Rain slashed through the Havenfall streets, a freezing grey curtain that blurred the neon signs of the Red Light District. Zack ran. His bare feet slapped the wet asphalt, every impact sending a jolt of pain up his shins. The iron-heavy scent of the city—grease, exhaust, and ancient rot—clogged his throat.
He needed to vanish. Somewhere the concrete didn't have eyes.
The park. A thick, neglected stretch of old-growth timber bordering the warehouse district.
Zack lunged into the treeline, thorns tearing at his shins. He didn't stop until the city lights were swallowed by the dense canopy of silver firs. His lungs burned, a fire that matched the raw, weeping gashes on his back where Logan’s belt had found purchase.
He looked up. The branches offered the only sanctuary he’d ever known. He climbed, his fingers slipping on the mossy bark, nails breaking as he hauled his emaciated frame into the high dark. He curled into a notch fifty feet up, the rough bark scraping his raw skin. Exhaustion hit him like a physical blow. His eyelids dropped, heavy as lead.
Nathan leaned against the hood of his black SUV, the engine ticking as it cooled. The air in the woods shifted. It wasn't just the smell of pine and wet earth. Something else was there. Metallic. Sickly sweet. Copper and ozone.
His pulse quickened. His grip tightened on the grip of the sidearm holstered at his hip. "You catch that?"
Lucas, his lieutenant, stepped out of the shadows of the passenger side. "Blood. Lots of it. Fresh."
The radio buzzed. “Alpha. Witnesses report a male, mid-twenties, fleeing Havenfall basement. Description matches the ghost boy. Mismatched eyes. Blue and violet.”
Nathan straightened. The Cocolink syndicate didn't deal in ghosts, but the rumors of Logan’s prisoner had been a stain on the city for years. "Stay by the car," Nathan ordered, his voice a low vibration that brooked no argument.
"Nathan, we should sweep in formation—"
"I said stay."
Nathan tracked the scent. It was a trail of desperation. He found the tree within minutes. High up, a flash of pale skin stood out against the dark needles.
He looked up, and for the first time in his life, his heart didn't just beat—it bucked. There, huddled like a wounded bird, was the man. Zack.
"Mine," Nathan whispered, the word unconscious and jagged. The possessiveness hit him with the force of a high-speed collision. He’d spent his life looking for something worth keeping in this gutter of a city. He’d just found it.
Zack woke to the sound of a voice. Deep. Resonant. Like the low hum of a powerhouse.
"Come down, Zack."
Zack peered through the needles. Below, a man stood. Nathan Durand. The prince of the Cocolink empire. He looked different from the posters—harder, his jawline like a piece of carved granite, his eyes a piercing, mercury silver.
"Leave me alone," Zack croaked. His voice was a ruined thing, a ghost of a sound.
"You're bleeding out on my property," Nathan said. His suit was worth more than the basement Zack had lived in for a decade, yet he stood in the mud as if he owned the earth itself. "I don't like messes. Come down or I’m coming up."
"I'm fine," Zack lied. A fresh wave of dizziness washed over him. He gripped the branch, his knuckles white. "Just... the storm. I like the heights."
Nathan’s eyes narrowed. He saw the way Zack’s shoulder slumped, the way the thin fabric of his rags clung to the blood on his ribs. "The storm didn't do those marks on your neck, Zack. Logan did."
Zack flinched. The name was a physical blow. He looked toward the next tree, calculating the jump.
"Don't," Nathan barked. The sheer authority in the tone locked Zack’s joints. It wasn't a request; it was an ultimatum. "I’m losing my patience."
Before Zack could find a breath to argue, Nathan was moving. He scaled the fir with a brutal, efficient grace, his expensive leather shoes finding purchase where Zack had struggled.
Nathan reached the branch. The tree groaned under his weight. He was massive, a wall of heat and tailored wool that crowded Zack’s personal space.
"Don't touch me," Zack whispered, his back hitting the trunk.
Nathan didn't listen. He reached out, his hand—warm, calloused, and steady—gripping Zack’s chin. He forced Zack to face him. The silver eyes searched the blue and violet ones, a predator inspecting a prize.
"Look at you," Nathan growled, his thumb tracing the line of Zack’s jaw. The touch wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel. It was heavy with a terrifying, suffocating interest.
"I can walk," Zack gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Shut up," Nathan muttered. He stripped off his coat, the silk lining cool against Zack’s feverish skin as he draped it over the boy’s shoulders.
Nathan’s hand moved lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of Zack’s trousers. Zack bucked, a strangled sound escaping his throat.
"Relax," Nathan hissed, his voice dropping an octave. "I'm checking the damage."
He pulled the fabric back, revealing the jagged, purple bruising on Zack’s hip where Logan had tried to force his way in. Nathan’s jaw creaked as he ground his teeth. A vein throbbed in his temple.
"He didn't finish," Zack whispered, tears finally breaking. "I broke the bottle. I hit him and I ran."
Nathan leaned in, his forehead resting against Zack’s. "He’ll never touch you again. I’ll peel the skin from his bones for this."
The intensity in Nathan’s gaze shifted. The anger remained, but it was being drowned out by a dark, hungry heat. He stared at Zack’s mouth, his breath hitching.
"You're mine now," Nathan said, his hand sliding to the back of Zack’s neck, his fingers tangling in the matted hair. "Do you understand? You don't belong to the shadows anymore. You belong to me."
Nathan crushed his mouth against Zack’s. It was a collision of teeth and desperation. Zack’s hands flew to Nathan’s chest, intending to push, but his fingers curled into the expensive shirt instead. He was starving for something real, and Nathan was a feast.
Nathan’s tongue invaded, claiming Zack’s mouth with a ruthless, possessive rhythm. One hand stayed locked on Zack’s neck while the other slid down, gripping his waist, pulling their bodies together on the narrow branch.
Zack groaned into the kiss, the sound lost in the thunder rolling overhead. The friction of Nathan’s muscular body against his own ignited a fire that the rain couldn't touch. Nathan pulled back, his eyes dark, blown out with a lust that made Zack’s knees go weak.
"I'm taking you to the penthouse," Nathan rasped. "And then I’m going to show you exactly what happens to things I own."
He didn't give Zack a choice. He hauled the smaller man against him, tucked him under one arm, and began the descent.
Down on the forest floor, Nathan didn't let go. He carried Zack toward the idling SUV. Lucas held the door open, his eyes widening as he saw the state of the boy in Nathan’s arms.
"Get the medic to the penthouse," Nathan snapped, sliding into the back seat without breaking his hold on Zack. "And find Logan. Bring him to the basement of the warehouse. I want him alive for the first hour."
The car lurched into motion. Inside the dim cabin, Nathan didn't move Zack to the seat. He kept him on his lap, his arms a cage of muscle.
"What are you going to do to me?" Zack asked, his head resting on Nathan’s shoulder.
Nathan looked out the window at the flickering lights of Havenfall. He leaned down, his lips brushing Zack’s ear.
"Everything," Nathan whispered. "I’m going to do everything."
