TRAPPED WITH THE DEVIL
1424 Words
The door clicked shut behind them. Soft, but final. No drama, just that quiet certainty that comes when you know there’s no way back.
Luna turned, half-ready to bolt, her gut screaming at her to move. Then she caught herself—he hadn’t come closer. Lucian just stood there, a few paces away, rain dripping off his coat, shoulders set like he owned the place. Like she was the one trespassing.
Something was wrong with the air. Too heavy. It pressed down, made her chest feel tight.
“So,” she said, breaking the silence. “Do you always haul strangers off the street, or is this a special occasion?”
He looked up, slow and steady. No rush. No flash of irritation.
“Do you always talk this much when you’re scared, or is that just a you thing?”
She let out a snort. “If I was scared, I’d be gone.”
“You wouldn’t have gotten far.”
She stiffened. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
He stepped closer—no rush, not threatening. Just enough to let her feel how much space he filled up, how easily he could close the gap if he wanted.
She didn’t budge.
“You do that a lot, don’t you?” she said. “Stare people down. Try to make them crack.”
“It usually works.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to look away. “Well, you’re going to be disappointed.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. Didn’t reach his eyes, though.
“Most people are.”
She shifted, fingers digging into her camera strap. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She hated how he noticed everything—the way her breathing changed, the way she braced herself to run or fight.
“You could just let me go,” she said. “Nothing happened.”
He glanced at her camera. “Something happened.”
The room flickered. Just once. The lights dimmed, then steadied.
Her stomach dropped, like missing a step in the dark.
“That wasn’t me,” she blurted.
“I didn’t say it was.”
They locked eyes again. The silence felt thick, dense with things neither of them wanted to say.
“Who are you?” she asked, voice low.
He laughed—barely. “Wrong question.”
“Then give me the right one.”
He stepped in, close enough for her to catch the scent of rain, something sharp and clean beneath it.
“In my world, you don’t ask questions,” he said. “You listen.”
She swallowed hard. “Sounds like your world sucks.”
That got to him.
His eyes lit up—not with anger, but with something ancient and unreachable.
“You should be careful,” he said, voice almost gentle.
“Oh, is that a threat?”
“No. That’s advice.”
She shook her head. “You don’t scare me.”
He leaned in just enough to change the air between them—pressure, heat, something electric crawling across her skin.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You just don’t know why yet.”
Her camera buzzed against her palm.
Not an accident. Not feedback.
A steady, low hum—like it was alive.
She glanced down. The screen flicked on by itself.
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “Turn it off.”
“I didn’t turn it on.”
The light from the screen bled across the floor—too bright, too sharp.
Her chest went tight, burning from the inside out. She gasped and stumbled back.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
“I didn’t touch you.”
“I can feel it,” she snapped. “Something’s—”
The lights died.
Black, absolute.
Her breath froze in her throat.
Then his hand closed around her wrist. Firm. Not rough, not quite gentle either.
“Don’t move,” he said.
“Get off me.”
“Not yet.”
Something shifted in the dark. A noise—wrong, not footsteps, but close enough.
Lucian froze.
For the first time, she caught it. He wasn’t calm.
He was listening.
And whatever just joined them in that room? It didn’t belong.
The door clicked shut behind them. Soft, but final. No drama, just that quiet certainty that comes when you know there’s no way back.
Luna turned, half-ready to bolt, her gut screaming at her to move. Then she caught herself—he hadn’t come closer. Lucian just stood there, a few paces away, rain dripping off his coat, shoulders set like he owned the place. Like she was the one trespassing.
Something was wrong with the air. Too heavy. It pressed down, made her chest feel tight.
“So,” she said, breaking the silence. “Do you always haul strangers off the street, or is this a special occasion?”
He looked up, slow and steady. No rush. No flash of irritation.
“Do you always talk this much when you’re scared, or is that just a you thing?”
She let out a snort. “If I was scared, I’d be gone.”
“You wouldn’t have gotten far.”
She stiffened. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
He stepped closer—no rush, not threatening. Just enough to let her feel how much space he filled up, how easily he could close the gap if he wanted.
She didn’t budge.
“You do that a lot, don’t you?” she said. “Stare people down. Try to make them crack.”
“It usually works.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to look away. “Well, you’re going to be disappointed.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. Didn’t reach his eyes, though.
“Most people are.”
She shifted, fingers digging into her camera strap. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She hated how he noticed everything—the way her breathing changed, the way she braced herself to run or fight.
“You could just let me go,” she said. “Nothing happened.”
He glanced at her camera. “Something happened.”
The room flickered. Just once. The lights dimmed, then steadied.
Her stomach dropped, like missing a step in the dark.
“That wasn’t me,” she blurted.
“I didn’t say it was.”
They locked eyes again. The silence felt thick, dense with things neither of them wanted to say.
“Who are you?” she asked, voice low.
He laughed—barely. “Wrong question.”
“Then give me the right one.”
He stepped in, close enough for her to catch the scent of rain, something sharp and clean beneath it.
“In my world, you don’t ask questions,” he said. “You listen.”
She swallowed hard. “Sounds like your world sucks.”
That got to him.
His eyes lit up—not with anger, but with something ancient and unreachable.
“You should be careful,” he said, voice almost gentle.
“Oh, is that a threat?”
“No. That’s advice.”
She shook her head. “You don’t scare me.”
He leaned in just enough to change the air between them—pressure, heat, something electric crawling across her skin.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You just don’t know why yet.”
Her camera buzzed against her palm.
Not an accident. Not feedback.
A steady, low hum—like it was alive.
She glanced down. The screen flicked on by itself.
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “Turn it off.”
“I didn’t turn it on.”
The light from the screen bled across the floor—too bright, too sharp.
Her chest went tight, burning from the inside out. She gasped and stumbled back.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
“I didn’t touch you.”
“I can feel it,” she snapped. “Something’s—”
The lights died.
Black, absolute.
Her breath froze in her throat.
Then his hand closed around her wrist. Firm. Not rough, not quite gentle either.
“Don’t move,” he said.
“Get off me.”
“Not yet.”
Something shifted in the dark. A noise—wrong, not footsteps, but close enough.
Lucian froze.
For the first time, she caught it. He wasn’t calm.
He was listening.
And whatever just joined them in that room? It didn’t belong.
- Writer
