Fangs of Desire

Chapter 5

Dominic’s POV

I shouldn’t be here.

I stand in the corner of the room, watching people move about like puppets to some invisible master. There’s a kind of artifice to it all—the pleasantries, the empty conversations, the smiles that never quite reach the eyes. I’ve seen it all before, but I don’t let myself get involved. I never do. It’s safer that way. I don’t need the distractions.

Yet, tonight, the air feels different.

I feel it in my bones before I even see her. Samantha Brooks. Her name has lingered in the back of my mind ever since we met. I can’t get her out of my thoughts. She shouldn’t have this effect on me—people don’t. But she does. There’s a pull between us, an invisible thread that keeps tightening no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

She moves into the room, her figure cutting through the crowd with a quiet confidence. Even in a place like this, where everyone is trying to present their best selves, she stands out. Her eyes, soft yet sharp, dart around, taking in everything but never quite connecting. She looks... lost, in a way. Not in a physical sense, but in a deeper, quieter way. It’s as if she’s searching for something she hasn’t found yet, something she doesn’t know how to name.

I watch her as she scans the room, her gaze briefly meeting mine. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already caught my attention. The tension between us, unspoken but felt, is palpable. Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t look away. It’s brief—a fraction of a second—but it’s enough. Something stirs inside me, something I’m too familiar with but haven’t allowed myself to feel in years.

I should look away. I should move, step back, and leave her be. But I can’t. I stay where I am, frozen, watching her, wondering why I’m even considering engaging with her. I’ve spent centuries keeping people at arm’s length. I’m not about to let her slip past my walls.

But she’s already inside. She doesn’t know it, but she’s wormed her way in, piece by piece.

She doesn’t belong here. It’s the first thing I notice. Everyone else here is so intent on their status, their masks, and their perfect lives. But Samantha is different. She doesn’t fit in with the polished surface of this world, and yet she moves through it with an ease that suggests she knows more than she lets on. I can’t decide if that intrigues me or irritates me.

For a moment, I wonder why I even care. Why her? Why now? I’ve seen people like her before—out of place, yet somehow poised. She isn’t like the others in this room, trying so hard to be someone they’re not. No, she’s quiet and self-contained. But it’s not just her composure that draws me in. It’s the fact that she’s different, that she seems to see through the charade everyone else is playing. And there’s a vulnerability in her that I can’t ignore.

When she turns away, I almost feel relieved. The moment of connection is fleeting, but it lingers. I shift my focus back to the room, though my mind is still on her.

I don’t engage with people easily, especially not in settings like this. My existence, my life, has never allowed for it. But this... this is different. Samantha’s presence gnaws at me. I feel it like a pressure in my chest, like a slow, steady build toward something I can’t control.

I move away from the corner, pretending to focus on the conversations happening around me. I can hear the noise, the endless chatter, but it all feels distant, like static. My mind drifts back to her, to the way she looked at me. She didn’t flinch or shy away, like most people do. No, there was curiosity in her eyes, and that… that unsettles me.

What’s worse is that I want to see it again. I want to feel the electricity that pulses between us and want to test the limits of this strange connection that’s starting to form.

But I won’t.

I can’t.

I push it down, bury it deep, reminding myself of who I am, of what I’ve done. People like her don’t belong in my world. The things I’ve done, the things I’ve become—they don’t deserve to touch her. She’s too pure, too full of life. The weight of that knowledge presses on me like a lead weight, suffocating any other thought.

I step outside, into the cool night air, needing the distance to clear my head. I can still see her face in my mind, her eyes, and the fleeting moment of connection. I run my hand over my face, trying to push away the feeling that won’t leave me. It’s like a phantom, always there, tugging at me, pulling me closer to something I know I can never have.

The cool wind bites at my skin, but it does little to chase away the heat I feel in my chest. A fire I haven’t let burn for years. I’ve built walls around it, buried it, and locked it away. But the cracks are starting to form, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold it in.

It’s dangerous. I know this. It’s why I’ve stayed away, why I’ve never let anyone get too close. The people I’ve cared about have only ever ended up hurt. It’s my curse—my darkness.

I exhale sharply, glancing back toward the entrance, wondering if she’s still in there, wondering if she’s even thought about me since our brief exchange.

But I can’t keep thinking about her. I can’t.

I look back at the door, my chest tight with a mixture of longing and dread. I need to step away from this—before I lose control. But, like every other time before, I know I won’t be able to resist for long.

Why am I so drawn to her, and why can’t I seem to stop myself from wanting more, even though I know I shouldn’t?