Chapter Four: Abduction under the Moon

The rain that had showered the bakery streets all afternoon cleared by nightfall. Clouds parted to reveal a pale, swollen moon that spilled its light down onto rooftops and cobblestones, turning puddles into shards of silver.

From a window above the bakery, Eirian pressed his nose against the cool glass. His soft breath fogged it briefly before vanishing.

Inside his arms, clutched tight with childlike loyalty, sat Mr. Honey. The teddy’s patched ear brushed Eirian’s cheek as he whispered, voice no more than a dreamy murmur.

“Look, Mr. Honey. Moon candy… round and shiny.”

He pointed a finger upward toward the glowing sphere. “Do you think Dragon is looking too?”

The bear gave no answer. But in the silence of the street below, a darker presence already lingered.

Across from the bakery, a black car idled with its engine off. The streetlamp above flickered, dim, as if even the electricity dared not burn fully in the man’s company.

Inside the vehicle, Damian Vorensky sat, red eyes lifted toward the same swollen moon. Yet his thoughts were not of the stars, not of peace.

They were of a boy behind glass, whispering secrets to a teddy bear.

For days he had waited, circling this gentle little home, watching from shadows. But patience, usually his sharpest weapon, now frayed with every passing hour. Desire pressed against his chest until even the strongest leash snapped.

Damian’s kingdom of guns and blood suddenly felt too empty. His glass of wine, untouched. His throne, abandoned. His empire, meaningless—because the angel was not inside it.

And so, under the silver eye of the moon, Damian made his decision.

Tonight.

The Hale’s household quieted early, as always. Downstairs, the mother cleaned last dishes; the father set aside account books from the bakery. Upstairs, their son sat cross-legged on his small bed, toys scattered around like a ring of sentinels.

Eirian balanced a red-and-white lollipop between his lips, one of the ones Damian had gifted earlier. He hummed happily as he brushed invisible crumbs from Mr. Honey’s fur. “Today, Dragon candy. Tomorrow… maybe cake? Do you think he’ll bring cake, Mr. Honey?”

The bear’s buttons reflected moonlight.

Before long, fatigue tugged Eirian’s eyelids down. He curled small against blankets, clutching his teddy to his chest. White hair spilled across the pillow like strands of moonlight; his parted lips sticky from sugar. Fragile, still, childlike—but in a man’s grown body of twenty years.

The parents peeked in one last time, their hearts heavy with love. His father adjusted the blanket over narrow shoulders. His mother kissed his forehead.

“Goodnight, angel,” she whispered. Then they closed the door.

Darkness.

Silence.

And then—footsteps that did not belong to father or mother.

The lock on the backdoor shifted almost soundless. Decades of crime had trained Damian’s hands to break silence as easily as he broke bones. His shadow slid into the home, larger than its walls seemed made to contain.

He dismissed his guards with a single sharp whisper—they stayed beyond, slinking like dogs into night corners. This moment belonged to him alone.

Upstairs, the wooden stairs croaked faintly under his weight, but none stirred. The father’s snores were steady; the mother nestled deeply in sleep.

And inside one small room, glowing faintly under moonlight through a thin curtain, lay the boy.

Damian stepped inside.

For all his life, he had stood inside bloodied warehouses, courts of crime, luxury halls where diamonds glittered. None of it pierced him like this. This—this fragile, sleeping creature. White hair haloed across a pillow. Lips parted in dreams. Arms around a ragged teddy as if salvation was cloth and stuffing.

His chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of innocence.

Damian’s breath came heavier, caught in his throat. His hand lifted, trembling with control, before sweeping aside one lock of snowy hair. Cool strands brushed against his rough fingertip.

The boy shifted faintly, sighing in his sleep. His lips murmured a soft word.

“...Dragon…”

That broke him.

Damian closed his eyes briefly, tortured and blissful. Even dreaming, the angel thought of him.

No, he could not delay any longer.

This world was not safe enough. It was too fragile, too exposed, too filled with other eyes that dared look at what belonged only to him.

He stooped low, carefully sliding strong arms beneath the boy’s slight body. Eirian whimpered faintly in his sleep, clutching teddy tighter, but did not wake. His head lolled soft against Damian’s chest, small against his towering frame.

Damian rose, lifting him as though lifting porcelain that even air could shatter. His crimson eyes burned with devotion—and madness.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into white strands. Voice soft as silk, sharp as oath. “From this night to every night after—mine.”

Outside, the car waited.

Guards looked up as their King emerged from the shadows, carrying something pale against his chest. His black coat cloaked the bundle, but they knew at once: this was no usual spoil of war. This was something different. Untouchable.

The boy stirred faintly, eyes trying to blink awake, silver lashes fluttering. His small whisper surfaced, groggy and confused.

“M-Mama…?”

Damian pressed his lips against Eirian’s hair. “Sleep, angel. You’re safe now… safer than you’ve ever been.”

The boy’s lids fell closed again, lulled by warmth and exhaustion.

Damian entered the car, settling the boy in his lap, cradled like treasure, while red eyes stared out at the moonlit street. The bakery’s window glimmered one last time behind them.

The Hale family dreamed upstairs, believing their son slept in his soft bed. They would not know until dawn their angel had vanished—stolen by a dragon clothed in black.

And as tires whispered against wet roads, carrying them away from quiet streets into the abyss of mafia power, Damian Vorensky finally smiled.

A rare smile.

Possessed.

The angel had been taken from his world.

And placed, forever, into his.

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