Page 20 of Claimed By the Damned

"Ah-ah," I say softly, holding the card out to her. "Rule change. My treat."

She stops, frowning up at me. "Ethan, I can—"

"I know youcan," I cut her off gently, stepping a little closer. "But you don'thaveto. Besides," I lower my voiceconspiratorially, adding a teasing glint to my eyes, "if you make me come over to the counter and pay, I might feel obligated to offer detailed purchasing advice. And trust me, neither of us wants that."

Her cheeks flush slightly pink, and she glares, but there's no heat behind it this time. She looks from the card to my face, then lets out a small, exasperated sigh.

"Fine," she grumbles, snatching the card from my hand. "But only because you're being annoying."

"My specialty," I grin.

She shakes her head but turns toward the counter, using my card to pay. I step back towards the entrance, giving her space but feeling a wave of satisfaction. Baby steps.

She reappears a few minutes later, handing my card back with a pointed look. She holds a small, discreet bag, which she pushes into the collection of larger bags I'm already holding. "Happy now?" she asks, though the corner of her mouth quirks up slightly.

"Ecstatic," I reply smoothly. "One more stop, then we can blow this popsicle stand."

We step back onto the sidewalk. The weight of unspoken words still lingers, but that small laugh earlier and her reluctant acceptance now feel like cracks of light between us. I glance down the street towards a shop displaying cozy blankets and quirky pottery in the window.

"Alright," I say, nodding towards it. "Let's hit that home goods place. Your room's functional, but it feels kind of... sterile. Like a guest room no one uses. You're not just a guest, Angel. Figure you should pick out a few things to make it feel more likeyours. Something comfortable."

She looks surprised, glancing from the store back to me. "I... I don't need anything else."

"Need isn't the point," I counter gently. "It's about feeling settled. Even a new blanket or some stupid little plant or a candle can make a difference. Humor me?"

She hesitates, then gives a small shrug, seemingly too tired or perhaps too thrown by the suggestion to argue further.

I keep my gaze sharp, scanning the street – pure habit honed by years of needing to see threats before they formed. My instincts hum at a low frequency, a constant state of readiness. But then, just as we get a few doors down from the home goods store, the hum sharpens, turning into a distinct prickling sensation down my spine. A silent alarm bell I've learned not to ignore. My gut twists. At that exact moment, my phone buzzes in my pocket. A call from Bastian. I sigh, glancing at Lila. "Give me a second," I mutter, stepping back to answer.

She hesitates but nods, moving ahead toward the next store. I keep her in sight as I answer the call. "Yeah?"

Bastian’s voice is curt. "Just checking in. Everything good?"

"Yeah, mostly," I reply, my voice tight, eyes still locked on Lila nearing the entrance. My gut is screaming now. "Listen, Bas, there's something... something I need to tell you and Ryker when we get back. In person."

There's a beat of silence on the other end, Bastian likely picking up on my tone. Before he can press, Lila glances back, vulnerable for just a second, and then I see them. Two guys, leaning against the wall near the store entrance, their focus locking onto Lila like vultures spotting carrion.

The first guy barely registers, forgettable, but the other... a faded, poorly drawn spiderweb tattoo creeps up his neck from beneath a stained collar, a nasty-looking chip missing from his front tooth visible even from here. Something about their lazy, predatory stillness sets my teeth on edge. Too casual. Too interested.

Lila is a few feet ahead, just out of my immediate reach, when their attention fixes on her. Her whole body goes rigid, her fingers tightening around the small shopping bag she carries.

Shit.

"Gotta go," I say abruptly into the phone, not waiting for a response, and end the call, shoving the phone back into my pocket as I stride quickly towards Lila. Before I can close the distance, the one with the spiderweb tattoo pushes off the wall, a slow, unpleasant smirk stretching across his lips, showing off his chipped tooth.

“Well, lookie here,” he drawls, his voice greasy. “Lost, little thing?”

Lila doesn’t answer. She just stands there, frozen, her breathing too fast, too shallow.

The second guy chuckles, taking a step closer. “What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

She flinches. It’s small, barely noticeable, but enough.

Rage hits me like a freight train.

Before the asshole can say another word, I am between them and her, my stance relaxed but my body coiled tight. Ready.

“Walk away,” I say, my voice calm. Deadly.

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