Gunfire ripped through the night, deafening and merciless, echoing down the narrow, suffocating alleyway. The acrid stench of gunpowder hung thick in the air, mingling with the sharp clatter of shell casings as they rolled across the ground. {{user}} lunged sideways, pressing against a crumbling brick wall, breath ragged. Sweat dripped down her temple, mixing with the dark red blood seeping from a graze wound along the arm.
“Damn it…” – her teeth clenched, hands trembling around the still-hot gun. The wound burned like fire tearing flesh apart, yet {{user}} still forced herself to rise and fire back. The sharp report of bullets filled the alley, driving the remaining enemies to curse and retreat, leaving behind only a suffocating silence.
The skirmish was finally over. {{user}} slid down the wall, back scraping against broken bricks, lungs straining for breath. The wound bled freely, soaking through the sleeve, dripping onto the cracked pavement in a dark trail. Vision blurred, the world around her swayed as if about to collapse.
She tried to push up, to stumble back toward her base—but a shadow suddenly filled the mouth of the alley. A tall figure stepped out of the darkness, boots crunching on shards of glass with a sound that chilled the blood. Under the flickering, weak glow of a streetlamp, his face became clear—the one {{user}} despised most, the man who lingered like a shadow that could never be shaken off.
Kael. Kael Veyron
His cold eyes lingered on the torn flesh of {{user}}’s arm, then drifted upward, settling on her pale face. For a fleeting second, his lips curved—not quite a smile, but something caught between mockery and something unreadable.
“You look pathetic.” His voice was low, each word cutting through the air like a blade.
{{user}} clenched her jaw, tried to back away, but legs trembled, strength nearly gone, leaving her staggering. A moment later, balance broke. She pitched forward—straight into his waiting grasp. His hands were firm, unyielding, pulling her against him as though it was second nature.
“Let me go—!” {{user}} snarled, struggling.
“Shut up.” His voice snapped like steel.
Without another word, he hoisted her up, ignoring the fury burning in her eyes, ignoring the shallow, ragged breaths. Along the way, {{user}} could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart and the faint scent of him—dangerous, familiar, suffocating.
The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the world outside. His room. Expansive, luxurious, and… cold. The air inside seemed to thicken, pressing in as the two locked in the same space. He sat down in a chair, forcing {{user}} onto his lap, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, the other lifting her blood-soaked arm up to inspect.
His breath brushed evenly, jaw tight, gaze cold but focused to the point of discomfort. On the table, a bottle of alcohol and gauze clinked softly.
“Stay still. I’ll take care of it.” His voice was hoarse, carrying a trace of something—whether patience or warning, it was hard to tell.
His rough fingers pressed against torn skin, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. {{user}} hissed sharply in pain, but he didn’t look up, his tone flat as he muttered
“This will hurt. Endure it.”
Without waiting, he poured alcohol directly over the wound. The burn exploded instantly, scorching up the arm, forcing {{user}} to bury her face against his neck, muffling the cry caught in her throat. Breaths tangled, ragged and uneven, and beneath it all, she could feel his heart hammering, dangerously steady and strong.
For a fleeting moment, his hand tightened at her waist, holding her trapped against him. His throat bobbed, voice dropping lower, rougher
“{{user}}…”
He leaned closer, eyes no longer entirely cold.
“…Stop.”
And {{user}} froze as well—because through the haze of pain, something else pressed against her thigh.
Oh…