Chapter 5: Rock Bottom
1184 Words
Damon's Pov
They always come crawling indefinitely—sick, broken, desperate things with nothing but quivering hands and blurry eyes. But not Leila Reynolds.
She was a specter who hadn't realized she was dead.
He had seen her on camera footage before she went through his door. The rain stuck to her like sorrow, her breath fogging the camera lens and leaving her eyes empty but impenetrable. She was as fragmented as a broken piece of a puzzle, as he had expected—but something about her impenetrability made his jaw tense.
Despite his dislike for disobedience, he was more concerned with weakness.
Hours later, on the couch in the apartment he had prepared for her, swaddled in a thick oversized sweater, her chest barely rising infrequently with a little breath of tiredness, Damon observed her via the one-way mirror like an equation.
She had not eaten.
She had not cried.
She had not begged.
But It'll come.
They always do.
Nonetheless, something about Leila tangled inside him like a knife tossed around in a whirlwind. She reminded him of something that had taken root within him, buried in ashes and silence—something he did not wish to remember.
He turned away from the glass and down the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence. His office door slid open with a hiss and closed quietly behind him as if a vault was being locked on a grave. The air was thick with the aromas of wood polish and aged paper—quite different from the whirlwind on the outside.
He poured himself a dark whiskey without ice. It burned down his throat like truth. Damon did not drink frequently, but tonight, the world was too heavy.
He had crossed a line.
No, not crossed, but chosen it.
Now, he had to deal with whatever came next.
She was valuable not because of her bloodline (although that was important) but because of something else: her sensitivity. Her survival strategies were raw. He had watched the hospital videotape. He watched her fight through agony that would put most people on bed rest with a constant IV of morphine. But She had not fallen over. She had only adapted.
He needed that kind of strength.
Not simply for what threatened on the horizon—but for whatever was already lurking in Veridia's shadow.
The hybrids were becoming restless.
Too many murmurs in the underworld. There are too many eyes on Skyreach Tower. Damon felt it in his bones—that old, ancient pull of something sinister in the city streets.
They were approaching.
And he needed protection.
A diversion.
A human shield with barely enough beauty and fragility to make others underestimate her—and just enough fire to survive whatever came her way.
That was the problem, wasn't it?
She was not a weapon.
Not exactly.
And that irritated him.
The communicator on his desk buzzed. A voice spoke... His second-in-command, Matteo, plowed through it. "Sir. The girl's vital signs are unstable: rapid heartbeat and fever. "Do we intervene?"
Damon did not hesitate. "No. Let her sleep." He wanted to test how far she could go before she broke.
Matteo paused.... "understood."
Damon sat down after turning off the channel. The rain fell on the glass outside in rhythmic bursts, as if the storm was keeping time with his thoughts.
He sat back, hands clasped beneath his chin.
What made her say yes?
He replayed their conversation mentally, noticing her Hesitancy, suspicion, fear, and Finally, surrender. It wasn't just about survival. He noticed something else flicker in her eyes—something deeper than fear.
Despair
Leila Reynolds had already died once. She was simply too stubborn to lie down.
And That made her dangerous.
He opened the drawer beside him and removed her file for the second time. Medical history. Photos. X-rays. A diagnosis that spelled doom. Even the most advanced treatment would just delay the inevitable.
However, he had access to something far more than just human medicine.
old things,
forbidden things
That was why he had to keep her close. Why this farce marriage had to happen quickly? Her blood, whether cursed or blessed, came from a lineage that most people had forgotten. But Damon didn't forget. He had waited centuries for the appropriate bloodline to resurface.
And now fate had brought her to his doorstep.
Or worse than fate, perhaps?
The shadows shifted in the corner of his office—there was nothing to see but the kind of movement that a man like him would notice. The old magic curled and glowed like smoke.
She had no idea what she signed up for.
Not yet.
But She would, soon.
Damon closed the file and stood up. The air was heavier now, and the dark force vibrated across his skin. He needed to see her again to make sure that she was actually alive. Bound.
He strolled down the corridor once more, his shoes booming in the silence. The staff was told not to approach her unless summoned. She must feel really alone. Contained.
Controlled
When he entered the private room, he found her precisely as he had left her--curled on the couch, hair damp, face pallid, lips parted minutely as she slept. But her fingers twitched. Even when sleeping, she was still restless.
He crept closer.
She stirred.
She fluttered her eyes wide open, first unfocused and then fearful. She tried to sit up, but her body was too weak.
"easy," he said softly, more to test himself than to comfort her
Her eyes narrowed. "Why..... "Are you watching me?"
"You agreed that you'd be mine," he stated bitterly. "That includes your safety."
"Does it include staring at me while I'm sleeping?" Her voice was raspy, but her spirit remained unbroken.
Damon knelt next to her, his presence coiling around her like smoke. "It includes not letting you die before I get what I need."
She gulped, a hot blaze in her eyes that defied something too complex to name.
"I am not a pet," she coldly said.
"No," he agrees. "You're a gamble."
Silence hovered between them.
She leaned over and whispered. "And if your gamble doesn't work out?"
his eyes darkened deeper. "Then I bury the pieces."
Her breath caught. She looked away and blinked numerous times.
Damon stood up and turned towards the door but hesitated.
You'll soon get a new bedroom and clothing, and from now on, my timetable will dictate your daily activities.
Leila didn't respond.
"And one more thing," he said, voice as steel beneath the silk. "No more questioning about why I chose you. "The answers will come when you are ready."
"And what if I never am?" she shot back.
He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"then I suppose you will break."
He then left her, the door closing with a click behind him.
Damon breathed out slowly in the hallway.
She was stronger than he had expected.
This meant that it would either work flawlessly.
Or burn everything he built to the ground.
Either way, the game had begun.
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