CHAPTER 8
1210 Words
I woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
Warm, rich, comforting—the kind of smell that makes you want to stay in bed forever. For a second I didn’t move. I just stretched lazily under the covers and smiled toward Michael.
He walked in with a cup in his hand, hair messy, eyes soft.
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
“Mmmm… good indeed,” I purred, arching like a cat into his touch when he brushed my hair away from my face.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I slapped my hand over my mouth.
“Nooo. Morning breath. Absolutely not.”
He laughed loudly, the kind of laugh that vibrated deep in his chest.
“I’m giving you to the count of ten to get to the bathroom, rinse with that mouthwash, and get your ass back here so I can kiss you properly.”
He didn’t have to say it twice.
I bolted, rinsed, and hurried back into bed.
He was lying down, one arm behind his head, the other reaching for me—looking devastating in the most casual way possible. I climbed onto him, settling on his hips, and leaned in for a long, sweet kiss.
His hands slid from my thighs up my waist, then up my back and into my hair. He grew hard instantly beneath me, and I felt my breath catch.
I didn’t tease him.
I reached between my legs, guided him inside me, and sank onto him slowly—inch by deliberate inch.
We both exhaled sharply.
Michael wasn’t like Dragomar.
He didn’t overwhelm me.
He didn’t consume me in one breath.
He let me set the pace.
I moved slowly at first, circling my hips, letting the warmth build and spread. His hands gripped my waist, not to control, but to steady himself as he followed my rhythm. Every shift, every slide sent little shocks through my stomach, up my spine.
He groaned my name, breath breaking against my collarbone.
“f**k… Kira…”
That sound alone almost undid me.
I arched my back, riding him deeper, chasing the heat that curled in tight, hot waves inside me. The pleasure didn’t hit fast—it rose beautifully, thickening, tightening, bubbling under my skin until it finally burst through me.
The orgasm rolled through my whole body, long and deep. I gasped and clenched around him, collapsing forward just as he moaned, losing himself with me.
For a moment we stayed there, tangled, trembling, breathing the same heavy air scented with coffee and s*x.
Eventually, I slid off him and lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling like I’d run a marathon.
He kissed my shoulder and whispered:
“Take your time. I’ll shower and take you to work—just like I promised.”
I smiled and nodded.
“Meet you downstairs in fifteen.”
“Perfect.”
But reality had claws.
I was terrified of going home.
Of opening my door.
Of what might be waiting in the shadows.
Could Dragomar appear during the day?
So far, he had only come at night… but lately, nothing about him followed rules.
And there was the ritual.
The failure.
The consequences.
Who could I turn to except Granny Bia?
Who would believe I was being hunted by a moroi?
I hurried toward Michael’s car, hugging my coat around me, trying to pretend my apartment wasn’t haunted by everything I refused to face.
Michael was brushing snow off the windshield, muttering at the cold.
And then—a prickling sensation crawled up my spine.
Someone was watching me.
I lifted my head.
My breath vanished.
On the far side of the parking lot, half leaning against the concrete wall, half draped in shadow, stood Dragomar.
Fully formed.
Not mist.
Not silhouette.
Not dream.
Real.
Solid.
Predatory.
His black hair framed his face, catching faint winter light; his eyes locked on me in a way that made my blood pulse painfully. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He simply watched me—like an ancient creature observing its prey.
Possessive.
Unapologetic.
Terrifying.
I gasped and slammed the car door shut so fast that Michael flinched.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I forced a smile.
“Yes. Just… cold.”
But as he got inside, removing his gloves and blowing warm air over his fingers…
I felt Dragomar’s gaze burning through the metal door.
Burning through my clothes.
Burning through my logic.
He could appear anywhere.
Anytime.
Daylight didn’t matter anymore.
I wasn’t safe.
Not even with Michael.
Maybe especially not with Michael.
I reached the office and instantly felt sick.
The air felt stale.
People avoided eye contact, whispering instead of talking.
This purgatory of doing nothing was worse than rejection.
I walked to HR.
“Is there any chance I could pick up my things and leave early? I don’t want to spend the next two days just… sitting here.”
The HR lady gave me a sympathetic look.
“I know this is frustrating. It happens too often. Let me speak to your manager.”
By lunch, she returned with a smile.
“You can go home. No penalties.”
My manager even thanked me for my work.
Handed me a positive reference letter.
Smiled like he hadn't avoided me all week.
Thank you, HR lady.
I nodded politely, grabbed my things, and texted Michael.
He came to pick me up and took me to celebrate the end of my internship at a little Italian place that smelled like heaven—fresh pasta, butter, garlic, cheese melting on hot plates.
We laughed, ate too much, kissed in the parking lot.
Everything about Michael felt safe.
Kind.
Real.
And I…
I wasn’t.
Not entirely.
“I’ll drop you off,” he said afterward. “I have a presentation downtown. Might be a long one.”
“It’s fine. I’ll call Elena.”
He kissed me goodbye and drove off.
Going up to my apartment was torture.
How would I face Dragomar?
How would I stop him?
Why did my entire body betray me the moment he was near?
When he wasn’t there, I was disgusted by him—terrified.
But when he appeared…
I became someone else.
Or maybe someone I didn’t want to admit existed.
That damned ritual.
If only there was a loophole.
Something that broke the contract instead of shifting it.
I needed Granny Bia more than ever.
The full moon was in two days.
Time was bleeding away.
Just as I stepped inside the building, my phone rang.
“Hello, this is Alina from Eternal Jewelry. Your custom rings are ready for pickup.”
My heart dropped to my stomach.
“Can I come now?”
“Of course. We’re open.”
I hadn’t told my parents the truth.
It was insane.
I told mom I was ordering custom rings for their 30th anniversary and needed their wedding bands for sizing. It wasn’t a lie—those rings existed. But they were also the only objects powerful enough to anchor the ritual.
I didn’t go upstairs.
I turned around, ordered an Uber, and headed straight for the jewelry store—clutching onto the only hope I had left.
- Writer
