I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm blaring. My head throbbed, and my throat felt dry and stuffy.

"Ugh, never again," I groaned, rolling over to hit snooze.

Memories of the night before came back in flashes. Marcus. The tall stranger. The car. The hotel. Everything was not clear enough, the only thing that I truly remembered was his face.

I sat up fast, checking my clothes. I was in my pajamas. Had I walked home? I couldn't remember. I stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.

As I patted my skin dry, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There, at the base of my neck, was a mark. It wasn't a purple bruise like a normal hickey. It was a deep, angry red circle with two distinct puncture marks in the center.

"Asshole bit me, but who the fuck bites someone like this, it's called a hickey not a wound" I muttered, touching it. "Ouch," It felt hot and painful as fuck.

I don't have time for this, I need to coverup now because I'm late with a splitting headache. I covered it with concealer and a turtleneck, grabbed my bag, and ran out the door. I was already late for my first Advanced Law seminar.

I slipped into the lecture hall, keeping my head down as I found a seat in the back row. The room was quiet.

"Glad you could join us, Miss Vance," a voice boomed from the front.

I froze. That voice.

All eyes turned to me, I hate when I'm the center of attention. I looked up. Standing at the podium, wearing a crisp white shirt and glasses that made him look terrifyingly intelligent, was the man from the bar.

"I am Professor Alaric Blackwood," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with zero recognition, only cold authority. "And in this classroom, there are no excuses for being late. See me after class."

My heart hammered against my ribs. It was him. He still looked as handsome as that night, but he looked at me like I was nothing but a smudge on his shoe. I am doomed 

I gave a slow nod, looking down at my book, trying to disappear at that moment.

The ninety-minute lecture felt like it was deliberately dragged. I sat in the back row, my hands shaking so hard I couldn't even take notes. Every time Professor Blackwood spoke, that deep, velvet voice sent a spark straight to my body.

He spoke with so much authority, all the ladies in the classroom kept looking at him with lovey-dovey eyes, well I don't blame them. He paced the front of the room as he spoke, but he never looked at me. Not once. It was like the night in the car-the heat, the tension was nothing, I guess it's better this way, no one needs to know of my foolish mistake.

When the bell finally rang, I scrambled to pack my bag. I just needed to get out of the room. I needed to breathe.

"Miss Vance. A word."

The coldness in his tone stopped me mid-step. The rest of the students filed out, whispering and casting curious glances my way. I waited until the door clicked shut before I turned to face him.

He was sitting at his desk, looking through a folder. He didn't look up.

"Your performance today was pathetic, to say the least," he said, his voice clipped. "You didn't contribute to the discussion. You looked... distracted."

"Distracted?" I marched toward his desk, my temper finally flaring. "You're kidding me, right? You were there. Last night. You chased Marcus away. You took me to your car. You..." I stopped, my face heating up. "You know exactly why I'm distracted."

Alaric finally looked up. Behind his glasses, he gave me a cold stare. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I spent my evening reviewing case files at the estate. If you're having personal issues with any boy, keep them out of my lecture hall."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. "You're lying. You're actually lying to my face. I have the bloody hickey on my neck to prove it!" I moved my clothe apart to give him a clear view 

He stood up slowly. He was so much taller than I remembered. He walked around the desk, his presence filling the room until I felt tiny. He stopped just inches away, his cologne sticking out.

"I see a bruise, Elena," he murmured, his voice dropping low. "Perhaps you should be more careful with who you spend your nights with. It looks painful."

"You did this," I whispered, my heart beating against my ribs. "Why are you doing this? Why are you making everything difficult for me like I lost my mind, what do you have to gain?"

"I am doing my job," he said, his gaze dropping to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my eyes. " I don't know what you have stored up in your head, tell me Elena, what do you desire?"

My eyes widened at his question, I had no response immediately, my brain shut down because I don't understand what game he was playing now.

He reached out, his hand hovering near my neck. I froze, my eyes fluttering shut. I expected him to pull away, to keep up the act. Instead, his thumb brushed against the turtleneck I'd used to hide the hickey.

He pulled the fabric down just an inch, his skin making contact with the bruised, sensitive skin.

The contact sent a shiver down my spine, a moan slipped out of my mouth immediately, why is it so sensitive to his touch?

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.

"Does it still hurt, Elena?"

The question caught me off guard, the way he said it made me feel some kind of way, I looked at him staring at his eyes as they turned dark, he looked exactly like last night. Before I could even find my voice to answer, he pulled his hand away and straightened his suit jacket.

"We're done for tonight," he said, his voice suddenly ice-cold again as he turned toward the window. "Get out."

I didn't wait. I grabbed my bag and bolted, my skin still screaming from where he'd touched me

I spent the day walking around campus like a zombie. My neck wouldn't stop itching. Underneath the thick layer of concealer, the mark felt like a living thing, buzzing against my pulse. 

Does it still hurt, Elena?

The way he'd said my name... it was driving me insane. I was a law student. I was supposed to be logical. He can say whatever the hell he wants to but I know it was him that night.

I was so deep in my own head that I didn't hear the hum of the engine.

I stepped off the curb near the university's main gate, my eyes glued to my textbook, when a screech of tires sliced through the air. I looked up, paralyzed, as a sleek, silver sports car-the kind that cost more than my life-swerved, missing my knees by a mere inch.

I fell back onto the pavement, my books scattering everywhere.

"Oh my god! I am so sorry!"

The car door swung open, and a man stepped out. For a second, my heart stopped. The height, the build, the sharp jawline-it was him.

But then he stepped into the sunlight, and the illusion shattered. This man didn't have Alaric's dark, brooding hair; his was a striking, silver, styled to perfection. He wasn't wearing a suit, but a designer sweater that looked soft enough to melt into. And his eyes-while they were that same haunting blue-were dancing with warmth and concern, not cold like Alaric's own.

"Are you hurt? Please tell me you're okay," he said, reaching down to help me up.

"I-I'm fine," I stammered, taking his hand. His grip was firm, but gentle.

"I'm Silas," he said, giving me a smile that could probably end wars. "And I'm a complete idiot for not watching the crosswalk. I was on a conference call and... well, that's no excuse for almost flattening the most beautiful woman on campus."

I felt my face flush. He was charming. Effortlessly charming. Unlike Alaric, who made me feel like a bug under a microscope, Silas made me feel like the only person in the world. I don't know why I'm already clinging onto the idea of Silas but it's not everyday a handsome rich man flirts with you.

"I'm Elena," I managed to say, brushing the dirt off my jeans.

"Elena," he repeated, his voice like honey. He looked at my books on the ground and then back at me. "Look, Elena, I feel terrible. Please, let me make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner tonight. Somewhere quiet, where I can properly apologize for my terrible driving."

I should have said no. I had a mountain of homework, and I was already emotionally exhausted. But I looked at his kind face and thought about Alaric's coldness. I needed a distraction. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn't into my professor. 

"Okay," I said softly. "Dinner sounds nice." I hope I don't regret this decision with a total stranger.

Silas led me to his car, I sat inside, feeling the smoothness of the chair, Silas gave me a smirk before speeding off. He didn't turn on the radio; he just drove, occasionally glancing at me with a smirk that made me want to hide and lean closer all at the same time.

When we pulled up to the curb, a valet in a uniform scurried over. Silas didn't wait for him to open my door. He was already there, offering his hand to help me out of the low-slung seat.

"Relax, Elena," he whispered, his breath catching the stray hairs near my ear. "You're with me. No one here is looking at anything but how lucky I am."

The restaurant, The Golden Lily, was perched on the fiftieth floor. As we walked in, the head waiter bowed-actually bowed-to Silas.

"Sir. Your usual table?"

"The corner, Pierre. We'd like some privacy."

Silas led me to a table overlooking the entire city. Before I could even reach for the back of the chair, he was behind me. I felt the warmth of his body as he leaned in, his hands firmly holding the gold chair and sliding it forward as I sat. His fingers lingered on the wood near my shoulders for a second too long before he moved to his own seat.

"I... I feel like I should have changed," I said, smoothing my skirt. I was wearing my campus clothes-jeans and a decent blouse-but surrounded by women in fancy gowns and diamonds, I felt like a stray cat.

"You're the most interesting thing in this room," Silas said, dismissing my worry with a wave of his hand. He didn't even look at the menu. He just looked at me. "I've already taken the liberty of ordering the tasting menu for us. And the wine-a 1998 vintage. It's light, but it has a bit of a bite. You look like a girl who appreciates a bit of a bite."

My heart did a nervous little skip. A bite. Was he joking? Or was it just a coincidence?

"So, Silas," I said, trying to regain some control over the conversation. "What exactly do you do? Besides almost running over scholarship students?"

He grinned, showing off perfectly white teeth. "I run an Industries. We do a bit of everything-tech, real estate, private security. I spend most of my days in boardrooms listening to men in suits bore me to death. Which is why meeting someone like you is such a breath of fresh air."

"Someone like me? You mean a girl who can't cross the street properly?"

"I mean someone real," he said, his gaze turning intense. "Someone whose eyes tell a story. You're sad, Elena. And you're angry. Why?"

I froze. He was too observant. "My boyfriend-ex-boyfriend-cheated on me. With my best friend. I found them two days ago."

Silas's expression didn't change, but the air around the table felt heavier. "A man who lets a woman like you go is a fool. And a man who hurts you... well, he doesn't deserve to keep his tongue."

The waiter arrived then, placing small plates of seared scallops and truffle cream in front of us. Silas ate, gesturing to me to go ahead. I followed his move, his eyes watching me over the rim of his wine glass.

"Tell me about your studies," he prompted. "Law is a heavy burden for such a young woman."

"I like the order of it," I said, finally relaxing a little as the wine started to hum in my blood. "There are rules. If you break them, there are consequences. It makes sense."

"Rules are meant to be broken by the people who have the power to rewrite them," Silas countered. He reached across the table, his fingers tracing the rim of my glass. "Don't tell me you've never wanted to do something just because it felt good, even if the rules said no?"

I thought of the man in the bar. I thought of the way I'd let a stranger bite me. I thought of the way my body ached when Professor Blackwood looked at me.

"I try to be a good person," I whispered.

"Being good is boring, Elena," Silas murmured. He stood up, but instead of leaving, he walked around to my side of the table. "Walk with me to the balcony? The air is clearer out there."

I followed him out into the night air. The lights twinkled below us like fallen stars. Silas stood close behind me.

"You're shivering," he said. He didn't offer his jacket. Instead, he reached out, his hand sliding over mine where it gripped the railing.

The moment our skin touched, the mark on my neck didn't just itch-it erupted. A blinding heat shot from the puncture marks, down my spine, and straight to my core. It was the exact same feeling I'd had with Alaric. 

I gasped, my legs feeling like jelly.

"Elena? Is something wrong?" Silas asked. His thumb began to stroke the back of my hand, He didn't let go. His grip tightened, and for a split second, that warm, charming billionaire mask slipped. His eyes went dark, the blue turning into a deep, stormy darkness.

He looked hungry. Not for food, but for me.

"I... I just got a chill," I lied, my voice trembling so hard I could barely get the words out.

I felt physically sick with confusion. How was this possible? I was pining for a professor who treated me like garbage, still dreaming about a stranger who had bitten me in a parking lot, and now I was standing on a balcony wanting a billionaire I'd known for three hours to push me against the glass and never let me go.

"You're a very good liar, Elena," Silas whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. "But your pulse is racing. I can feel it against my skin."

I pulled my hand away, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. "I have to go. Please. I just... I need to go home."

"What is wrong with me?" I whispered as I bolted out the door 

The mark on my neck felt like a brand. A mark of shame.

I wasn't just a scholarship student anymore. I was a liar. I was a traitor to my own heart. Why do I feel this way because of Professor Alaric, someone who doesn't care

It's been two days since the encounter with Silas and Alaric. I've tried hard to avoid Alaric but I feel like it's becoming impossible. I have a class with him tomorrow and I'm dreading it.

The library parking lot was quiet and dark. It was nearly midnight, and my brain was fried from trying to memorize property laws, but mostly from trying to scrub the memory of Silas's touch and Alaric's voice out of my head.

I just wanted to get to my car. I wanted to go to sleep and wake up as a normal girl again-the girl who didn't feel like her skin was on fire.

"Elena! Wait up!"

I groaned, my shoulders dropping. Marcus was standing by my old car, looking smug. He'd clearly been waiting for me.

"I have nothing to say to you, Marcus. Move."

"You think you're so high and mighty now?" he spat, stepping into my path. He looked different, his eyes darting around. "I saw you getting into that silver car today. Who was that? Some rich sugar daddy? Is that how you're paying for this semester?"

"It's none of your business. Get out of my way."

He grabbed my wrist, and this time, he didn't let go. His fingers squeezed until I winced. "I made you, Elena. Without me, you're just a girl from the trailer park with a pretty face. If you don't come back to my place tonight and talk this out, I'll call the dean. I'll tell them you're 'servicing' donors for tuition. I'll ruin that scholarship so fast your head will spin."

"You wouldn't," I whispered, horror dawning on me. He was a narcissist, but this was a new low.

"Try me. I have nothing to lose. Now, get in the car-"

A loud bone-shaking roar cut him off.

The sound was deafening, it vibrated through my chest, I looked back and it was a massive black motorcycle, it moved into the parking lot, tires screaming as it drifted in a tight circle around us, kicking up smoke and dust.

The rider was a giant. He wore a worn leather vest over a black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal arms covered in thick, dark tattoos. He killed the engine, and the silence that followed was even more terrifying.

He hopped off the bike, moving closer to us, I felt terrified at his frame. When he pulled off his helmet, I nearly fell over.

It was the face again. Who the fuck did I offend, huh? 

But this version was different, more rugged. His hair was a wild, dark mess, and a rough scar ran through his eyebrow and down his cheek. He looked like he'd spent his life fighting, and winning.

"Let go of her," the biker said. His voice was deeper and more dangerous than Alaric's or Silas's. I can't help but compare because he looks like them but I'm sure they have no business to associate with his kind, not trying to sound bad but look at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Marcus yelled, trying to sound tough despite his voice cracking.

The biker didn't answer with words. He moved faster than I could blink. One second he was ten feet away, and the next, he had Marcus by the throat, slamming him against the side of my car. The door pressed from the force.

"I'm the guy who's going to feed you if you touch her again," the biker growled. He lifted Marcus off the ground by his neck. Marcus's face went purple, his legs kicking uselessly.

"Please! Stop!" I cried out, grabbing the biker's leather-clad arm.

The moment I touched him, the world exploded.

It was like sticking my hand into an open socket. The bite mark on my neck didn't just heat up-it burned my whole body. My knees buckled, and for a second, I thought I was going to faint.

The biker dropped Marcus like a sack of potatoes. Marcus scrambled away, gasping for air, and ran away without looking back.

The biker turned to me. He didn't offer a hand. He stepped into my space, his heavy boots making noise on the pavement, and pinned me against the seat of his motorcycle. He smelled of gasoline, expensive tobacco, and a musky, animal scent that made my inner thighs ache.

"You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" he muttered, his eyes-those same piercing, predatory blue eyes-scanning my face. He reached out, his calloused thumb dragging over my bottom lip.

"Who... who are you?" I whispered, my breath coming in short gasps. My body was betraying me again. I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him. What's wrong with me, what are these men doing to me?

"Name's Killian," he said, his hand sliding up to my neck, his palm covering the mark Alaric had left. "And you're coming with me."

"No!" I shouted, the word finally tearing out of my throat. I shoved his chest with everything I had. "No! I don't know you! Leave me alone, Let me go for fuck sake!"

I was shouting, hoping that someone would hear me. 

"I am not that kind of girl!" I screamed at his face, my voice echoing in the empty lot. "I'm not some... some toy you can just pick up! Stay away from me! All of you, stay away!" I screamed like a mad woman, I was basically losing my mind here and all I could do was run.

I didn't wait for him to respond. I scrambled into my car, fumbling with the keys, my hands shaking so hard I dropped them twice. Killian didn't chase me. He just stood there, his arms crossed over his massive chest, watching me with a dark, knowing smirk.

I drove out of the lot, driving like a maniac until I reached my dorm. I ran inside, locked the door, pushed my dresser in front of it, and collapsed onto my bed.

I was losing my mind.

I laid there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The Professor. The Billionaire. The Biker. They weren't just similar. They had the exact same eyes. The same way of looking at me like I was a piece of meat they were waiting to devour.

What is happening to me? Am I in some game? Where did I go wrong? 

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then again. And again. I tried ignoring it, I had serious things to settle but the constant noise wasn't doing me any good.

A notification lit up the screen. A different unknown number.

12:00 AM:"You're mine to protect, little bird. Try to run again and see what happens. - K"

There is only one person I know that has a name beginning with K and it is that motherfucker.

How did he get my number? I don't remember giving out any information about me. I dropped the phone on the mattress as if it had burned me. My neck began to glow, a faint, red light shining through the fabric of my shirt. 

The pain that followed was something else, I tried clawing at the wound but it only made things worse, what have I gotten myself involved in?

And then, I heard it.

Inside my head, three distinct, low growls vibrated against my skull, harmonizing into a single, terrifying command that made me freeze on spot 

"Ours."

Then everything went dark