Cracks in armor

Alessia had survived worse than this.

Knife fights.

Family betrayals.

A bullet wound when she was seventeen.

But none of that prepared her for the storm brewing inside her now.

The storm named Damon Blackwell.

He leaned against the frame of her apartment door, water dripping from his dark hair, his white dress shirt clinging to his body like a second skin.

He was supposed to just drop off the security equipment he’d insisted she needed.

Instead, he lingered — like a temptation she didn’t know how to refuse anymore.

“You gonna invite me in?” he asked, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re wet,” she said flatly.

“So are you,” he said, voice low and wicked.

The air snapped tight between them.

Alessia cursed under her breath and stepped aside.

“Five minutes,” she warned. “Then you’re gone.”

Damon smiled — not cocky, but patient, dangerous.

Like he already knew she wouldn’t throw him out.

⸻

He moved through her apartment like he belonged there.

Setting up cameras by the windows. Testing the locks.

Every time he brushed past her, his scent wrapped around her — soap and rain and a hint of leather.

It was maddening.

Worse than any torture her family had ever devised.

When he knelt to fix something by her front door, Alessia found herself watching the muscles move under his soaked shirt, his strong hands working the tools with steady focus.

She needed him to leave.

She needed him to stay.

“Why are you doing this?” she blurted out.

He looked up, eyes locking onto hers.

“Because you’re not safe,” he said simply. “And because… I can’t stay away from you.”

The raw honesty in his voice nearly shattered her.

“You don’t even know me,” she whispered.

“I know enough,” Damon said, standing now, closing the distance between them.

“I know you don’t trust easily. I know you’ve been hurt. I know you think you have to handle everything alone.”

He stopped just inches from her.

“And I know I would burn this whole damn world down if it meant keeping you breathing.”

Alessia’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Damon reached out — slow, careful — and tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

His fingers trailed down, brushing the edge of her jaw, setting her skin on fire.

“You don’t have to want me,” he murmured. “But don’t lie to me.”

Her breath hitched.

He leaned in — closer, closer — until his mouth was a whisper from hers.

Waiting.

Begging.

Letting her make the final move.

For one suspended heartbeat, Alessia almost gave in.

Almost.

Instead, she pressed a trembling hand to his chest, pushing him back.

Barely.

“Not yet,” she said, voice shaking.

Damon’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He nodded once, sharp and aching.

“I’ll wait,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

And for the first time in years, Alessia believed him.

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