Lost and Claimed

1-Sheep In Wolf’s Skin Her lips — red as fresh blood. Her jet‑black pixie bob cups her face: edgy, yet still soft and undeniably feminine. Her eyes are polished onyx — intoxicating, framed by long lashes. One could easily get lost staring too long… But the truth is: you *will* get lost. Look past her carefully built walls, and there is nothing there — hollow, lifeless. And her smile? It is her deadliest weapon. Davina tucks a stray lock behind her ear, watching herself in the mirror. She's wearing a spaghetti strap plain black dress, that ends before her knees. First a soft smile — then a sharp, charming grin, revealing fine, porcelain‑white teeth like a cat’s. It looks perfectly, convincingly sincere. The single bulb overhead flickers. She glances up — already knowing what it means: another blackout coming. No candles. No flashlight. Nothing prepared. Barely any food, either. Her stomach gives a hollow, loud growl — she hasn’t eaten all day. She presses one hand tight to her abdomen, swallows the tight lump in her throat. Thirsty. Starving. Nothing to fill her in this almost‑bare apartment. All she owns: - A thin, worn mattress - This half‑length mirror - One jug of water - Basic toiletries - And big black trash bags stuffed full of everything she calls “clothes.” -Some ‘gifts’ she got like random bags and accessories from foolish men “Nice to meet you — wow, you look great in person,” she tried, keeping her tone polite and friendly — but it felt stiff, forced. Her brows drew together. Something in the delivery… just wasn’t right. She tried again: lifted one hand in a light, open gesture, raised her brows as if truly seeing someone for the very first time — and pulled on her brightest, most welcoming smile. “Hi there — oh my —!” She gave a soft, breathy gasp, fingers lightly brushing her lips — looking genuinely, delightfully caught off‑guard. “…you look even better in person!” She flashed that warm, bright grin — sharp charm hidden beneath every word. There. Perfect. The exact innocent, alluring trap. Davina beamed at her reflection — and winked playfully. She’s run this cycle a thousand times before: luring foolish men, wielding charm like a tool. She uses them for whatever she needs — a meal, a luxury she cannot buy herself, anything her heart craves in the moment. Davina is bewitching. She knows exactly how to tilt her body, how to shape her words — how to wrap anyone tight around her little finger. She learned she *had* to. But more than that… she was born for it. Unnervingly good at it. Ever since she left home, she’d cherished that taste of freedom. But this was its true cost: bills, hunger, the constant strain on her sanity. Her very last resort? Begging her way back to her family. No — she wouldn’t survive there. Not again. 10:25 PM — outside River’s RestoBar. Davina glanced at her watch. Five minutes early. A slow chill crawled up her spine. A warning…? Or just the biting night air? Midnight was close. Then through the thin mist, a tall figure emerged. His hair neatly brushed up, casual muscle shirt and jeans. Tall, dark, moderately handsome, clean‑shaven. He looks put‑together. Respectable, even. And instantly her smile bloomed bright, ready for him. “Hi there! Oh my-. Wow you look even better in person!”, like she practiced. “No sweetie… you're sexier in person”, Menace laced his voice. He smiled at her. Davina knows his game but frankly all she wants to do is eat. Though a restobar isn't the exact food place for a proper meal. She doesn't have a choice at the moment. River’s Resto‑Bar tried hard to look upscale — dark polished wood, brass trim, and amber lamps meant to feel luxurious. But up close, you saw the cracks: scuffed floorboards, thin velvet with frayed edges, glass that glinted but wasn’t real crystal. The lighting was dim — mostly to hide how worn everything was — warm but uneven, leaving corners too dark to see clearly. The air smelled of wine, stale smoke, and faint, sweet perfume. Soft jazz played, slightly tinny from old speakers. It felt like a pretty mask — convincing enough to draw fools in… but thin enough that you could sense the sharp, unguarded edges underneath. Exactly the kind of place where people come looking for fun. And sometimes find trouble instead. She tilts her head, voice soft and light, like she hasn’t a clue: “Just rosé… please? Something gentle — I don’t hold my drink well.” He smirks, eyes darkening, thinks he’s found easy prey: “Gentle’s boring. Bartender. Absinthe. Neat. Nothing to cut it.” She blinks, wide‑eyed feigns a little nervous flutter: “Oh… that sounds terrifying. Will it make me do foolish things?” He leans in, voice thick with what he believes is power: “I’m counting on it sweetie.” She lifts the glass anyway — smile sweet as a hidden blade: “Then I suppose you’d better be careful… I might let you think you’re winning.” Her stomach gnawed — she hadn’t eaten all day. And of course, the stranger ordered straight for the strongest drink on the menu. Empty gut + harsh alcohol. She already knew exactly how this night would end: hunched over some toilet, heaving her guts out. Not charming. Not in control. Just miserable. “Harry? That’s such a solid name, suits you,” she murmured, eyes glinting. “What keeps you busy around here?” He chuckled, relaxed. “Local beat police officer. Assigned straight to this whole district.” “Wow, really? That must keep you so busy,” she breathed, all soft admiration. “Hardly leaves time for anyone special then, huh?” He grinned, leaning closer. “Nope. Total bachelor — no one waiting on me.” So she learned it all: Harry. Cop. Works right here. Completely single. For a second she thought she’d hit lucky… until a cold prickle crept up her spine. This wasn’t just some fool — this man carried authority right where she hunted. And she hadn’t even taken one sip yet, but already felt light‑headed and dangerously off‑balance. Her head spun heavier by the minute — sharp, strong liquor hitting nothing but empty bones. She leaned in, voice soft and wobbly, eyes drooping like she could barely hold them open: “It’s… too strong. I feel so dizzy — please, could you just take me home instead? I don’t think I can manage much more…” She made herself look unsteady but every muscle stayed alert, fully in control, watching his every move. He smiled all warm and helpful, like the perfect gentleman: “Of course, poor thing. C’mon, I’ve got my bike right out front. I’ll get you safe home.” She climbed behind him, arms looped loosely around his waist still playing the faint, helpless girl. But as the engine roared to life, he turned not toward the quiet neighborhood to her apartment… but down darker, narrower streets. And up ahead — glowing faint and grubby in the dark — was exactly that neon sign: *Rest Inn Motel*. Her blood ran cold. He never meant to take her home at all. She gave his arm a light, playful little punch — like she was just being silly and clueless — voice soft and nervous “Hey… this isn’t the way to my place! Where’re we going, Harry?” He kept driving steady, tone still easy and sweet “Easy, sweetheart. Just somewhere quiet gonna let you rest it off. We’ll leave first thing in the morning, promise.” Her stomach twisted. Rest? In an inn? With a man she barely knew?