A Deal with the Devil Who Wants Me

Chapter Four – Caught

The night air is sharp, but he’s sharper.

Damien pushes off the car with predatory grace, flicking the cigarette away as if nothing in the world exists but me. His steps are slow, deliberate, like a wolf cornering prey it already knows can’t escape.

I should scream.

I should run.

But my body betrays me—rooted to the pavement, my pulse tripping wildly under his gaze.

“Stay away from me,” I whisper, though my voice cracks, thin and unconvincing.

His laugh is low, dangerous. “If that’s what you wanted, little ghost, you wouldn’t have worn that dress. You wouldn’t have looked at me like that.”

“I didn’t—”

He cuts me off with a single step closer, and I feel it—the pull of him, magnetic, suffocating, wrong and yet devastatingly right.

My back presses against the brick wall of the café before I even realize I’m moving. He doesn’t touch me, not yet, but he cages me in with his presence, with the dark weight of his stare.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, voice like smoke curling into my veins. His hand lifts, hovering inches from my face. I suck in a breath, expecting contact, craving it—

But he stops. Just hovers. Teasing. Torturing.

“Fear…” His lips twitch, eyes raking over me. “…or arousal?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie, though my pulse betrays me.

The corner of his mouth curves, slow and lethal. “Good. Then maybe you’ll survive me.”

Before I can process, his fingers finally brush my chin, tilting my face up until his shadow swallows mine. Heat explodes through me, sharp and forbidden.

“You don’t get it yet, Seraphina.” My name is a growl on his tongue. “I don’t chase women. I don’t beg. I take.”

My breath snags.

“And you…” His thumb drags over my lower lip, slow and deliberate, making my knees buckle. “…you were made to be taken.”

The sound of the café door opening jolts me back to reality. Voices spill out, laughter, footsteps.

In a blink, Damien steps back. The absence of his touch is a violent ache.

He smirks, slipping his hands into his pockets as if he didn’t just tear me open with a look. “Go back inside, little ghost. Pretend you’re safe.”

And then—he’s gone. Sliding into his car, engine rumbling, taillights bleeding red as the devil himself vanishes into the night.

I sag against the wall, breathless, shaken. My lips still tingle where his thumb brushed. My body still burns where he never touched.

I press my palms to my chest, but it’s useless. My heartbeat is frantic, wild, like it’s no longer mine.

Because it isn’t.

He owns it. Somehow, in just a handful of minutes, Damien has stolen the rhythm of my pulse and branded it with his name.

The thought terrifies me.

The thought excites me.

When I finally walk back into the café, I keep my head down. My coworkers chatter, oblivious. Customers sip their lattes, unconcerned. But I feel it—like a brand on my skin, like phantom hands around my throat.

His presence lingers, even in his absence.

And I know—

this isn’t the last time Damien will corner me.

It’s only the beginning.