CLAIMED THEN CAST ASIDE

🌑 Chapter Two: The Night She Met Him

The city lights were too bright.

Crescent City pulsed like a living thing—cars rushing, music bleeding through alleyways, people moving too fast to care. Selene moved with them. Or maybe she drifted. She wasn’t sure.

She had no luggage. No plan. No place to go.

Just a marked neck and a soul filled with splinters.

The train had dropped her at the edge of the city just after midnight. It was loud here, full of sirens and shadows. A part of her wanted to run again. But she didn’t even know what she was running from anymore.

The rejection?

The bond?

The fact that she still felt him in her blood?

No. She couldn’t think about that.

She crossed the street without looking. A car honked. Someone cursed. She didn’t flinch.

She kept walking.

Her boots clicked on wet pavement, the hem of her dress heavy with dirt and regret. Her neck still throbbed where Kael had marked her. The wound had scabbed, but it wasn’t the skin that hurt.

It was what came after.

She was no one now. Unclaimed. Unwanted. The Goddess had chosen her, and he’d thrown her away.

So why not disappear?

Why not get lost in a place where names didn’t matter and no one cared if you bled?

That’s what led her here.

To Club Nocturne.

It rose out of the street like a bruise. Black walls. Gold lettering. No line. No music from the outside. Just a tall bouncer in a fitted suit who looked at her like she didn’t belong.

Maybe she didn’t.

But she walked up anyway.

He stopped her. “ID?”

She didn’t have one. Just a look in her eyes that said don’t ask me where I came from.

She didn’t speak.

The bouncer frowned. “You look like trouble.”

“I am,” she said quietly.

He stared at her for a long second.

Then stepped aside.

Selene walked into darkness.

—

Inside, the club was everything she didn’t expect.

It wasn’t loud. It was low—the kind of sound that crawled into your bones. A sultry rhythm, heavy with bass. Smoke curled around red velvet chairs. Glass chandeliers dripped like melted diamonds from the ceiling. Gold lights glowed like candlefire.

Eyes followed her.

Men. Women. Some dressed like royalty. Some like death.

Selene didn’t care.

She moved to the bar, ordered something she couldn’t name, and swallowed it in one gulp. It burned. Good.

She ordered another.

Her head buzzed. Her blood slowed. For the first time in days, she felt… numb.

Perfect.

A man brushed against her back. She ignored him.

Another whispered something in her ear. She didn’t turn.

She just drank.

And then she felt it.

A gaze. Not warm. Not curious.

Hungry.

She turned slowly.

Across the room, in the shadows of the upper floor, a man stood alone—glass in hand, jacket slung over his shoulder, green eyes fixed entirely on her.

Selene’s breath caught.

He didn’t look away.

He didn’t blink.

He just stared, like she was a puzzle he planned to break apart piece by piece.

Even from here, she could feel it.

Danger.

He looked like a man who didn’t believe in “no,” a man who didn’t beg, didn’t chase—because everything already came to him.

And now… he wanted her.

She should’ve turned away.

But she didn’t.

She held his stare.

And he smiled.

It wasn’t friendly.

It was a promise.

—

She didn’t see him approach.

One second he was across the room. The next, he was beside her, his cologne warm and sharp—like cedar smoke and something darker underneath.

“You drink like you’re trying to forget,” he said.

Selene didn’t look at him. “I don’t remember asking you to talk to me.”

He chuckled. “You didn’t. But you looked up.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Maybe,” he said, setting his drink beside hers. “Or maybe you’ve had enough bad nights that you’re ready for something worse.”

She turned then, finally meeting his eyes.

They were even sharper up close—green with flecks of something gold. His hair was dark, swept back. His jaw was clenched like he was always one step away from violence.

He didn’t touch her. But he didn’t need to.

His presence pressed in around her like gravity.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said.

“I didn’t give it.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I collect broken things,” he said. “And you look like the most beautiful disaster I’ve seen all night.”

Selene laughed, but it wasn’t soft. It was hollow.

He liked that.

She turned back to her drink.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You think you’re being charming.”

“No,” he said. “I think I’m being honest.”

She looked at him again.

And for some stupid reason, she didn’t walk away.

Instead, she let him stay. Let him order her another drink. Let him lean close and talk about nothing—just sound, just distraction. His voice was smooth, low, dangerous.

Like the edge of a blade wrapped in velvet.

—

An hour passed.

Maybe more.

The music got louder. The lights got softer. Her limbs felt loose. Her mind buzzed.

She forgot her name for a moment.

He didn’t ask for it anyway.

He took her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

He led her to the dance floor, and suddenly they were moving—his hands on her hips, his body close, the heat between them sharp and confusing. Selene didn’t care. She didn’t think.

She just let go.

Let go of Kael.

Of Duskvale.

Of the mark still healing on her skin.

She danced like a girl with nothing left to lose.

Because she didn’t.

And he watched her like he knew it.

Like he’d found exactly what he was looking for.

The club spun around her like smoke.

Selene’s head leaned against his shoulder as they danced. Or maybe she wasn’t dancing anymore. Maybe she was just swaying in the rhythm of someone else’s pull.

She didn’t know his name.

She didn’t care.

She only knew his hands—warm and strong—were still on her hips. That his breath was on her neck. That her body had stopped screaming for escape.

This was peace. Twisted, dark, and temporary.

“Come with me,” he said.

Two words. No force. Just certainty.

Selene didn’t answer.

She looked at his face. Pale from the lights. Jaw sharp. Eyes sharp.

He didn’t wait.

He took her hand again.

And she let him.

—

The car ride was silent.

It was a black luxury sedan with tinted windows and leather that smelled new. He didn’t speak. Just stared out the window with a clenched jaw, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near her thigh.

Selene stared ahead too, her fingers tangled in her lap. Her pulse raced, but her expression stayed blank.

It felt like a dream. One of those dangerous ones that only ended when you woke up sweating.

Outside, the city blurred past.

Neon lights. Flashing signs. Shadows.

She could have asked his name. She didn’t.

She could have asked where they were going. She didn’t.

Part of her wanted to feel guilt.

But the rest of her was too far gone for that.

She’d been rejected. Shamed. Tossed aside like trash.

Tonight, she just wanted to be held like something someone wanted—even if it was for the wrong reasons.

—

The elevator rose to the penthouse floor.

The building was glass and steel, clean and cruel like its owner. Her heels clicked on marble as they stepped into a hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows showing the glittering city skyline.

He opened the door.

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.

Walls of dark wood and black stone. Cold elegance. No family pictures. No clutter. Just one giant space made of shadows and silence.

He threw his keys on a table and walked ahead.

Selene stepped in carefully, unsure of herself now that they were alone. Now that the air between them had shifted from sharp flirtation to something thicker.

“Are you always this quiet?” she asked, her voice a little hoarse.

He turned to her slowly. “Only when I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.”

The word hit like a punch.

She swallowed.

He took a step closer. Then another. His eyes didn’t blink. His voice didn’t waver.

“You walked into that club like you didn’t care if you burned. Like someone had already set fire to you and you were just waiting for the end.”

Selene said nothing.

He stopped inches in front of her.

“I like fire,” he whispered.

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft.

It was raw, bruising, like he wanted to drown in her mouth. Like he wanted to punish and worship her in the same breath.

Selene kissed him back.

Hard.

Their bodies collided—teeth, hands, heat. Her back hit the wall. His hands gripped her waist. His mouth found her throat.

The mark burned under his lips, but she didn’t stop him.

She wanted to forget.

She needed to forget.

So when he lifted her—arms under her thighs, voice rasping “bed or here?”—she just whispered, “Anywhere.”

And let the night take her.

—

The room was dark.

Sheets twisted. Her skin was damp. Her breathing shallow.

She lay on her side, facing the window, the city glowing outside like a world that didn’t care what she’d just done.

Her lips were swollen. Her legs ached. Her heart… was quiet.

She wasn’t Selene Ravara anymore.

Not the girl from Duskvale.

Not the girl with a mate.

Not the girl who got rejected in front of a crowd that laughed behind their hands.

Here, she was no one.

And it felt good.

Until it didn’t.

Her stomach turned slightly. A curl of something sour rising up.

She pressed a hand there. Tried to ignore it.

From behind her, she felt movement.

The man—who still hadn’t given her a name—was already awake. Shirtless. Leaning on the edge of the bed, staring at the window like he was trying to find something he lost a long time ago.

Selene stayed quiet.

But then he spoke.

“Don’t run in the morning.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I hate it when they run.”

She sat up slowly. “You think I’m planning to run?”

He didn’t turn. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you don’t know where you belong, but you’re sure it’s not here.”

Selene exhaled. “You’re right. I don’t belong here.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “You’re staying anyway.”

That made her freeze.

She looked at him fully now. His muscles were tense, his shoulders rigid. His jaw ticked like he was fighting something inside himself.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice soft.

Finally, he looked at her.

“Richard.”

She nodded.

He stood and moved closer.

Sat beside her, their knees brushing.

“I don’t know what made you walk into that club,” he said. “But I don’t believe in accidents.”

Selene didn’t answer.

She felt it again—that nausea twisting low in her gut. A strange warmth spreading through her limbs. Her hand drifted back to her stomach.

Richard noticed.

His eyes dropped to her fingers. Then rose to her face.

He didn’t ask.

And she didn’t explain.

He reached out slowly, touched her cheek, and whispered, “Don’t go.”

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t know why she stayed.

Only that she did.