Chapter 5 — The Eyes in the Dark
1454 Words
The sun rose early, attempting to look through the dirty curtains, but Aria barely noticed.
She was too busy pretending everything was okay.
Okay meant making coffee.
Okay meant not glancing at the man on her living room floor like a guard monster.
Okay meant pretending her heart wasn't racing every time she thought about what had happened last night.
She filled herself a mug of coffee with shaking hands, the dark scent filling the tiny kitchen.
Ate a long, burning swallow.
Breathed.
You can do this.
Behind her, she could hear Dante stirring.
He let out a low, sleepy sound that did scandalous things to her insides, and rose up with a rustle of movement.
She didn't have to turn around to feel his presence.
It filled the whole room.
Filled her.
"Morning," he said, his voice still rough with sleep.
She risked a glance over her shoulder—
And immediately regretted it.
Dante stood barefoot, his shirt clinging to his chest, rumpled and loose, his dark hair a mess.
He looked like he belonged there, like he belonged to her.
"Morning," she croaked.
He smiled, slow and lazy, and she felt it like a physical touch.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
She nodded.
Lied.
"I’m fine."
He crossed the room in three strides and took the coffee cup from her trembling hands.
"You’re not fine," he said, setting the mug down carefully on the counter.
"You’re scared again."
Aria opened her mouth to argue—
And froze.
A prickling sensation crawled over her skin.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She turned toward the window, heart hammering, scanning the street beyond.
Empty.
Silent.
But something felt… wrong.
Dante stiffened behind her.
"You feel it too," he said grimly.
She nodded slowly.
"What is it?"
He moved to the window, scanning the street with sharp, predatory eyes.
A low growl rumbled in his chest.
"Someone’s watching you," he said, voice rough with fury.
Her stomach twisted.
"Who?"
"I don’t know," he said, already pulling out his phone.
"But I’m going to find out."
He dialed a number with swift, sure fingers.
Waited.
When the line connected, his voice snapped out, clipped and commanding:
"Adrian. I need to see Willow Creek. Now. Someone's stalking my mate."
He hung up without giving her time to respond, every inch of his body radiating deadly intent.
Aria stared at him, her heart pounding.
"This is crazy," she whispered.
"This can't be happening."
He turned to her, his face fierce and loving all at once.
"I told you," he said, holding her face in his big hands.
"You're mine. And I'll kill whoever takes you from me."
Possessiveness should have scared her out of him.
Maybe it did.
But also, somehow, it ignited a deep and old thing in her to stir—
A wild, crying need to be marked.
To be protected.
She closed her eyes, the coolness of her forehead to the warmth of his chest, his scent enveloping her: safe, musky, warm.
"I'm afraid of losing you," she breathed.
"You won't lose me," he swore.
"I promise it with my life."
—
The day was passed in a blur of fear and tension.
Dante would not let her leave his side.
Wherever she went—into the bathroom, into the kitchen—he trailed after her, quiet and watchful.
When she needed to go into work, he insisted on taking her.
The diner was not right when she walked in.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Martha, her boss, looked up at Dante with an eyebrow raised but said nothing sage.
Just handed Aria a tray and sent her out to seat tables.
Dante sat at a corner table, drinking black coffee, his golden eyes following every movement she made.
Anyone who so much as looked at her for longer than a second received a glare so fierce that they hastily retreated.
Aria tried to focus on her work, but the sense of being stalked clung to her like an unpleasant habit.
Each time the bell over the door clanged, she jumped.
Every time a stranger entered, she glanced at their faces, her heart racing pitifully.
And all the while, Dante watched her.
Protecting.
Waiting.
Preparing to kill.
It should have scared her.
Instead, it made her feel. safe.
Loved.
Wanted.
More wanted than she'd ever been in her whole life.
—
The sun had fallen below the horizon before she finally figured out.
Dante appeared at her elbow the instant she took off her apron, slipping an arm possessively around her waist.
"Let's go," he breathed into her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
She didn't argue.
Didn't even feign arguing.
She wanted to be where he was.
As they stepped out into the parking lot, the world was heavy with silence.
A shadow detached from an alleyway nearby.
A wiry, tall man with a scar slashing across his jaw.
Dante growled, shoving Aria behind him in one smooth motion.
"Stay back," he growled, his body vibrating with rage.
The man laughed, a low, cruel sound.
"Relax, Alpha," he sneered.
"I’m just delivering a message."
Dante’s muscles bunched, but he didn’t attack.
"What message?" he snapped.
The man grinned, showing yellowed teeth.
"Your mate belongs to the Blood Fang Pack now," he said.
"You can surrender her. or watch her die."
Aria’s blood turned to ice.
Dante moved so fast she almost didn’t see it.
For one instant, he stood frozen—
The next, he had the man slammed against the wall by the throat, feet off the floor.
"If you even glance at her," Dante snarled, voice lethal,
"I'll chop you into pieces and feed you to the crows."
The man thrashed, gagging.
Dante did not let him go.
"Tell your Alpha this," he spat, golden eyes burning
"that if he comes near my mate again, I’ll burn his pack to the ground."
He dropped the man like trash.
The messenger scrambled to his feet and fled, limping into the shadows.
Dante turned immediately, pulling Aria into his arms.
"You’re okay," he murmured, rocking her gently.
"I’ve got you. I’ve got you."
Aria clung to him, shaking.
"What do they want?" she whispered.
"You," he said grimly.
"To hurt me. To break me."
She shivered.
"Why?"
"Because if they kill you," he snarled, voice rough,
"I'll go feral. Go off the books. And then they can kill me."
Aria's stomach churned in pain.
"Then maybe you should go," she breathed.
"Maybe I'm just a liability—"
Dante pinched his hands on her shoulders, shaking his head with fervor.
"Never say that," he growled.
"You are not a liability. You're my mate. My whole world."
Her eyes clouded with tears.
She leaned against him, allowing him to hold her up.
"What do we do?" she fractured.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, fierce and tender.
"We fight," he said simply.
"Together."
—
That night, back at her apartment, Aria sat curled on the couch, knees hugged to her chest, watching Dante pace restlessly.
Every few minutes he would go to the window, check the locks, sniff the air.
Protective.
Unstoppable.
"You should rest," she said softly.
He shook his head.
"Not until I’m sure you’re safe."
Her heart ached for him.
For his loneliness.
For his pain.
For the manner in which he loved her without condition, without qualification.
She rose and moved across the room, placing a hand on his chest.
Felt the pounding, strong beat of his heart against her palm.
"You're not alone anymore," she whispered.
Dante looked down at her, something raw and beautiful burning in his eyes.
"I know," he growled.
"And I'll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me."
He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her forehead, and then her nose, and then finally—
finally—
her mouth.
The kiss was hesitant at first.
Questioning.
Aria reacted silently, rising up onto her toes, her arms wrapping around his neck, opening.
The kiss grew stronger, wild, desperate, claiming.
He pinned her against the wall, hands wedged on either side of her head, enveloping her.
But she didn't feel trapped.
She felt chosen.
Wanted.
His mouth slanted over hers again and again, leaving her dizzy, burning.
When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Dante rested his forehead against hers.
"You’re mine," he whispered fiercely.
"And I’m yours."
Tears welled up again, but this time they were different.
Full of hope.
Full of a fierce, terrifying love.
"Yours," she echoed, voice shaking with emotion.
Outside, the storm gathered again.
Darkness loomed.
Danger crept closer.
But inside, wrapped in each other’s arms—
They were greater than any tempest.
Together.
Eternally.
- Writer
