ANNA'S POV
I couldn't breathe.
The walls were closing in on me, and no matter how hard I tried to suck in air, it wasn’t enough.
The dim, flickering light of Damien’s phone barely lit the suffocating darkness of the stuck elevator. My chest heaved violently, my fingers clawing at the fabric of my blouse.
"Anna," Damien's voice was low but urgent. "Hey, hey, look at me."
I tried, I really did, but my vision was swimming. Tears pricked my eyes. I hated this. I hated feeling so helpless.
His hands cupped my cheeks, his palms unbelievably warm. "Breathe, sweetheart. Come on. In... and out," he instructed, demonstrating exaggeratedly like he was teaching a child.
I tried to mimic him, but my body rebelled.
"Okay, new plan," he murmured, and before I could protest, he pulled me onto his lap.
One strong arm wrapped around my waist, the other stroking my hair away from my sweaty forehead.
"What... are you doing?" I croaked, my voice barely audible.
"Grounding you," he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world to cradle your assistant in an elevator during a crisis.
His hand moved in slow, steady strokes down my back. "Focus on me, Anna. Just me. Forget the walls. Forget the dark. Just... feel me."
His body was so warm. It radiated heat like a furnace, and somehow, it cut through the terror clawing inside me.
I buried my face in the crook of his neck without thinking, desperate for anything solid, anything safe.
"You’re okay," he whispered into my hair. "I’ve got you. I’m not letting go."
I clutched his shirt tightly, my knuckles turning white. His scent enveloped me, warm, masculine, with a hint of something wild underneath, something I couldn't name but instinctively trusted.
"That's it, sweetheart," he praised softly. "Just stay with me."
Slowly, so slowly, my breathing began to even out. My heart still raced, but at least it wasn't slamming against my ribs like it wanted to escape.
Damien’s arms tightened around me, pulling me even closer. His lips brushed my temple, lingering for a second longer than necessary.
"You’re doing so good," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my skin.
A small, broken sob escaped my throat, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was relief.
"I hate elevators," I mumbled, my words muffled against him.
He chuckled softly, a low rumble that vibrated through my body. "Yeah, figured that one out, princess."
I swatted his chest weakly, and he laughed again, the sound rich and comforting.
We stayed like that for a while, me practically plastered to him, Damien holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world.
His body heat seeped into me, chasing away the cold sweat on my skin.
Then his hands left me as I saw him dialing a number.
“The executive elevator is stuck.” He said into the phone, our eyes locked.
He hung up almost immediately and then something changed.
At first, I thought I imagined it. The way his body tensed, the way his breathing deepened.
The way the air around us seemed to thicken, like an invisible storm was brewing.
"Damien?" I whispered, pulling back slightly to look at him.
His eyes... oh God, his eyes. They weren't the cool, composed gaze I was used to. They burned — molten, wild, almost feral.
And then I heard it.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating into my body where I leaned against him.
His nose was pressed to my neck, right below my ear, and I felt him inhale deeply, shuddering as he did.
"Damien?" I repeated, more urgently this time.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he squeezed me tighter, his fingers digging into my hips almost painfully. His nose nuzzled against my skin, and I felt his lips part against my neck.
Panic flared in me, but it was dulled, confused by the lingering remnants of my earlier fear and the bizarre sense of safety I felt around him.
"Damien, you're scaring me," I said, trying to push away, but he held me firmly.
"You smell so good," he rasped, his voice barely recognizable. "So... mine."
I froze.
What did he just say?
Before I could process it, his teeth, sharp, deadly, grazed my neck. A jolt of something electric shot down my spine.
"Damien, what are you—" I couldn't finished the sentence.
With a sound halfway between a growl and a groan, he bit down, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make me gasp.
Pain laced with something dangerously close to pleasure bloomed in my neck.
"Mine," he growled again, his voice rough, almost broken. "You're mine, Anna."
The world tilted violently. My fingers clawed at his shirt, my mind whirling.
Mate.
That word echoed in my brain, bouncing around in the haze of fear, confusion, and something darker, something primal that his touch ignited.
He called me his mate.
What did that even mean?
Before I could ask, before I could even think, the edges of my vision went fuzzy. My body sagged against him, all strength leaving me.
"Anna," Damien's voice broke through the fog, panicked and tender all at once. "Stay with me, princess."
But I couldn’t.
The last thing I felt was his arms tightening around me, the last thing I heard was his desperate whisper, again and again; "My mate."
And then, darkness enveloped me