The Guy Named Nali

One

The first thing she felt was the heat. Not the crackle of fire. Not the warm drift of sunlight. It was something more intimate like the lingering echo of hands pressed against her skin, sinking past her bones into the very core of her.

Selena's chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. The air was thick, warm, and smelled faintly of woodsmoke and something… metallic. Coppery. Faint, but sharp enough to pull her mind from the depths of the dark.

She opened her eyes to a dim, flickering glow. A single candle burned nearby on a crude wooden table, its light bending shadows across the walls of a small cabin. Rough-hewn planks formed the walls, patched with strips of old cloth where the wind must’ve seeped in. A threadbare blanket weighed gently on her body, its coarse texture rasping against her skin.

She wasn’t outside anymore. Her thoughts scrambled, grasping for memories, and then it all came flooding back.

The forest. The rain. The chase. The blood in the kitchen. Yalah. Mom. The men in black. And him. The man slumped against the tree. The knife. The way his voice curled into her bones when he said, I need you. The crushing grip over her mouth. The fangs tearing into her neck. And that last whisper in the haze... Nali. That’s my name. Always remember that.

She sucked in a breath, her hand flying instinctively to her throat.

Bandages. Her fingers traced rough linen wrapped snugly around her neck, the faint pulse beneath thrumming faster at her touch. It didn’t ache the way she expected, instead, there was a strange warmth radiating from the spot, as if her blood itself had been stirred awake.

Her eyes darted across the room. She was lying on a narrow bed made from uneven boards. The cabin was small, just big enough for the bed, the table with its candle, a battered chair, and an iron stove in the corner where a low fire glowed behind its grate. The sound of rain still whispered outside, pattering against the roof.

And then she saw him. He sat with his back against the far wall, head tilted forward, dark hair shadowing his face. His jacket was tossed over the chair, and a loose shirt hung open at the collar, exposing pale skin. A thick bandage was wrapped tight around his midsection right where she remembered the knife had been buried.

He was awake. She could tell from the slow rise of his chest and the way his fingers flexed on his knee as though testing his own strength.

Her throat tightened. He’d almost killed her. No! he had drunk her blood. She’d felt it, the way her body had gone weak, her vision dimming. The dizzy helplessness still clung to her limbs.

Her voice was a whisper, brittle.

“…You.”

His head lifted at once. Eyes not black, not red, but a deep, molten brown, locked onto hers. In the candlelight, they seemed almost too human. But there was an edge there, something sharp hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re awake.” His tone was quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter something fragile in the room. “Good.”

She pushed herself up, ignoring the way her head swam. “Where am I?”

“A safe place,” he said simply. “For now.”

Her laugh was short, bitter. “Safe? You bit me.”

His gaze didn’t flinch. “I also stopped before I killed you.”

The words lodged in her chest.

She remembered his warmth. The strange rhythm of his heartbeat under her palm. And the kiss, if she could even call it that soft and fleeting, like a secret pressed between strangers in the dark.

Her stomach turned. “Why? Why not just finish it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rose to his feet with a fluid grace that made the small space feel even smaller. He walked toward her not fast, but each step deliberate, the air between them thickening.

She backed up instinctively, pressing against the wall at the head of the bed.

When he stopped beside her, he didn’t lean in or touch her right away. He just stood there, studying her face in a way that made her feel pinned in place.

“You remind me of someone,” he said at last, voice low. “And I don’t kill the same person twice.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to.” His gaze flicked briefly to her throat before meeting her eyes again. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

Her jaw tightened. “My family isn’t.”

Something flickered in his expression gone too fast to name. He stepped back, giving her space, and moved to the stove. Without looking at her, he said, “Then you should want to stay alive even more.”

The cabin fell into silence, save for the crackle of the fire and the rain outside. She stared at his back, fists curling in the blanket. Part of her wanted to scream at him, to demand answers. But another part... quieter, colder. She knew she needed to understand where she was, who he was, before doing anything rash.

He poured steaming liquid from a dented kettle into a tin cup and brought it over to her. “Drink.”

She eyed it warily. “Poison?”

His mouth twitched half amusement, half something darker. “Tea. But if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t wake up in a bed.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took the cup, and that same strange warmth rippled through her again, curling low in her chest. She didn’t want it there. She didn’t trust it. But she drank, the bitter taste grounding her.

When she set the cup down, she asked the question she’d been holding since she opened her eyes. “What are you?”

This time, his gaze didn’t waver. “Not what you think.”

Her lips parted. “You have fangs. You drink blood. What else am I supposed to think?”

“I’m not dead.” His voice was flat, but there was an edge under it, like the memory of a wound. “And I wasn’t turned by some curse. I was born this way.”

She blinked. “…Born?”

He nodded once, slow. “We’re not myths. Just… shadows most people don’t see.”

The words slid over her skin like cold water. If she believed him and she wasn’t sure she did it meant there could be more of him. More like him. Hiding.

“Your name,” she murmured. “Nali. You told me to remember it.”

“I did.” His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “Because whether you like it or not, you’re tied to me now.”

Her breath caught. “What does that mean?”

He moved closer again, and this time, when he knelt beside the bed, his hand came to rest lightly, just lightly over her sternum. Right where that impossible warmth pulsed inside her.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured.

She did. God help her, she did. That unnatural heat that wasn’t from the fire, wasn’t from the blanket, but from him. From the moment his fangs had pierced her skin.

“What… did you do to me?” Her voice was barely a breath.

“Kept you alive.” His fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer before he withdrew them. “And maybe… gave you something more.”

She shook her head, unable to look at him. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No one ever does.”

Silence fell again, heavy as the rain. She wanted to tell him to get away from her. She wanted to demand he take whatever he’d put inside her and rip it back out. But beneath all of that, an unwelcome truth sat cold in her stomach. If not for him, I’d already be dead.

And if those men in black were still searching, she might still end up that way.

Her eyes drifted to the bandage at his side. “You… pulled the knife out yourself.”

His mouth quirked faintly. “Didn’t have time to wait for a doctor.”

“And you’re… fine now?”

He didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw told her enough. He wasn’t fine. But he was standing. And he’d carried her here, somehow.

Her head lowered. “Why help me at all?”

For a long moment, the only sound was the fire.

Then he said, quietly, “Because when I looked at you, I saw someone worth saving.”

Her throat tightened painfully. She didn’t want to believe him. She didn’t want to feel that warmth spread through her again at his words. But it did, no matter how much she fought it.

She didn’t trust him. But she couldn’t bring herself to hate him, either.

Outside, the rain began to slow, the soft patter fading into the distant rush of the waterfall she’d heard before. The candle on the table guttered low, shadows stretching long.

Selena lay back against the thin pillow, exhaustion dragging her down again. But just before sleep pulled her under, she felt a hand brush lightly against her forehead. Not hungry. Not violent. Just… there. The stranger’s touch.

TO BE CONTINUED...