Chapter 3:The Date
871 Words
Chapter 3 – The Date
Damien’s POV
The moment she walked in, the world tilted.
Her dress was midnight silk, hugging her curves with quiet elegance. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, and when her eyes locked on mine sharp, wary, defiant my wolf went still. Lips painted the color of temptation, shoulders squared like she was ready to fight me and the whole damn city if she had to.
Beautiful wasn’t the word. She was magnetic. Fire wrapped in velvet.
My pack would be pleased she carried herself like a queen already. And my family? They’d finally shut their mouths about heirs and alliances when they saw her.
My mate. My fate.
Maya’s POV
He was staring at me like he owned me already. Not a polite stare. Not a casual one. The kind of stare that burned.
I made sure to glide toward him slowly, every step measured. If he wanted a show, I’d give him one.
I sat opposite him, chin high. “So… since you clearly know my name, do I get yours?”
“Damien Blackthorn,” he said, like it should mean something.
I blinked. “Okay… and?”
Something flickered in his expression shock. “You don’t know me.”
“Should I?” I arched a brow. “Are you, like, a t****k star?”
His lips curved, equal parts amused and dangerous. “Most people don’t ask who I am. They already know.”
“Well, congratulations. You’ve met someone who doesn’t.” I leaned back in my chair. “And honestly? I’m not impressed.”
The waiter poured wine, then slipped away, leaving the air thick between us. Damien’s gaze didn’t waver.
“You don’t play the game,” he said softly. “That’s why I like you.”
“I’m not here to be liked,” I shot back.
“You should be careful, Maya Carter.” His voice lowered, rougher now, velvet edged with steel. “When I want something, I don’t stop until it’s mine.”
Heat shot up my neck, anger and something I didn’t want to name tangling together. “That’s supposed to impress me? Threaten me? Because newsflash I don’t belong to you.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes pinning me like gravity itself. “Not yet.”
My pulse skipped, traitorous and wild. I hated the way he said it cocky, arrogant, like the world bent to his will. But God help me, some part of me felt it too.
That was exactly why I stood up, chair scraping against the polished floor. “I’m done here.”
His hand caught mine before I could turn. Warm, commanding, and the second our skin touched, a spark flared sharp, electric, alive. My breath hitched. His eyes darkened, predator and man both.
For a moment, I almost didn’t pull away. Almost.
He smirked, letting go slowly. “You forgot your gloss.”
I snatched it off the table, rolling my eyes so hard they ached. “You’re unbelievable.”
This time I walked away without looking back.
The rain slammed into me as soon as I stepped outside, soaking my dress and hair in seconds. Of course. No cabs. No mercy. I wrapped an arm over my head and hurried down the street, muttering curses under my breath.
A sleek car pulled up beside me, window sliding down. A stranger leaned over, flashing an easy smile. “You shouldn’t be walking alone in this storm. Let me give you a ride.”
“I’m fine,” I called, already moving faster.
“Please,” he insisted. “At least get out of the rain. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Common sense said don’t. But the rain was merciless, and standing out here like a drowned rat wasn’t helping. Reluctantly, I slipped inside.
He was polite, harmless enough, chatting lightly as the city blurred past. But my mind wasn’t on him.
It was still on Damien Blackthorn.
The way he looked at me. The way his touch had lit my skin like fire. I hated him. I hated his arrogance.
So why did I feel like I’d never forget that spark?
By the time the stranger dropped me off, I was shivering, muttering a thank you before darting up the steps.
Chloe met me at the door, eyes wide. “Why are you soaked? And why are you home so early?”
“He was a jerk,” I said flatly, brushing past her. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
I locked myself in my room, letting the shower wash away the night—but not the memory of him. Not the heat of his hand, the pull of his voice.
I crawled into bed, scowling at myself as exhaustion dragged me under.
The next morning, Chloe’s scream yanked me from sleep. Heart hammering, I threw on my robe and rushed downstairs.
She was at the window, shrieking like a kid on Christmas.
And outside, blocking the street, was a luxury car overflowing with roses, chocolates, and teddy bears an obscene, ridiculous display spilling onto the sidewalk.
For me.
From him.
Damien Blackthorn.
- Writer
