Dangerously Yours

Consequences

The party feels different now, louder, frantic. The bass rattles against my pulse. I just need air. I weave through the clusters of people until the cold hits me outside, the shock of winter air biting at my skin. For half a second, I felt like I could breathe again. Then a hand grabs my arm.

The same guy from before. His grip is harder now, his smile gone. ''Though you could just walk away?''

''Let go,'' I say quickly.

He doesn't. His voice slurs, low and mean. ''You were all over it earlier. Don't act like you don't want this.''

I pull back, but he shoves me against the wall. Panic claws at my throat. ''Stop—'' He presses closer, his words growing uglier. My breathe stutters; my hands push uselessly at his chest. Then his weight shifts—sudden. Violent. He's gone.

The pressure on me disappears. I stumble forward, gasping, and there he is—Elijah—one hand gripping the guy's collar like he's no heavier than smoke. His face unreadable, eyes colder than I've ever seen.

''I warned you once,'' he says softly. The quiet tone is worse than shouting.

The guy freezes, fear slicing through the alcohol. ''I wasn't—I didn't mean—''

Elijah doesn't blink. ''Your actions have consequences.''

He moves a fraction closer. The man's panic spills over, his voice trembling. ''Please. I'm sorry—''

Elijah studies him like something disposable. ''Sorry doesn't erase what you did. And I don't give second chances.''

Something changes in the air—dense, electric. The sounds of the party vanish behind us. The man opens his mouth again, desperate. Elijah acts before he can finish. A sharp motion to the guy's throat, fast and final. A sound follows—not loud, but it still makes my stomach drop. Then silence.

The man's body hits the ground softly, like the world itself just let him go. For a moment, my heart stops, then slams against my ribs, hard enough to hurt.

''What did you do—'' My voice falters.

Elijah looks at me. Calm. Detached. ''He made a choice. Now he's gone.''

I take a step back. ''You killed him.''

He glances at the body, then back at me. ''Don't make it sound complicated.''

A bitter taste fills my mouth. ''You can't just—''

''Elijah.'' Someone calls faintly from inside. But he doesn't move. Doesn't take his eyes off me.

Tears fill my eyes. ''You're insane.''

''Maybe,'' he says simply. Then he's in front of me, his hand catching my wrist before I can bolt. ''Elijah—let me go.''

He leans closer, his tone clipped, final. ''You've seen too much.''

Before I could scream, his hand covered my mouth, cutting the air out of my voice. I fight, kicking, clawing, but he drags me back to the house, ''Clean that mess up.'' Elijah says the guy standing in the doorway, he then proceeds to take me down hallways thick with people who somehow don't see a thing. As if this is normal. As if no one dares to question him.

Upstairs, the noise fades. The walls change—from bright and crowded to dark, lined with expensive art. He pushes open a door at the end of the hall and pulls me in. His room.

It's huge. Cold. The kind of place that matches him perfectly.

He finally lets go. I stumble back, gasping. ''Why did you do that?''

''It had to be done.''

''He didn't deserve to die.''

Elijah studies me, expression untouched. ''He touched you, He ignored my warning. That's enough.''

''That doesn't make it okay,'' I whisper.

''It doesn't have to.''

The simplicity in his voice terrifies me more than the silence outside. He steps closer, just enough to make me flinch. ''You're not leaving,'' he says.

My stomach drops. ''What?''

''You'll stay here.''

''No. You can't.''

His eyes darken, cutting the sentence off. 'I can and I did.''

There's a knock at the door, followed by low voices. Elijah nods; a woman steps in—calm, dark haired, unreadable. ''She'll need a room,'' Elijah says, already turning away.

I can't move, can't speak. The woman gestures for me to follow. I do. Because I don't know what else to do.

The room they gave me is beautiful—clean sheets, chandeliers, French windows opening to the night air. None of it feels real. The lock clicks, and I twist it fast, pressing my back to the door.

Only then do I let out the breath I've been holding. My hands shake. My pulse is a drum I can't quiet. Down the hall, somewhere beneath the music, I swear I still hear his voice—soft, calm, final.

''You've seen too much.''