Page 12 of Dark Awakening

This man saved me, so I decide to trust him, which is probably the dumbest thing I could ever do.

Despite my misgivings, I whisper, “You are welcome in my home.”

He replies softly, “Let’s get you home, Angel.”

Then, complete darkness consumes me.

Danica

11

Ijolt awake and sit up, covered in sweat. I take a deep breath to steady myself and look around my apartment. Everything seems normal, but… something feels off. I squint my eyes and see a figure by my living room window. It’s him!

I tense up, screaming internally as he slowly steps closer. “What the hell…?! What do you want?”

He takes another step toward me, chuckling softly. His intentions become apparent as he moves with the grace and confidence of a lion stalking its prey.

“Shh…such a curious little Angel. You passed out on our way here. I wanted to make sure you were okay before I left.”

My worst fears have been confirmed; I was nearly raped in a back alley, and this shadow, vampire-man, brought me to my home.

How does he know where I live? My heart pounds as I frantically scan the room. My purse and phone sit neatly on the kitchen counter. Fear paralyzes me as I realize the full extent of this shadowy stranger's reach. He swiped my ID and brought me here after the attack...he knows everything about me!

I'm on my feet in an instant, poised to flee. But he's suddenly in front of me, having moved with inhuman speed. His intoxicating scent hits me like a storm—sandalwood, juniper, something sweet and mysterious I've never encountered before, with a trace of the ocean breeze.

He looms over me, tall and cloaked in shadows. My heart leaps in surprise and a strange exhilaration. Slowly, he leans in his face inches from mine.

"Are you feeling better, Angel?" he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.

A shiver dances up my spine, but there's something else mixed in with the jolt of fear— a strange fascination that holds me captive. Running would be the smart move. Screaming? Even smarter. But, hello, legs? Any plans on working tonight, or are we just cemented to the floor here?

Those eyes, hidden yet burning with an intensity that could either be my undoing or the start of an insane story to tell at parties, seem to dive into mine. It's like he's not just seeing me but reading me—and I can't decide if I want to smack him or applaud his audacity.

The nerve of this man, playing hero one minute and home invader the next! He presents an unsolved riddle that tempts me with every silent step he takes. I might not know his endgame, but one thing's for sure—he's stirring up a cocktail of thrills and annoyance that this 'damsel in distress' never ordered.

He leans closer, his tall frame suffocating the air around me. "You seem like you have some strength back now," he whispers, his breath hot against my cheek.

Nerves jitter through me as he closes in, each heartbeat a drumroll to underscore the high-wire act of my emotions. Yet, despite the unsettling closeness, there's an undeniable jolt of excitement that zaps through my veins, my body betraying a confusing sense of anticipation at his husky tone.

His breath on my neck is like a whisper of silk, eliciting shivers of unbidden pleasure with every ghost of a touch. This man is a live wire directly connected to my senses, setting off a dazzling firework display beneath my skin, awakening a cascade of desire and hunger I didn't know was there.

The air is thick with his scent, an intoxicating mix that's becoming etched into my memory. It's as if he's imprinting himself onto me, one molecule at a time.

Then come his lips, soft and insistent, tracing a fiery path up my neck to my jawline. Each kiss plants seeds of fire under my skin, blossoming into a garden of heat with every deliberate move. His touch is addictive, more potent than the strongest potion, sending waves of pleasure that lap at the shores of my restraint.

A rush of heat consumes me as he growls low in his throat, "I can smell your need, feel your body begging for my touch."

Color floods my cheeks at his words—oh, he's good—and I can practically hear my knees knocking together in a comical rendition of 'Somebody’s Got It Bad.' Alarm bells should be ringing with the urgency of a five-alarm fire at his closeness, but instead, there's this enticing buzz in my veins that all his sweet nothings and not-so-innocents are paging Dr. Feelgood.

As I stand there with my face hot enough to cook an egg on, I mentally wave a white flag. Admit it, girl, you're head over heels in Crushville. His hands, all rough and boldly charting territory on my neck, are mapping out a galaxy of 'oh my gods' and 'please don’t stop' right under my skin. I've turned into a bona fide squishy mess of tingles, and I'm internally screaming at my own traitorous body.

Being this close to him? It's like riding the world's most thrilling, terrifying rollercoaster—except you're blindfolded, and this coaster's definitely not following any safety codes.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers into my ear. “No one compares to you. Not a single person.”

Every fiber tingles with anticipation as warmth spreads inside me, like the gentle flickering of candlelight in the wind. My legs feel weak, and I'm excited at the thought of what will happen next.

What the fuck is happening?

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