chapter 5: The devil's shelter

I woke up to silence — the kind that doesn’t feel empty, but watched. My body ached in places Hunter’s hands had claimed, bruises blooming like evidence I never asked for. The sheets smelled faintly of him… but under it, I caught something colder. Francesco’s cologne. My stomach twisted. I hadn’t noticed last night, but it clung to me like a secret I shouldn’t carry. The house was still, too still. No footsteps. No voices. No Hunter. Only the faint hum of the air, the tick of the clock, and the taste of last night’s violence still on my lips.

I swung my legs off the bed, the cold marble floor biting against my bare feet. My head felt heavy, every movement a reminder of how Hunter had “claimed” me last night.

The hallway stretched out like a tunnel in a nightmare, lined with silent portraits that seemed to follow me. I could almost hear my own pulse.

I reached the stairs and froze. There it was — a faint click of a door unlocking.

Hunter stepped in. His shirt was stained, not just with blood, but with the kind of mess you don’t wash out. His eyes locked on me, wild, untamed… dangerous. He didn’t say a word. He just shut the door behind him, turned the lock, and started walking toward me.

“Where were you?” I asked. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from my face in a mockery of tenderness… before his fingers curled around my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

“You still smell like him,” he murmured.

“You still smell like him,” Hunter whispered again, this time closer… too close.

His thumb brushed my lower lip before I could pull away.

“Hunter—”

The sound of my name seemed to sharpen something in him. His grip on my jaw tightened, forcing my head back slightly.

“You think I don’t know where you’ve been? What he did? What you let him do?” His words were soft, but every syllable dripped with venom.

“I didn’t let—” I started, but he cut me off with a kiss that felt more like a warning than affection. His lips moved hard against mine, claiming, punishing.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched mine like he was hunting for lies. “Francesco touched what’s mine. Do you have any idea what that means?”

My chest tightened. “Hunter, I’m not—”

“You’re everything, Dylan. And I will burn the whole world if anyone tries to take you.” He leaned in until our foreheads touched. “Even you can’t run from me.”

Somewhere deep inside me, fear and something darker twisted together.

Because part of me knew… he wasn’t lying.

Hunter’s hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, his grip steady, unyielding.

“You’ve been somewhere you shouldn’t,” he said, his voice low and almost calm, which made it worse. “You think you can disappear into his world and walk back into mine without a price?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Hunter, I didn’t choose—”

“You did,” he cut in, pulling me closer until my chest was pressed to his. “Every time you don’t fight hard enough, every time you let him near you… you choose.”

“I didn’t—”

But his fingers dug into the nape of my neck, silencing me.

“You think Francesco took you to help you? No.” His breath brushed my ear. “Men like us don’t help. We take. We keep. We destroy.”

He turned me and shoved me gently but firmly against the wall, caging me in with his body. His palm pressed flat beside my head, his other hand gripping my hip.

“You belong to me, Dylan. And tonight… I’ll make you remember why running is useless.”

The way he said it—quiet, lethal, certain—made my pulse hammer in my throat.

I wanted to speak, to push him away, to say I’m not yours. But the truth sat heavy in my chest.

Because somewhere deep inside, part of me feared I’d stopped being mine a long time ago.

His eyes never left mine as he reached down, hooking two fingers under my chin and tilting my face up. “You’ve been wearing someone else’s scent for too long,” he murmured. “I’ll replace it.”

Before I could speak, his mouth was on mine again—harder, deeper—like he was erasing Francesco from my skin. His body pressed me into the wall, every movement calculated, unrelenting. I could feel the heat of him, the tension in his muscles, the danger coiled in every touch.

“You think you can belong to him in the daylight and to me in the dark?” he growled against my lips. “No, Dylan. There’s no daylight for you anymore.”

His hand slid up my side, curling possessively at my ribs. The air between us was charged, burning, and I hated that my pulse was answering his in sync.

I managed a whisper, “Hunter… you’re hurting me—”

“Good,” he said, eyes glinting like steel. “Because pain makes you remember.”

He kissed me again, slower this time but with a deeper, more dangerous promise, one that said you’re mine until I decide otherwise. My knees felt weak, and his arm around my waist was the only thing holding me up.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was rough, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered,

“By the time I’m done tonight, you’ll forget Francesco ever touched you.”

He didn’t give me a chance to breathe.

His arm tightened around my waist as he pulled me away from the wall, walking me backwards toward the bed with deliberate, controlled steps.

“I’m not here to ask, Dylan,” he said, his voice low and unwavering. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.”

My pulse thundered in my ears. “Hunter, this isn’t—”

“It’s exactly what it is,” he cut in, shoving me gently but firmly down onto the mattress. He loomed over me, his shadow blotting out the light, his presence heavier than the silence in the room.

I could smell his cologne, sharp and clean, overpowering every trace of Francesco’s touch. His hand trailed up my thigh—not gentle, not hurried, just a slow, inevitable claim.

“You think I can’t feel him on you?” His tone was quieter now, but more dangerous. “Every mark, every memory… I’m going to burn them out of you.”

I swallowed, heat and fear coiling together in my chest. “Hunter—”

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Don’t speak. Just remember—every second tonight belongs to me.”

What followed blurred between punishment and worship—his touches both bruising and protective, his gaze never breaking from mine as if daring me to look away. He kissed me until my lips were swollen, gripped me until I knew I’d carry his fingerprints like a brand.

By the time his pace slowed, my body trembled—not just from exhaustion, but from the raw truth that no matter how much I told myself I hated him… part of me didn’t want to leave.

He lay beside me only for a moment, his fingers brushing idly over my wrist. Then his phone buzzed.

He answered without looking away from me.

“What?” His voice was sharp.

A pause. Then his expression shifted—tightened.

He hung up, eyes locked on mine. “Francesco’s making his move sooner than I thought.”

And just like that, the room’s heat was replaced with the chill of a storm coming.

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