MY SAVING DOOM

THE VOICE IN THE SHADOWS

The pounding stopped.

Silence swallowed the room, thick and choking, as if the air itself had been strangled.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. All I could do was feel Damian’s grip on my wrist, tight, unyielding, as though if he let me go, I’d be ripped through the door and into the shadows that still curled beneath it.

The echo of the knock lingered inside me. It wasn’t just sound—it was vibration, like it had reached into my bones and shaken something loose I didn’t even know existed.

“Who is that?” My voice came out cracked, too small for the terror clawing at my chest.

Damian didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed locked on the door, storm-colored and sharp. “Not someone you want to meet.”

Before I could ask again, the voice slipped through the silence.

“You think you can keep her hidden, Blackthorn?” Smooth. Low. Dangerous. “She’ll find out soon enough. I’m closer than she thinks.”

My blood ran cold. Closer than I think? My mouth went dry. “What does that mean?” I whispered. “Who is he?”

Damian’s jaw worked, muscles ticking like he was grinding down words he didn’t want to say. “Enough.”

“No!” My voice cracked, louder this time, desperate and angry. I yanked at my wrist, breaking free from his grip, and the sudden space between us made my skin burn even hotter. “You don’t get to storm into my life, sit on my bed, burn my skin, and then tell me enough like I’m some child. Tell me the truth, Damian. Who the hell are you? Who the hell was that?”

His silence stretched. He was staring at the door like it held every secret he’d been hiding. Then, finally, he exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping just a fraction.

“That was a Watcher,” he said, voice low, rough. “Higher than me. Stronger. If he wanted, he could erase you from existence without leaving a trace.”

Erase.

Not kill. Not hurt. Erase. Like I was a mistake written in pencil, and one stroke of his hand could wipe me away.

My chest caved in. “And what did he mean? Closer than I think?”

Damian finally turned his gaze on me. For the first time since I’d met him, I saw something I never thought I’d see in his eyes. Not arrogance. Not control.

Fear.

“It means,” he said, voice tight, “he’s already here. Watching. Waiting. He could be standing next to you in a crowd. He could be smiling across the counter while you pour his coffee. You’d never know.”

My stomach lurched. I staggered back, bile stinging my throat. “No. No, you’re lying. That’s impossible—”

“Not impossible.” His voice was sharp now, cutting through my denial. “I told you before—you’ve barely scratched the surface of what exists beyond this world. You are marked, Nanya. And that mark makes you visible to them. Desired by them.”

The glow under my sleeve pulsed hotter, as though agreeing with him, mocking me.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “Then maybe you should’ve just let me die that night.”

He moved then, too fast, too sharp, eyes flashing like lightning. His voice was raw when he spoke. “Don’t ever say that again.”

My throat burned. My chest trembled with fury. “Why not? Because you need me? Because you marked me? Or because—for the first time in your immortal, godly life—you actually care?”

The storm in his eyes cracked. For a heartbeat, he looked younger, worn, human. His lips parted like he might say something, but nothing came. Only silence.

It was unbearable. I wanted to scream, to claw at him until he shattered. “Tell me why,” I pushed, my voice breaking. “Why me?”

He inhaled sharply, like the question cut deeper than any blade. Then he stepped closer, his presence swallowing me whole, and finally, finally, he gave me the truth.

“Because my name is Damian Blackthorn,” he said, his voice low but steady. “And once, long before you were born, I swore I would never love a mortal again. Then I saw you. And for the first time in centuries… I broke.”

The world tilted. My knees nearly buckled.

Damian Blackthorn.

He had never given me his name before. Never lowered himself enough to share it. And now, hearing it, tied to a vow broken for me—it felt like a chain around my throat and a brand against my heart.

I wanted to laugh in his face. To tell him how ridiculous it was, how unfair, how dangerous.

But I couldn’t.

Because the truth I carried inside me, ugly and undeniable, screamed louder than my rage. I felt it too.

I’d felt it since the night in that alley, when his storm swallowed my death and handed me life I hadn’t asked for. I’d felt it every time he stood too close, every time his eyes scorched mine, every time the mark burned like it belonged to him more than me.

And I hated myself for it.

Tears blurred my vision. My voice shook. “You don’t love me. You can’t. You don’t even know me.”

His gaze never wavered. “I know enough.”

“No.” I shook my head hard, the tears breaking loose. “You don’t get to decide this for me, Damian. I’m not your mortal to claim. I don’t care about your vows, your Watchers, or your gods. Whatever this is—whatever you think this is—it ends here.”

The mark flared, hot and angry, betraying me.

I turned away, pressing a hand to my chest like I could hold my heart still. My lips lied, but in my mind the truth screamed loud enough to hurt.

I do care. God help me, I care.

Behind me, the floor creaked. My heart leapt.

For a second I thought he was leaving.

Instead, his voice came quiet, rough, too close to my ear. “Say it all you want, Nanya. But the truth is in your heartbeat. And it’s mine.”

I s

pun, fury rising like a tide—

The lights flickered.

The air shifted.

And for the second time that night, I knew we weren’t alone.