I blocked him without thinking. And then—once again that night—I did something unexpected.

I rose onto my toes and pulled him down for a kiss, pressing my lips against his.

It was meant to be chaste. a silent thank-you.

But the second our mouths touched, something ignited.

My lips found his lower one, warm and full and very soft. He stiffened slightly in surprise, and his mouth parted on instinct—just enough for me to follow the opening.

My fingers gripped the lapels of his shirt as I deepened the kiss, my movements unrestrained, driven by the heat curling low in my stomach. His lips moved—hesitant, but responsive—and it only pushed me further, drew me deeper into him.

I was falling again.

And this time, I wanted to.

"Elban," a feminine voice called, slicing through the air like a blade.

We both froze.

Startled, I turned toward the sound, already half-ready to rip into whatever bitch had the nerve to interrupt us.

But the words caught in my throat.

Because standing in the doorway was beauty—the kind that made my stomach twist and my confidence falter.