House Rules
1471 Words
The elevator didn’t have buttons.
Silas swiped a black card and the doors closed with a soft hiss. The walls were mirrored, reflecting Aria’s pale face from too many angles.
She looked like someone who’d escaped an accident.
She hadn’t.
Accidents were random.
This felt planned.
Damon stood beside her, silent, big enough to take up space without trying. His coat was gone now just a fitted black shirt that made him look less like a business executive and more like a weapon dressed politely.
Aria hugged herself, trying to stop her hands from shaking.
The elevator rose.
Faster than it should.
Aria’s ears popped.
Her stomach rolled.
“Where are we?” she demanded, because if she didn’t speak she might scream.
Damon’s gaze stayed forward. “My building.”
Aria barked a humorless laugh. “Of course it is.”
Silas didn’t react. He might as well have been carved from stone.
The elevator doors opened onto a private floor.
Not a hallway. A space.
Soft lighting. Cream walls. Art that looked expensive enough to be insulting. A scent of cedar and something clean and sharp—Damon, again, like the air itself belonged to him.
Aria took one step out and froze.
The entire wall to the right was glass.
New Avalon stretched below, glittering and indifferent. The city looked harmless from up here.
“Penthouse,” Aria muttered.
Damon walked past her and unhooked something from the wall keys, a small handgun in a sleek holster. He checked the magazine like it was muscle memory.
Aria’s throat tightened. “You carry a gun in your house?”
Damon looked at her. “I carry a gun everywhere.”
Aria’s pulse jumped.
He said it like it was normal. Like he’d never had the luxury of believing it wasn’t necessary.
Silas spoke for the first time since they entered. “Perimeter’s clean, boss. Two men were stationed downstairs. Four in the garage. Cameras are live.”
Aria stared at Silas. “You have men stationed in your garage?”
Silas’s eyes flicked to her. “Yes.”
Aria turned back to Damon. “This is insane.”
Damon set the gun down on the counter not pointing it anywhere, not threatening. Just placing it like it was another piece of décor.
“You’re safe here,” he said.
Aria’s laugh cracked. “Safe from vampires?”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “Safer.”
Aria looked around. The place was too perfect. Too controlled. Like no one here ever spilled anything they couldn’t clean up.
“What happens now?” she demanded.
Damon’s gaze held hers. “Now you eat. You drink water. You sit down.”
Aria’s spine stiffened. “Don’t order me around.”
Damon’s expression didn’t change, but his voice lowered.
“I’m not ordering you,” he said. “I’m giving you the steps to survive the next hour without collapsing.”
Aria’s mouth opened then shut.
Because her knees were starting to feel watery, like her body had been waiting for permission to fall apart.
Damon walked toward the kitchen with slow, controlled movements. He opened cabinets like he’d done it a thousand times.
Aria watched him because she didn’t know what else to do.
A billionaire werewolf if that was what he was making food like a normal person. It should have looked ridiculous.
It didn’t.
He moved like the space belonged to him in a way money couldn’t buy.
Aria sank onto a barstool, exhausted. “If you’re going to keep me here, I need rules.”
Damon glanced up. “You’ll get them.”
Aria swallowed. “And I want the truth.”
Damon’s eyes darkened. “You can’t handle the whole truth yet.”
Aria snapped, “Try me.”
Silas cleared his throat slightly, like he wanted to disappear.
Damon’s gaze flicked at him. “Out.”
Silas blinked. “Boss”
“Out,” Damon repeated, sharper.
Silas left without argument, footsteps silent on the polished floor.
The penthouse became quieter.
More intimate.
More dangerous.
Damon set a plate in front of Aria: something simple toast, scrambled eggs, fruit. He slid a glass of water beside it.
Aria stared. “You cook?”
Damon’s mouth twitched almost a smile, killed before it lived. “I eat.”
Aria’s stomach clenched painfully at the smell of food. She realized she hadn’t eaten since morning.
She took a bite.
Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the fork.
Damon watched her with a stillness that made her feel seen in a way she didn’t like. Not like a man admiring a woman.
Like a predator monitoring an injury.
“You’re in shock,” he said.
Aria swallowed hard. “I saw someone get fed on.”
Damon’s gaze sharpened. “You saw someone get hunted.”
Aria’s breath caught. “Is she dead?”
Damon’s jaw flexed. “Not tonight.”
Aria’s throat tightened. “How can you say that so calmly?”
Damon leaned his forearms on the counter across from her, leaving space between them. He didn’t crowd her. But his presence was unavoidable.
“Because if I don’t stay calm,” he said quietly, “I lose control.”
Aria swallowed. “Lose control how?”
Silence stretched.
Then Damon said, “Like a wolf.”
Aria froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.
Damon held her gaze without flinching. “You already know.”
Aria whispered, “No. I don’t.”
Damon’s expression tightened not with anger, but with the weight of something he’d carried too long.
“I’m not human,” he said.
Aria’s stomach rolled. “And the vampire Adrian he isn’t either.”
Damon nodded once.
Aria’s voice shook. “How many of you are there?”
Damon’s eyes went distant. “Enough to run the city without you ever noticing.”
Aria’s fingers curled around the glass of water. “Then why did I notice?”
Damon’s gaze dropped to her wrist.
Aria followed his eyes.
The hospital band sat snug against her skin, innocent. She tugged it off with shaking fingers.
Underneath, her wrist looked normal.
Except
A faint bruise-colored ring circled it, like she’d worn a bracelet too tight.
Aria stared, breath catching. “That wasn’t there before.”
Damon’s face went still. His voice roughened. “Yes, it was.”
Aria looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
Damon’s gaze locked on the mark. “Not visible. But there.”
Aria’s blood turned to ice again. “You knew something was wrong with me.”
Damon’s eyes flicked up to her. “I knew something was different.”
Aria’s voice rose. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Damon’s tone stayed controlled. “Because if I say certain words out loud, certain people hear them.”
Aria stared at him. “That makes no sense.”
Damon leaned closer, just enough that Aria could smell him cedar and smoke and something wild underneath.
“It makes sense in my world,” he said. “You’re in it now.”
Aria’s chest tightened. “I don’t want to be.”
Damon’s voice softened, barely. “I know.”
For a second, the raw honesty in his eyes knocked the anger out of her.
Then her fear returned. “What is that mark?”
Damon hesitated.
Aria gripped the edge of the counter. “Tell me.”
Damon’s voice dropped. “It’s an oath-scar.”
Aria’s breath stopped. “An oath what?”
“Oath-scar,” Damon repeated, like saying it again might make it less horrifying. “A sign that your blood can bind.”
Aria’s mind spun. “Bind what?”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “People like me.”
Aria’s throat went dry. “That’s”
A sharp buzzing sound cut through the silence.
Aria flinched.
Damon’s head tilted slightly, like he’d heard something she hadn’t.
Then his eyes snapped toward the glass wall.
“What?” Aria whispered.
Damon’s body went still too still.
He crossed the room with silent speed, one hand moving toward the gun on the counter.
The buzzing came again.
Not a phone.
A frequency.
Aria’s skin prickled.
Damon stared at the glass as if he could see through the night.
“They found you,” he said.
Aria’s pulse spiked. “Who?”
Damon’s gaze flicked at her, fierce. “The court.”
The lights in the penthouse flickered once.
Twice.
Then the entire skyline outside went black as a shadow rolled over the building like a living thing.
Aria’s breath caught.
And in the reflection of the glass, she saw it just for a second
A face behind her.
Pale. Smiling.
Red eyes.
the vampire court reaches the penthouse; the darkness hits the building; a vampire is already inside.
- Writer
