Chapter 2 – Across the Street
868 Words
The mansion did not sleep.
Brittany noticed it before she even poured her coffee. The lights were still on behind tall, narrow windows, glowing faintly through the winter haze. That house had been empty for years—everyone in the neighborhood knew it. Kids dared each other to touch the gate. Adults whispered about why no one stayed long.
But this morning, it felt awake.
She stood barefoot on the cold kitchen tile, mug warming her hands, her long red hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. Outside, the snow lay undisturbed except for tire tracks that hadn’t been there yesterday.
Black. Clean. Precise.
Three vehicles sat inside the iron gate.
Her stomach tightened.
“You’re imagining things,” she murmured to herself, taking a sip and turning away from the window. New neighbors happened. Even strange ones. That didn’t mean anything.
Still, the feeling stayed.
Like someone was counting her breaths.
Across the street, Matt stood behind glass thick enough to stop bullets—and thinner things, too. Sound. Light. Life.
He hadn’t moved since dawn.
From this distance, he could see the shape of her through the window. The way she leaned her hip against the counter. The way she hesitated before turning away, as if some instinct begged her to keep watching.
She felt him.
That alone told him more than he wanted to know.
“She’s awake,” one of the men behind him said quietly.
Matt didn’t respond.
“You said we weren’t to interact.”
“We aren’t,” Matt replied calmly. “Watching is not interaction.”
“And if she notices?”
“She already has.”
Silence fell.
Matt clasped his hands behind his back, forcing himself to remain still. Every part of him wanted to cross the street. To stand close enough to confirm what he already knew.
But he wouldn’t.
Not yet.
She was not ready.
Brittany pulled on a sweater and stepped outside an hour later, keys clenched between her fingers out of habit more than fear. The cold air snapped against her skin, clearing her thoughts for half a second.
Then it came back.
That pressure. That awareness.
She paused halfway down her porch steps.
Don’t look, she told herself.
She looked.
The mansion gate stood open now.
And there he was.
Tall. Motionless. Dark coat hanging perfectly from broad shoulders like it belonged there. His skin was pale against the winter light, his black hair untouched by the wind. His eyes—light blue, almost silver—locked onto hers instantly.
No surprise.
As if he’d been waiting.
Brittany’s breath caught. The world seemed to narrow, the sound of traffic and distant voices fading into nothing. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Didn’t step closer.
He simply watched.
The intensity of it made her chest tighten. She should have looked away. Should have turned and gone back inside.
She didn’t.
Something old and unfamiliar stirred in her blood, whispering that this man was not a stranger—not really.
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he stepped backward.
The gate closed with a soft metallic click.
He was gone.
Brittany stood frozen long after the street fell silent again.
“What the hell,” she whispered.
The day passed strangely.
Every sound felt sharper. Every reflection caught her attention. She kept glancing at windows, mirrors, shadows—expecting to see those pale eyes staring back.
They never did.
By nightfall, snow began to fall again, thick and heavy. Brittany stood at her bedroom window, curtain half drawn, watching the flakes blur the world into white.
She didn’t expect him to be there.
He was.
Not at the gate this time.
Closer.
He stood beneath the old oak tree lining the edge of the mansion grounds, half hidden by shadow. He didn’t look up right away. His attention seemed focused elsewhere—listening, perhaps, to things she couldn’t hear.
Then he lifted his head.
Their eyes met through the glass.
Brittany’s heart slammed against her ribs.
This time, he didn’t disappear.
He held her gaze, steady and unflinching, as if daring her to decide what this was. Fear crept in—but it tangled with curiosity, with something darker and more dangerous.
She raised her chin slightly.
A challenge.
For the first time, his expression changed.
Not desire.
Recognition.
Then he inclined his head once—slow, respectful—and turned away.
Only after he vanished into the night did Brittany realize her hands were shaking.
Matt didn’t stop walking until the forest swallowed him whole.
“She noticed you,” one of the men said from the shadows.
“I wanted her to,” Matt replied.
“And now?”
“Now,” he said quietly, “we wait.”
Waiting was torture.
But rushing her would destroy everything.
She was rare. Powerful. Unaware.
And if he touched her too soon, the consequences would be irreversible.
Brittany lay awake long past midnight, staring at the ceiling.
She didn’t know his name.
She didn’t know what he was.
But she knew one thing with terrifying certainty.
He wasn’t watching her to hunt.
He was watching her to protect her—from something.
And from herself.
- Writer
