Chapter 2 #2
Flame-red hair glowing even in the dim light. She hadn't disguised herself today, just simple jeans and a shirt, looking clean and fresh. Which made her current struggle and the terror in her eyes seem more real—like a young deer trapped by predators.
Rage flared from my core. My property—when had this trash earned the right to touch it?
I strode over, my footsteps echoing sharply on the stone pavement in the quiet alley.
"Let her go." My voice was colder than New York's frozen winter lakes.
The three drunks turned irritably. Seeing me alone, their faces twisted with aggression. "Get lost! Mind your own business!"
I ignored them, looking past them to Anna. She saw me too, those beautiful green eyes flashing first with shock, then with an unconscious dependence—a silent plea for rescue.
"Alexander..."
She said my name.
Softly, but like a match igniting the violence I'd been suppressing.
Perfect.
"I rarely repeat myself," my voice turned even colder, each word like a poisoned blade. "Get lost."
The lead drunk seemed enraged by my attitude, cursing as he swung at me—slow, clumsy, obviously alcohol-impaired.
I sidestepped easily.
Then grabbed his wrist. The touch disgusted me—greasy, rough, sticky with unknown substances.
Then I twisted. Gently.
Crack.
The crisp sound of dislocating bone echoed in the quiet alley, followed by the man's agonized scream. I'd heard that sound countless times—it always brought sick satisfaction.
The other two sobered up halfway, faces pale as they stared at me like I was the devil. They could see it—I wasn't joking.
I released him, letting the man clutch his twisted wrist and writhe on the ground.
"Need me to break your other hands too?"
My voice was terrifyingly calm, like discussing weather while contemplating violence.
The two men stumbled away, dragging their friend and disappearing around the corner. They were in such a rush that one fell and didn't even stop for his shoe.
The whole thing took under thirty seconds.
The world went quiet again—just me and her, with lingering traces of blood and fear in the air.
I turned to look at the shaken Anna.
She leaned against the wall, chest heaving, clearly terrified. Her white shirt was rumpled from struggling, damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead.
I approached, deliberately slowing my steps, reining in all the violence I'd just displayed.
Like a predator retracting claws around prey, showing a harmless facade.
"You okay?"
I asked in a gentle voice that felt foreign even to me.
She seemed still in shock, just staring at me blankly. Those green eyes held confusion, gratitude, and a hint of fear.
That bothered me. I didn't want her to be afraid of me. At least, not this kind of fear.
"I..." She opened her mouth, voice hoarse. "Why are you here?"
"Passing through," I answered briefly, then crouched down, seeing scrapes on her exposed ankle bleeding slightly. "You're hurt."
She looked down, seeming to notice the pain for the first time. "Must have twisted it while struggling... but it's fine, I can..."
She tried to walk normally but couldn't help gasping when she put weight on the ankle.
"Don't be stubborn." I reached out, carefully supporting her injured ankle to examine it, fingertips gently probing around the area, checking for fractures. "Just a sprain, but it needs treatment."
My fingertips could clearly feel the warmth of her skin and slight trembling, but she didn't pull away.
"I have an apartment nearby." I stood and extended my hand. "Let me take you there to treat the wound, or it'll get infected."
She looked at my outstretched hand, hesitating. I could see the wariness in her eyes—even though I'd just saved her, she still remembered I was "dangerous."
I waited patiently without rushing. I watched the wariness in her eyes gradually melt, replaced by complex emotions mixing curiosity with dependence.
She was being conquered by the "gentleness" I was projecting.
The feeling was deeply satisfying.
Finally, she placed her cool little hand in my palm.
"...Thank you."
I gripped her hand—so light, so soft, bones delicate as if they'd snap at the slightest pressure. I helped her up, letting her lean against me to bear most of her weight.
Her body pressed against my side. I could feel her warmth, her softness, her slightly tense muscles from nervousness. She carried a faint shampoo scent—not last night's cheap perfume, but something fresh like newly sprouted grass.
This real, unguarded contact...
Made my lower abdomen tighten.
Damn.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Not the time.
Five minutes later, we reached the apartment. A high-end residential building where I occasionally handled private matters unsuitable for the manor.
I had her sit on the living room sofa while I fetched the medical kit.
When I returned, she was looking around—minimalist black, white, and gray decor with no personal items. She looked nervous, unnaturally gripping her clothes, betraying her inner anxiety.
"Relax." I knelt on one knee before her, opening the medical kit. "I won't eat you."
At least, not now.
I could feel her gaze on me—scrutinizing, curious, with anticipation she didn't recognize. It reminded me of a kitten awaiting attention.
Damn.
I took a deep breath, forcing focus.
"This'll hurt a little. Bear with it." My voice was rougher than expected.
I touched her ankle scrape with an iodine-soaked cotton swab. Her body trembled slightly, like being struck by electricity.
That reaction made my lower abdomen tighten.
I looked up at her—she was biting her lower lip, trying not to make a noise. Her face was slightly scrunched from pain, but more from shyness. Her cheeks flushed light pink, spreading to her ears, vivid against her pale skin.
"Does it hurt?" I asked knowingly, while making my touch even gentler.
She nodded, then shook her head. "It's... it's okay."
Voice small and trembling.
I smiled and continued treating the wound. The cotton swab glided across her skin—I could feel its smoothness and warmth, and that nervous trembling. These subtle sensations traveled through my fingertips to my nerve endings, then burned straight to my brain.
The apartment was very quiet.
So quiet I could hear her rapid breathing, her swallowing, even her heartbeat—or was that mine?
The air grew thick. Each breath felt like inhaling air mixed with her scent—shampoo fragrance, a hint of nervous sweat, and something purely hers that was addictive.
"You..." she suddenly spoke, breaking the silence. "Why are you so nice to me?"
My hand paused.
Why?
Because I want you. Because you've made me feel interested for the first time in ten years. Because there's defiance in those green eyes I want to conquer...
But I couldn't say that.
"Maybe because," I looked up, meeting her eyes, "you're worth it."
Her eyes widened, those beautiful green eyes flashing with shock, confusion, and a hint of what I hoped to see—attraction.
"I..." She opened her mouth as if to speak, but finally just looked down. "I'm not worth it."
That statement made me frown.
"Why say that?"
"Because I..." She bit her lip. "I'm nobody. Just a failure who can't even finish an internship, living in a dump, can't even afford food..."
Her voice grew smaller, carrying bone-deep insecurity.
That insecurity stung me.
Somehow, seeing her like this stirred a strange emotion—not pity or sympathy, but an urge to protect her, to tell her she was more valuable than she thought.
"Anna," I said her name, voice gentler than usual.
She looked up, eyes teary.
I reached out, thumb gently wiping the tear from her eye corner. Her skin was so soft, like the finest silk, feeling so good I wanted more.
"You're not nobody," I stared into her eyes, speaking each word clearly. "At least to me, you're special."
"Special?" She repeated, voice uncertain.
"Yeah," my thumb still rested on her cheek, feeling her skin's warmth. "Special enough that I want to chat with you at midnight, special enough that I want to see you, special enough..."
I paused, gaze dropping to her slightly parted lips.
"Special enough that I want to kiss you."
The air instantly froze.
Her breathing stopped, eyes widening like a startled deer. I could see her pupils dilating, emotions shifting in her eyes—shock, nervousness, fear, and... anticipation.
We moved closer together.
I could feel her breath on my face—warm, rapid, trembling. I could see every subtle expression—lips pale with nervousness, lashes lowered in shyness, chin tilted up slightly like a silent invitation.
My hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, feeling the delicate skin and racing pulse there. She didn't pull away; instead, she leaned forward slightly, as if drawn by an invisible force.
"Tell me," my voice deepened, almost whispering against her lips. "Do you want me to stop?"
She drew a shaky breath, those green eyes looking straight at me.
"I..." She bit her lip. "I don't know."
"Don't know?" I repeated, mouth curving up. "Then let me help you decide."
I cupped the back of her head and kissed her.