The master bedroom of Endrit’s villa was a dark cocoon, where black walls swallowed what little moonlight managed to seep through the heavy velvet curtains. Deep crimson accents—thick rugs, silk throws, blood-red pillows—punctuated the gloom like fresh wounds.
It was a predator’s den, lavish and suffocating.

In the center of the vast bed, Luna lay sprawled like a dream made flesh, her small body dwarfed by the king-sized mattress.
Her pink frock, delicate as a butterfly’s wing, fanned out around her like a crushed blossom against the brutal black linens.
The soft rise and fall of her chest, the faint, sighing breaths escaping her lips—everything about her screamed innocence. Fragility.

And it drove Endrit mad.

He stood at the foot of the bed, a living shadow, stripped down to nothing but black boxer briefs that clung low to his hips.
The ink sprawling across his body—a tapestry of death, oaths, and blood—seemed to pulse in the low light. His muscles tensed and flexed as he stared down at her, fists curling and unclenching at his sides.

Mine.

The word thrummed through him like a war drum, loud and possessive.

Moving with predatory grace, Endrit knelt beside the bed, his knuckles brushing a stray lock of hair from Luna’s peaceful face.
His fingers, so capable of violence, softened when they touched her.
As if she would shatter under too much pressure.
As if even breathing wrong might wake her and send her fleeing before he was ready.

He couldn't have that.
Not yet.

Sliding into the bed beside her, Endrit coiled around Luna like a snake, trapping her tiny form against his much larger one.
Her warmth seeped into him instantly, and he pressed his face against her soft chest, inhaling her scent—vanilla and innocence.
The thudding of her heartbeat against his cheek was the sweetest drug he’d ever tasted.

A soft, strangled sound tore from his throat—something between a sigh and a growl—as his arms tightened around her.
For the first time in years, the demons in his head quieted.
For the first time, he felt... at peace.

And he would burn the world to ash before letting it be taken away.

But the spell broke when Luna stirred.

A soft whimper left her lips as her brows furrowed.
Her body stiffened against his, and he felt the frantic flutter of her pulse under his cheek.
She was waking.
She would see him.

Endrit forced his breathing to slow, feigning the deep, even rhythm of sleep, his lashes slitting open just enough to watch her through the veil of his lashes.

Her Bambi eyes fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the darkness.
For a moment, she was confused—safe, warm, held.
And then the memories slammed into her like a tidal wave.

The gunshot.
The woman’s scream.
The raw violence she had witnessed with her own innocent eyes.

Endrit.

The man who held her now—so tenderly, as if she were breakable glass—was the same man whose hands had been stained with blood just hours before.
The same man who should have silenced her, who had every reason to end her once she saw too much.

But he hadn't.

Instead, he had carried her here.
Had tucked her into his bed.
Had… spared her.

A tremor ran through her slender frame. Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
Fear gnawed at her, telling her to run.
But something else—something warmer, sadder—stirred too.

Gratitude.

Gratitude for the mercy she hadn’t deserved.
Gratitude for the terrifying man cradling her instead of destroying her.

Her heart breaking in confusion, Luna gazed down at Endrit’s sleeping face—so fierce even in rest, the sharp lines of his jaw and the smudged tattoos speaking of a life she couldn’t comprehend.

Maybe he wasn’t a monster.
Or maybe he was—but a monster who had chosen, even for a moment, to be gentle with her.

Her small, trembling hand moved of its own accord.
She leaned down, her pink frock brushing against his inked skin, and pressed the barest, softest kiss to his forehead.

It was a thank you.
A prayer.
A goodbye.

A kiss for the devil who had decided, against all odds, to let her live another night.

Tears pricked at her lashes as she pulled back, her heart shattering into a million confused pieces.
Then, as quietly as she could, she slid from the bed, her tiny body tense with terror and impossible longing.

It was like being branded by fire.

Every instinct in Endrit’s brutal body screamed to snatch her back, to devour that sweetness, to chain it to him forever.
But he stayed still, letting her believe she had fooled him.

Luna crept from the bed, her bare feet whisper-quiet against the cool stone floor.
She stole toward the bedroom door, her pink frock brushing against her thighs, swaying with every step.

The villa’s maze-like corridors stretched out before her, dimly lit, endless.

Panic licked up her spine as she turned left, then right, then left again—only to find herself staring at locked doors, false exits.
The walls seemed to close in, suffocating her.

Hope surged when she saw the main door standing slightly ajar, spilling cold night air into the hallway.

Unaware that Endrit himself had ordered it left open to lure her into another trap.

Luna’s bare feet slapped against the polished floor as she sprinted, the soft thud of her heart deafening in her ears.
She pushed the heavy door open and stumbled out—

Into the garden forest.

Into a labyrinth of moonlit hedges, whispering trees, and night-choked paths.

Behind her, Endrit rose from the bed, taking his time.
He dressed in black pants, leaving his inked chest bare to the cool night.
He slid a gun into his waistband—not for use, but to remind her whose mercy she lived on—and sauntered into the hall after her.

He followed her footprints in the dust of the stone floor.
Her scent—fear and desperation—hung thick in the air.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his throat.

She thought she was escaping.
She thought she was free.

Poor, sweet little princess.

The real hunt had only just begun.