CHAPTER 4
1203 Words
Dragomar’s shadow crept along the walls like spilled ink, circling me, taunting me, making me track him from corner to corner.
I hated how restless he made me.
How scared.
How alive.
“You promised you would tell me how to break the contract,” I said, heart pounding. “No more teasing. No more seducing. No more games.”
“Of course, my beautiful Kira,” he purred. “I am a man of my word.”
His shadow stilled—tall, sharp-edged, almost taking form.
“Breaking the contract is possible,” he continued. “But not easy. You need a full moon. A ritual in the dark, at midnight… just like the one that invited me here. You must use a candle mixed with your own blood. And instead of rings… the blood of a loved one as sacrifice. Someone who can take your place. The contract shifts to them.”
My stomach twisted.
“You knew I would say no,” I whispered. “You made me believe escape was possible.”
“And it is possible. Real. I do not lie.” His shadow shimmered like smoke. “But I said it would not be easy.”
“Then I’ll find a different way to get rid of you!”
A low, knowing sound rippled across the room.
“Is this sudden courage because of Michael?”
His tone slid across my skin. “The man who makes your heart race?”
“No!” I snapped. “It’s because I’m afraid of you! Because this is too much! I want it to stop!”
His shadow whipped violently around the room, a cyclone of darkness.
“STOP MOVING!” I shouted. “I’m angry enough as it is!”
And just like that—it stopped.
Right in front of me.
I could almost feel his breath.
Almost see his form.
“Dragomar,” I whispered, “please" Release me from this curse. You said you don’t enjoy torment. Well, I feel tormented.”
His voice wrapped around me like velvet knives.
“Do you, beautiful one?”
A pause.
“Is it torment… or yearning? Look deeper, Kira. You’re gasping for air not because you fear me… but because if I vanish, you fear you will never experience pleasure like that again. And you want more. I feel every emotion inside you.”
“No,” I insisted. “You’re wrong. I can find pleasure somewhere else.”
“Of course,” he mused. “There are many kinds of pleasure. That kiss you shared tonight, for example… sweet, soft, comforting. How do you imagine a kiss from me would feel?”
“I don’t want to find out.”
“We shall see.”
His voice cooled. “You have until the next full moon to prepare for the ritual.”
“No. I can’t do that.”
Silence.
Nothing.
He was gone.
“Dragomar?” I whispered. “I said NO!”
Only the walls answered me, as I looked around the empty room.
Hours later I finally collapsed into sleep.
My dreams were broken—shattered images, grief, longing, voices calling a name I couldn’t remember.
I woke Sunday morning drained, weak, hollow.
A text from Michael saved me.
Good morning, beautiful. I’ll stop by later. I’m bringing you a treat.
My heart fluttered in a way that made me feel human again.
Alive… in a safe way.
Not the predatory way Dragomar made me feel.
I forced myself out of bed, ate something so I wouldn’t faint, and waited.
By the time Michael knocked, I was exhausted and drowsy again.
He didn’t stay long—just enough to make me tea, feed me cake, tuck me into bed, kiss my forehead, and leave quietly.
So gentle.
So patient.
So opposite of the darkness haunting me.
I couldn’t sleep.
I scrolled my phone in the dark, waiting, listening, half afraid, half… disappointed that Dragomar kept his word and stayed silent.
He said he’d leave me alone until the next full moon.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of quiet.
I needed to get the herbal pouch and Granny Bia’s infusion from the storage room where I kept my bike.
But not tonight.
I locked the door, even though the monster had already proven locks meant nothing.
Sleep came quickly—and painfully.
I cried in my dream, searching for someone, calling their name, grieving something I couldn’t explain.
Monday morning hit with freezing cold and news of a coming snowstorm.
Work swallowed me—meetings, presentations, the looming performance evaluation that would decide whether I kept my job.
Two other interns competed with me.
Both with better degrees, more confidence, more friendliness.
All I had was hard work and ambition.
Michael texted before lunch.
Come eat with me. My treat.
I agreed.
He met me in reception and kissed my cheek.
“Rough day?” he asked.
“You could say that.”
“You’ll handle it. And if not? You’ll get another job. Don’t let this crush you.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is,” he smiled, taking my hand. “And if it isn’t… I’ll help you. You’re not alone.”
His kindness melted something deep inside me.
He brought me back to the office afterward, and I floated through the rest of my shift.
By evening, I invited him over for dinner.
I cooked a one-pot pasta that filled the house with warmth.
He arrived with a bottle of red wine, and the evening unfolded sweetly—talking, laughing, sharing pieces of our lives.
When we moved to the couch, he played with my hair while I rambled.
Maybe from the wine.
Maybe from the way I wanted him so badly my skin tingled.
His lips, his jaw, his hands—my mind painted him shirtless, pressed against me.
I was seconds from straddling him again.
He noticed.
He put a finger on my lips and kissed me—slow, deep, perfect.
I crawled onto him, fingers in his hair.
His hands gripped my thighs, dragging me closer until he pulled my hair, panting lightly from the kiss.
“We need to stop,” he growled. “I need to go.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not our first date.”
“I know.” He brushed a thumb over my swollen lips. “But I really like you. And I want you… badly. Which means it’s worth the wait.”
I pouted like a brat.
“You’re just going to leave me like this?”
He looked down at my crotch.
Then at his.
Winked.
“It’s a cold shower for me too. Good night.”
And then he left me there—alone, aching, buzzing.
I went straight to the shower, still thinking about him.
My hands slid over my body, water dripping down my skin, heat pooling between my legs.
I touched myself slowly, imagining his hands, his mouth, his breath.
“Michael…” I moaned, the orgasm building like a storm.
And at the very last instant— as pleasure ripped through me— my lips whispered a different name.
“Dragomar…”
- Writer
