His mate his obsession

chapter 4 on the run

Maya’s POV

I stepped out of the hospital doors, the night air hitting me like a punch.

My lungs burned from smoke, my wrist still tingling where his fingers had touched mine.

The crescent mark still pulsed faintly, warm against my skin, a reminder of what had just happened.

My legs felt heavy, my mind even heavier.

I’m his mate…

The words repeated like a mantra, impossible and super unbelievable.

I couldn’t be his mate.

And yet, a part of me wondered… what if it was true? What if this strange pull, the warmth in my wrist, the calm that had washed over him… what if it wasn’t a coincidence?

My pulse hammered in my ears, loud enough to drown out the faint hum of the city around me.

Everything felt unreal; the fire, the chaos, the way his eyes had locked on mine.

I tore my gaze from the hospital. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t let anyone see me, ask questions I couldn’t answer.

My heart still thudded against my ribcage, sweat and soot making my clothes cling uncomfortably.

The walk home felt longer than usual.

The streets were quiet now, sirens faded into memory, the neon lights flickering off in the distance.

I tried to focus on normal things like, my apartment building, the cracked sidewalk, the smell of pizza from a corner shop…but nothing anchored me.

My thoughts kept slipping back to him.

Damon.

The man I had saved without knowing why I couldn’t walk away.

His pain, and how it had vanished the moment our hands touched…

I fumbled with my keys, my hands trembling.

Once inside, I leaned against the door, taking a shaky breath.

My apartment was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlamp outside my window.

I closed the door behind me, the lock clicking like a small relief, a temporary shield from reality.

“Mom?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

From the bedroom came a soft groan. “Maya? Is that you?”

I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every mark on my body.

My hands were red, my clothes smelled of smoke, and my hair clung to my face from sweat. I forced my voice calm. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m home.”

When I stepped into the room, I froze.

My mom lay on the bed, pale and exhausted, a blanket pulled up to her chin.

Her chest rose slowly, each breath shallow but steady.

I hated how small she looked, how fragile, after months of illness. She had been sick for so long, and I had promised to be careful, to take care of her as much as I could.

“Why… why are you covered in soot?” she asked, sitting up slightly, concern etched in every line of her face. “You didn’t come home for hours… what happened?”

I swallowed, searching for words that wouldn’t tell too much. “I… there was a fire, Mom. Someone… I mean, I helped someone.”

She frowned. “Helped someone? Maya, you’re shaking. And your hands…” She reached toward me, hesitated, then stopped. “Who? What happened?”

I looked away, guilt twisting in my stomach. “It’s… complicated. I can’t explain right now. Just… just rest, Mom. I need to…” I trailed off, realizing that I had no excuse that didn’t sound insane.

Her hand brushed against mine, careful but probing. “Maya… whatever it is, you can tell me. You’ve been through something. I can see it in your eyes.”

I flinched slightly at the sharpness of her intuition.

She always noticed, always felt. But the truth… the truth wasn’t something she could understand. Not yet.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said, trying to inject confidence into my voice. “Really. It’s over now. I… I just need to sit down for a minute.”

She didn’t argue, albeit the worry in her eyes didn’t fade.

She moved to adjust my blanket, touched my cheek gently, and I felt the burn of guilt.

How could I save a stranger while my own mother lay sick at home?

Every fiber of me knew I should have stayed by her side, counted her breaths, monitored her temperature, done everything in my power to care for her.

But I couldn’t ignore what had happened tonight.

Something inside me… something new had awoken.

I didn’t understand it yet.

I didn’t understand him yet. Yet a thread connected us, invisible, unbroken, and it tugged at my heart even now.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, running a hand down my face.

My mom watched silently, a small frown etched on her forehead.

I wanted to tell her everything, wanted to spill out the story of the fire, the man trapped inside the car, the strange pulse on my wrist, the way it seemed like I was… meant to be part of something bigger.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said softly. “I was worried. You’ve been working so hard at the restaurant, and… and then this…” Her voice cracked slightly. “I don’t want you risking yourself. You have your own life, Maya, and I…” She paused, swallowing, voice thick with emotion. “…I don’t want to lose you.”

Her words hit me harder than any fire ever could. I bit my lip, trying not to cry. “I’ll be careful, Mom. I promise.”

She reached over, tugging me close.

For a moment, everything felt safe.

Just the two of us in this tiny apartment, the world reduced to the quiet rhythm of her breathing and my racing heartbeat.

But even as I held her, I felt the pull again.

I stayed there for a long moment, torn between the life I knew and the life that was calling me, something dark and dangerous and… inevitable.

The city outside was quiet now, the chaos of earlier replaced by the still hum of traffic.

But inside, my mind was alive with questions I didn’t have answers for.

Who was he?

Why had our connection been so immediate, so powerful?

What did it mean that the mark on my wrist had pulsed the moment we touched?

I shook my head, trying to focus.

Not yet.

Not now.

First, I had to be here for my mother.

First, I had to breathe, to recover, to process.

The silence stretched, heavy and unyielding.

I tried to lose myself in small details, the rough texture of the blanket beneath my fingers, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering from the hospital, the steady rhythm of my mother’s breathing.

And then it came…

A sound that made my blood run cold, a sharp knock against the door.

I froze, my heart leaping into my throat.

The knock came again, louder this time, urgent.

Whoever it was, they didn’t sound like a delivery person.

They didn’t sound like a neighbor.

I glanced at my mom.

Her hand squeezed mine gently, a silent question in her eyes.

I couldn’t answer it.

I got to my feet, every muscle tense, my wrist throbbing where the crescent mark glowed faintly beneath my skin.

My mind raced.

The knock came again. This time, it wasn’t just a sound.

It was a presence. Heavy, insistent, impossible to ignore.

My chest tightened.

I swallowed hard, taking a step toward it.

My hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling.

Every instinct screamed at me, warning me, begging me not to open it.

And yet… something deeper, something in my blood and bones, urged me forward.

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm in my chest. The knock came once more, sharp, insistent, demanding.

I couldn’t ignore it.

I twisted the knob.

And then…