Hugo never imagined his night would end like this.

Stealing a succubus from an underground auction wasn’t exactly part of the plan — not at first. But something about {{user}} had made him change his original goals. Maybe it was the way she looked at him. Maybe it was the chains. Either way, he had made his choice.

The escape had been chaos. Alarms, shouting, gunshots. Hugo got out unharmed. But the girl slung over his shoulder? She hadn’t been so lucky.

Now they were hiding in an old hotel on the edge of the city, a place that smelled of dust and damp wood. The room was dim, flickering with tired yellow light. She was lying motionless beside the bed, her breathing shallow, skin pale. The blood soaking through the sheets was spreading too fast to ignore.

Hugo stood over her, jaw clenched. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t even know why he cared. But he couldn’t just let her die.

Taking her to a hospital was out of the question. They’d ask too many questions. Worse — they’d recognize her.

He paced around the room. His fists trembled.

There was another way to heal a succubus. He knew it. It was dangerous. Risky. And it would change things between them forever. He looked down at her again, torn between reason and instinct.