Rosalia's POV

The sound of boots thundered behind me.

My lungs burned, each breath scraping raw through my throat as I sprinted across the dimly lit street. The park loomed ahead, its trees swaying in the midnight wind, shadows folding into shadows. Every instinct screamed that running into darkness wasn't smart, but what choice did I have?

If they caught me... I didn't want to finish the thought.

My heart pounded harder with every step, terror pressing against my ribs. I risked a glance over my shoulder and nearly stumbled two hulking men were closing the distance, their faces twisted with cruel amusement. They weren't running because they had to. They were running because they enjoyed the chase.

Faster, Rosa. Faster.

My shoes slapped against the pavement, echoing through the silent park. My breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment the night blurred around me. I could already feel their hands on me, rough and merciless.

Then I collided with something solid.

I jolted back, expecting the ground to swallow me whole but before I could fall, a strong arm snapped around my waist, steadying me. The scent of smoke and something sharper, colder, surrounded me.

A hand clamped over my mouth.

My scream died in my throat.

I twisted in his grip, panic shooting through me. But then I looked up and froze.

Hazel eyes. Cold. Sharp. Merciless.

They pierced into me with such intensity that my knees threatened to buckle. Darkness lived in those eyes, but strangely, dangerously, so did something else. Protection.

For one heartbeat too long, I was lost in them.

His hand dropped slowly from my mouth, though his gaze never broke from mine.

Shit. My brain snapped back to reality. What if this man was with them? What if I had just run straight into the arms of another predator?

Before I could move, a heavy hand gripped my shoulder. I flinched, raising my fist to fight but the man who caught me moved faster. In one fluid motion, he pushed me behind him, shielding me with his body.

"Hey, asshole!" one of the men jeered, their voices dripping with alcohol and violence. "That pussy is ours."

I trembled, peeking from behind the stranger's back. Both attackers were there broad, smirking, knives flashing under the weak glow of a park lamp.

The man in front of me didn't flinch. His voice cut through the night, deep, husky, laced with steel.
"Not tonight."

"Let's see about that," one of the attackers snarled, stepping forward.

The stranger didn't look at me, but I felt the command in his words. "Stay behind me. Don't move. Don't do anything stupid."

I wanted to protest, to scream, to run but fear strangled my throat. My body obeyed him before my mind could argue.

The first attacker charged, rage twisting his features, his fist cocked back.

It happened in seconds.

The stranger snatched the knife from his hand, twisting his arm so brutally that bone cracked. A cry split the air, cut short when the man's head smashed against the stranger's knee. Blood sprayed as he doubled over in pain.

Before the attacker could recover, the stranger's blade sliced across his throat in one clean motion.

I screamed. The sound ripped from me before I could stop it.

Blood poured, dark and endless, painting the ground as the man collapsed. My body shook, horror clawing through my veins.

The second attacker roared and hurled his knife toward us. The stranger ducked easily, the blade whistling past his head. He rose with terrifying calm, closed the distance in two strides, and slammed his fist into the man's jaw.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Each blow cracked bone, and the man fell, choking on his own blood.

The stranger didn't stop. His boot came down hard on the attacker's skull, a sickening crunch echoing in the air. Silence followed.

Both men lay dead.

My hands flew to my mouth. My breath was trapped in my chest, my heart threatening to tear through my ribs. The scene was grotesque, merciless.

He killed them. He killed them like it was nothing.

And yet... he saved me.

The stranger turned away from the bodies, pulling a white handkerchief from his jacket. His movements were precise, almost elegant, as he wiped blood from his knuckles. He might as well have been cleaning ink stains instead of murder.

Finally, he faced me. The dim park lights caught his eyes pure hazel darkness, void of hesitation.

My body screamed to back away, but my feet stayed rooted to the ground. He'd saved me, yes. But the way he killed them, the ease of it, the casual coldness... it terrified me more than the men who chased me.

"You okay?" His voice was even, like nothing had happened.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod. Words lodged in my throat, useless.

"Alright," he said after a moment. "Where do you live?"

"What?" The word slipped out sharper than I intended.

"Where do you live?" His tone didn't change.

I shook my head quickly. "I'm fine. I'll manage."

One eyebrow rose. "You have a car nearby?"

"No," I admitted. "I... I was going to walk to the bus station."

"I'll walk you there."

"There's no need"

His eyes hardened, his voice a low growl. "Do you not understand? Walking alone right now is suicide. I'm not giving you a choice."

My chest rose and fell too quickly. Everything about him screamed danger. But some part of me some traitorous, reckless part believed him.

I nodded.

We walked in silence, his steps steady, mine shaky. I couldn't stop glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Black hair that caught faint glimmers of moonlight. A jawline too sharp, lips set in an unforgiving line. He radiated power, like every inch of him was carved to dominate.

A killer. A savior. Both in one body.

The bus station came into view, its weak fluorescent light buzzing overhead. I slowed, my lungs loosening with relief.

He stopped too, his gaze scanning the shadows, always searching.

I took a few steps away from him, needing space, needing air. But my eyes betrayed me. They lingered.

On his hair, dark and unruly.
On his hazel eyes, still burning even in the dim light.
On his hands the same hands that had ended two lives minutes ago.

How could something so terrifying look so beautiful?

The rumble of an engine broke the silence. My bus screeched to a stop in front of us, doors hissing open.

I turned quickly, eager to escape the weight of his presence.

"Hey." His voice stopped me.

I looked back.

"Your name," he said. Not a question. A command.

My lips parted, and for a second, I considered keeping it from him. He was a stranger. Dangerous. A man who killed without blinking.

But he also saved me. And deep inside, I knew I'd never see him again.

I smiled faintly, just enough for myself. "Rosalia."

His eyes narrowed, as if tasting the name, rolling it across his mind like smoke. Something unreadable flickered in them.

The bus driver honked impatiently.

I stepped inside. As the doors hissed shut, I looked through the glass one last time. He was still there, standing in the shadows, his hazel eyes locked on me.

I sat down, my hands trembling, my heart still racing.

I told myself I wouldn't see him again.

But deep down, a crazy part of me hoped to see him again

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