f*******n BY BLOOD

I didn’t choose this house. I didn’t choose this last name. And I sure as hell didn’t choose him. My mom said the move would be good for us. “A fresh start, Luna,” she said, while packing our two suitcases into the back of a moving truck. “Mr. Blackwood is a good man. He can give us stability.” Stability. Right. Because nothing says stable like marrying a billionaire you met 3 months ago and moving into his mansion with his 19-year-old son. The Blackwood estate was on top of a hill, behind black iron gates. It looked like something out of a horror movie. All stone and glass and shadows. Rule #1: Stay invisible. Rule #2: Graduate in 10 months and get out. Rule #3: Do NOT talk to Damien Blackwood. That last rule should’ve been easy. Because Damien Blackwood was a ghost in his own house. Until dinner that night. The dining room was big enough to fit my old apartment in it. Crystal chandelier. 10 chairs. And at the head of the table sat Mr. Blackwood, smiling like this was normal. And across from him, slouched in his chair, phone in hand, was Damien. My stepbrother. He didn’t look up when I sat down. Black hoodie. Black hair falling over his forehead. Jaw tight like he was angry at the world. He was beautiful in the way a knife is beautiful. Dangerous. “Damien, this is Luna,” my mom said brightly. “She’ll be starting at Westbridge tomorrow.” Nothing. He kept scrolling. “Hey,” I whispered. Because manners. His eyes flicked up. Grey. Cold. They dragged over my face, my oversized sweater, my hands. Then he went back to his phone. Message received. I’m nothing to him. Good. --- Westbridge High was worse. 10 minutes after first period, everyone knew who I was. “The new girl.” “The stepdaughter.” “The one who’s living with Damien Blackwood.” I kept my head down. Black hoodie up. Earphones in. Invisible. It worked until 3rd period. Until I went to my locker. The hallway was crowded. Lockers slamming. People laughing. And then the noise died. Like someone turned the volume off. I felt him before I saw him. Heat at my back. Expensive cologne. Cedar and storm. A shadow fell over me. “Move,” a low voice said. I turned, and my breath caught. Damien Blackwood. White dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. Black tie loose. Tattoo peeking out from his collar. He was 6’2 of pure trouble. And every girl in the hallway was staring at him like he was oxygen. He was looking at me like I was a problem. “Are you deaf?” he asked. “I said move.” My face burned. “You’re standing in front of my locker.” Something flashed in his eyes. Surprise? Annoyance? He stepped closer. Too close. His chest almost brushed mine. The hallway was so quiet now I could hear my own heartbeat. His gaze dropped to my mouth. To my neck. To the faint scar on my wrist that my sleeve didn’t quite cover. His nostrils flared. And then he did something that made my blood run cold. He leaned in. Right into my neck. Breathed me in. Like I was air. Like I was food. Like I was his. “Damien, what are you—” one of his friends started. “Shut up,” Damien cut him off, eyes never leaving me. His voice was rough. Almost a growl. He pulled back an inch. His eyes were gold now. Not grey. Gold. And when he spoke, it wasn’t for the crowd. It was just for me. “Mate.” The word hit me like a punch. Mate. What the hell did that mean? He stared at me for one more second, jaw ticking. Then he turned and walked away. Just like that. Leaving me shaking against the locker with 100 people watching. By lunch, the entire school knew. Damien Blackwood cornered the new girl. Damien Blackwood said something weird to her. Damien Blackwood might be interested. I spent lunch in the bathroom stall, hands shaking. Because the most dangerous boy in school just marked me. And if my mom or his dad finds out... We’re both ruined. But the worst part? When he said "Mate"... Part of me wanted to say it back.