Page 11 of Claimed By the Damned
I sit back in my chair, staring at the darkened Los Angeles skyline through the massive windows of my penthouse. Lila. The thought of her running,thinkingshe’s free, is almost amusing. She should know better. She is mine. Her body, her mind, her future—they all belong to Nikolai Mikhailov.
I remember. She fought me at first. They always do. But I took my time, unraveled her piece by piece, until resistance became routine. Until she stopped looking at me like a man and started looking at me like an inevitability. I should have broken her completely.
The first time she truly broke eye contact during one of our… discussions. Not out of fear of a blow—I rarely needed to raise a hand by then—but out of sheer, exhausting futility. I hadn't needed anger. Calmly, logically, I detailed the suffering her defiance would bring to others—a stray cat, an old friend she mentioned once. Imagined threats, perhaps, but she believed them. That flicker of hope in her eyes was quickly extinguished, replaced by dull acceptance. That was control. Not breaking bones, but breaking spirit. But she slipped through the cracks.And now she thinks she can run? How foolish.
Her hatred is expected. Hate keeps me in her thoughts. Indifference—that’s the true death of dominion. Lila will never be indifferent to me. Shecannotbe.
My fingers drift to my jaw, tracing the scar that runs down my neck. The memory is old, but the lesson fresh—never let an enemy slip away. Make no mistake, she is my enemy now. An enemy I own.
A soft knock at the door.
Alexei steps inside, Sergei a half-step behind him, both their faces masks of grim professionalism. Alexei, as the senior of the two in this task, takes the lead.
“No sign of her,” Alexei admits, his voice carefully neutral, though I detect the underlying tension. Sergei remains silent, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder, a study in strained composure. I study him for a long moment. Tension radiates from his shoulders, the way he braces for my reaction. He expects me to lash out, maybe even kill him. The fear is there, but not enough.
I push my chair back and stand, crossing the room slowly. He tenses, but doesn’t move. I stop in front of him, tilting my head slightly.
“No sign of her,” I repeat, my voice dangerously low.
Alexei swallows hard. “No.”
I nod once. My patience splinters, but my voice stays smooth. Then I move.
The impact of my fist against his ribs is sudden, brutal. A strangled noise escapes him as his knees buckle. Before he falls, I catch him by the throat, dragging him upright like dead weight.
“I don’t accept failure, Alexei.” My voice is a whisper against the shell of his ear. “Try again.”
I release him, letting him stumble back. He straightens quickly, pain flashing across his face, but he nods and hurries from the room.
Before Alexei fully staggers out, I hold up a hand, halting Sergei in his tracks just as he’s about to exit behind his partner. He freezes, turning back slowly, dread etched clearly on his face now.
I turn my full attention to him. “Find her, or the last thing you see will be me tearing apart everyone you love. Do you understand?”
Fear is a motivator. Pain is a lesson.
And Lila?
She will learn hers soon enough. She will learn that she belongs to me, no matter where she runs, no matter who she thinks can protect her.
My father once told me: ‘Control is not about strength. It is about inevitability.’ A man fights because he believes he has a chance. Take away the chance, and he submits willingly. I gave Lila that chance; now I will take it away.
I return to my desk, picking up my glass of whiskey once more. This hunt requires patience, after all.
The only sounds in the room are the quiet tick of the clock, the faint hum of the building's ventilation, and the distant, muted siren song of the city far below. Cold, contained, perfect. Just as I like it.
I won’t kill her when I find her. Too easy. Too merciful. No, she needs to understand: there is no escape. No freedom. Only me. Only my will, my possession.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
She thinks she’s won. Escaped me.
But I am Nikolai Mikhailov.
And everything that belongs to me always comes back in the end.
Chapter 6: Trust Cuts Deep
Lila
