*Trigger warnings* SMUT!!! Kidnaping, run away teens,
The headache came first. A dull, persistent throb at the base of my skull, like something pressing too hard from the inside. But I didn't pay it much attention—not at first. I was still trying to shake off the nightmare, still gripping the edge of my my life I could hold onto reality if I just clenched my fists tight enough.
Then, the tingling started.
It crawled up my arms, strange and electric, making my fingers twitch involuntarily. I tried flexing my hands, rolling my wrists, but it didn't go away. If anything, it spread—down my spine, pooling in my legs, turning my limbs into something unfamiliar.
Something wrong.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe through it. Just a lingering side effect of the seizure, I told myself. My body needed time to recover. That was all.
I forced my breathing to slow, trying to ground myself in the present, but the sensations wouldn't fade. The tingling, the flickering shifts in my vision—like I was being pulled between two places at once.
I wasn't sure if this was a side effect of the seizure, or something worse.
Something permanent.
"Hey." Imani's voice cut through the fog. "You good?"
I forced my head up, but the moment I did, another flicker hit me. The room around me wavered, like heat rising off asphalt. For a split second, I wasn't in my bed anymore—I was standing somewhere else.
A dark alley. Dim streetlights flickering overhead. The cold press of a gun against the back of someone's skull.
Miras.
I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. It was like I was there, watching it happen. The shadowed figures surrounding him, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand curled into a fist at his side.
Then—snap. It was gone.
I turned to Imani, my breathing uneven. "Something's wrong," I whispered. "I—I saw him."
"Saw who?"
"Miras." My voice was shaking. "I think—no, I know—he's in trouble."
Imani let out a slow breath, his expression guarded. "Cherish—"
"I'm serious." My stomach churned, my nerves screaming at me. "This wasn't just some memory, it was now. I saw it like I was standing right there." I clenched my fists, the ghost of the vision still rattling inside my skull. "I saw him, Imani. He's in trouble."
Imani exhaled through his nose. "You just had a seizure, Cherish. Your brain's still trying to put itself back together. You're disoriented, probably getting memory fragments mixed in with—"
"No." My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn't let him brush this off. "This wasn't some memory fragment. It was real."
Imani sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm not saying you're making it up, but you just went through hell. Stress, exhaustion, a literal seizure—it messes with your head. You can't trust what you think you saw."
I turned fully toward him, my pulse thudding. "So what, you just expect me to ignore it?"
"I expect you to breathe." His voice had that steady, measured calm—the kind he always used when he was trying to keep me from doing something reckless. "To take a step back before you convince yourself of something that's just your brain misfiring."
I let out a frustrated breath, shaking my head. "You don't believe me."
"I believe you believe it."
Something inside me snapped at that.
I jerked away from him, pressing my back against the bedframe, my fingers curling into fists against my thighs. "I saw him," I said, each word sharp and deliberate. "I felt it. And you're telling me to just—what? Sit here? Pretend I don't know what I know?"
"I'm telling you to think before you throw yourself into another disaster." His voice was low, firm. "Because if you're wrong, if this is just a side effect, you could get yourself killed chasing ghosts."
I swallowed hard, trying to fight the heat building in my chest. My hands were trembling, the remnants of the vision still buzzing under my skin like a warning I couldn't shake.
"I'm not wrong."
Imani didn't answer immediately. He just studied me, his dark eyes scanning my face, calculating. Then, finally, he sighed, rubbing his temple. "Even if you did see something real, Cherish, what are you gonna do about it? You don't even know where he is."
I had no idea where Miras was. The vision had been quick, scattered—an alleyway, streetlights, the cold press of a gun against his skull. No landmarks, no signs, nothing I could use to track him down.
But I couldn't just do nothing.
I reached for my phone with shaky fingers, opening my messages. My last text to Miras was still there—Left on read.
I swallowed, then typed out something new.
Where are you?
My heart pounded as I stared at the screen, waiting, hoping.
The dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then, finally, a response.
Don't.
One word. Cold. Final.
I stood in the dark hallway, listening—waiting for any sign that someone was awake, that someone would stop me before I could even make it to the door. But nothing came. The only sounds were the steady hum of the refrigerator down the hall, the faint ticking of the clock in the living room.
My heart hammered as I took slow, careful steps toward the garage.
If Imani realized I was gone, if my dad woke up and checked the security feeds—no. I couldn't think about that right now.
I needed to be fast.
I needed to be gone.
My hands trembled as I reached the garage door panel and punched in the code. It beeped softly, and the lock clicked open. I exhaled, barely realizing I had been holding my breath, and slipped inside.
The air smelled like motor oil and cold steel. My dad's cars were lined up in their usual spots, sleek and polished, but I didn't have time to be picky. I scanned the options quickly, eyes landing on the black sedan—nothing flashy, nothing that would draw attention.
Perfect.
I rushed to the driver's side and yanked the door open, sliding into the seat. My fingers curled around the wheel as I pressed the ignition. The engine purred to life, quiet but strong.
I put it in neutral and eased my foot off the brake, letting it roll backward as I pressed the garage opener. The door lifted inch by inch, the night air creeping in. My chest tightened as I glanced at the house one last time.
Still quiet. Still safe.
I took a breath.
Then I floored it.
The tires screeched softly against the pavement as I pulled out onto the street, adrenaline burning through me. The tower disappeared behind me in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the dark.
I clenched the wheel, my mind locked on one thing.
Miras.
He was out there. And I was going to find him.
The steady hum of the tires against the pavement barely registered as I yanked down the visor mirror and stared at myself.
The nasogastric tube was still taped securely against my cheek, trailing down into the collar of my hoodie. It was a dead giveaway—anyone looking for me would spot it immediately.
I swallowed hard.
This was going to hurt.
I braced myself, fingers shaking as I reached up and carefully peeled the tape away from my skin. The adhesive stung, leaving a raw patch along my cheekbone. I hesitated, gripping the tube near my nostril, my breath coming sharp and uneven.
Then, with one swift motion, I pulled.
A sharp, burning sensation ripped through my throat and sinuses, my stomach twisting violently as the tube slid free. I choked, gagging as I tossed it onto the passenger seat. My eyes watered, the taste of bile rising in the back of my throat.
I forced down a breath.
It was done.
I wiped at my mouth with the back of my sleeve and cranked the window down, letting the cold night air rush against my face.
No more hospital equipment. No more looking sick, looking vulnerable.
No more reasons for anyone to stop me.
The first time I saw the headlights in my mirror, I didn't think much of it.
It was late. The streets were mostly empty, just the occasional passing car or flickering streetlamp casting long shadows against the pavement. But as I took another turn, the headlights stayed with me.
My pulse quickened.
I checked again—same distance, same steady pace.
Not too close. Not too far.
Following.
I swallowed, my grip tightening on the wheel. This wasn't just some random driver heading in the same direction. I turned again, sharper this time, slipping onto a side street near an old industrial lot.
The car followed.
My stomach twisted.
This wasn't Imani. If it was, he would've pulled up beside me already, cutting me off and demanding I turn back. This was someone else.
Someone who wasn't in a hurry.
A cold weight settled in my chest. I flicked my eyes between the road and the mirror, trying to make out the shape of the car behind me, the angle of its headlights, anything that could tell me who they were. But it was too dark. Too far away.
I pressed harder on the gas.
The car behind me did the same.
Shit.
Slamming the wheel to the right, I yanked the car onto a narrow side road, tires screeching against the asphalt. The headlights behind me swerved to follow.
My heart pounded.
They weren't letting me go.
The headlights in my mirror flared, too bright, too close—
Then the car swerved.
I barely had time to react before it cut me off, jerking into my lane, tires screeching.
"Shit—"
I slammed the brakes. The world lurched, the seatbelt locking tight against my chest as my car skidded, barely stopping before I slammed into the one in front of me. My heart was in my throat, breath coming too fast, too sharp—
The driver's door opened.
And Miras stepped out.
My pulse pounded as he stalked toward me, his movements sharp, controlled—but radiating fury. The moment he reached my door, he wrenched it open.
"Get in. Now."
His voice was low, edged with something lethal.
I swallowed, my whole body still shaking from the near crash. But I wasn't too shaken to glare up at him.
"What the hell, Miras—"
"Not here." His jaw was clenched, his whole posture rigid. "Now, Cherish."
I opened my mouth to argue—because I always argued—but something in his face stopped me. Not just the anger. Not just the frustration.
Something colder.
Something dangerous.
He wasn't just pissed. He wasn't just being controlling or overprotective.
He was afraid.
"Take the keys, leave the car."
Miras didn't wait for me to argue. The second I was inside, he slammed my door shut, rounded the front of the car, and got behind the wheel.
The engine roared as he threw it into gear, yanking the wheel sharply. My stomach lurched as we swerved back onto the road, tires screeching. The speedometer climbed—50, 60, 70—faster than I'd ever seen it before, but Miras's hands were steady, his eyes locked onto the road ahead.
I forced myself to breathe, my heart still hammering from the near crash. "Where are we going?"
Miras didn't answer right away. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought he might break something.
Finally, without looking at me, he said, "Getting you out of here before they find you."
I gripped the seatbelt across my chest. "They? Who?"
Miras didn't respond. He just pressed harder on the gas.
That was answer enough.
I turned in my seat, looking out the back window. The road was dark, empty except for the streaks of headlights in the far distance. Maybe I was paranoid, maybe it was nothing—
But I swore one of those headlights moved when we did.
My pulse spiked. "Miras—"
"I see it." His voice was tight.
I turned back to face him. His hands were like stone on the wheel, but his shoulders were tense, muscles locked up like he was waiting for the moment things got worse.
The moment they caught up.
I clenched my fists. "We can't just run—"
Miras let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "This isn't running. This is getting you out."
I hated the way he said it. Like I was the only one in danger. Like he wasn't.
I swallowed. "And what about you?"
Miras didn't answer.
And somehow, that terrified me more than anything.
The car sped down the empty road, the tires humming against the asphalt, but the tension in the air was unbearable. I could feel it pressing in from all sides, suffocating me as the world outside blurred into the night.
I glanced back again, just to be sure. The headlights were still there, too close.
"Who's following us?" I asked, my voice sharp, even though I could hear the hesitation in it. The last thing I wanted was for Miras to think I was doubting him.
"Doesn't matter," he said, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. His voice was tight, like he was holding something back. "What matters is getting you off the radar. They won't stop until they get what they want."
"What do they want?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He didn't answer right away. He didn't have to. I saw the way his jaw tightened again, the way he gripped the wheel even harder. He wasn't just afraid for me.
He was terrified for himself too.
I leaned forward, keeping my gaze on the road ahead. "Miras, I need you to tell me what's going on. I can't just—"
"I know you're scared." His voice cut through the silence, but it was lower, softer now. It was a rare moment of vulnerability. I didn't know if I should be relieved or more afraid. "But this isn't something you can fix."
That stung. I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised his hand, cutting me off.
"I'm not saying you're helpless," he added, his voice hardening again. "But this isn't about you and me anymore. You're in the middle of something bigger. Something I can't protect you from, no matter how much I want to."
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to feel in that moment. Anger? Fear? Both? I clenched my fists in my lap, but I could feel the tears pressing behind my eyes. This wasn't just about my powers anymore. It was about Miras—about him not trusting me enough to tell me the truth.
I swallowed hard. "I need to help you."
Miras flicked a glance at me, his expression unreadable, but for just a second, I saw something in his eyes.
He was about to say something, but then, without warning, he swerved the car hard to the left. My stomach lurched.
"What the hell—"
Miras didn't answer. He was already slowing the car, taking a sharp turn into a narrow, poorly lit street that barely looked like it led anywhere. The headlights from the car behind us grew dimmer, and the sound of their engine faded.
I glanced at him, confused. "Where are we?"
"Safehouse," Miras muttered, eyes scanning the area like a hawk. "For now."
He killed the engine and turned to face me. "Stay low. We don't know how long we've got before they catch up."
I nodded, but the words still rang in my head.
Something bigger.
Something I couldn't protect you from.
The air in the safehouse was cool and smelled like dust, the kind of place you'd expect to find after running through miles of uncertainty, after hiding from things you couldn't quite understand. Miras led me through a narrow hallway, his pace steady, but there was an urgency in the way he moved. His hand brushed the wall, fingers brushing over faded paint, as if he were looking for something more than just a way inside.
I hesitated at the door before stepping in, my heartbeat still erratic, adrenaline kicking through my veins.
"Stay close," Miras muttered, his voice tight.
I nodded, but my eyes were darting around the dimly lit room. It was small—barely enough space for both of us to fit, and the low hum of an old refrigerator was the only sound, aside from the rhythm of our breathing. The walls were lined with old crates, stacks of crates, as if this place had been abandoned for years.
"How did you know where to find me?" My voice was quieter than I wanted, a little more shaky than I cared to admit, but it came out anyway.
Miras didn't look up at first, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the device on the table. It was like he was trying to hold the answer back, like he didn't want to say it.
But I wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. Not when I felt like I was being pulled in every direction without knowing the full story.
"How?" I repeated, this time stepping closer, my words pushing harder.
Miras's eyes flicked to mine, his jaw tightening for just a moment before he let out a slow breath. "I had a feeling."
A feeling. That was it?
I folded my arms, not buying it for a second. "You're telling me you just 'had a feeling' that I'd show up at that place? After everything that's happened? What kind of feeling are we talking about?"
He didn't respond right away, his gaze drifting over my shoulder as if he was weighing how much to reveal, or maybe deciding whether it was worth explaining to me at all.
"I knew you'd do something reckless," he said, his voice tight. "You don't exactly take the safest route when you get an idea in your head."
My chest tightened, the frustration bubbling up again. "So you were waiting for me to get myself into trouble? You knew I'd be stupid enough to come here and you were just... ready for it?"
His eyes darkened slightly, but he didn't flinch. "I knew you were looking for answers. I wasn't about to let you get yourself caught."
I opened my mouth to argue, but something in the way he said it—like he genuinely cared whether I ended up dead or worse—stopped me.
"But how did you know where?" I asked again, my voice softer this time, the edge of my frustration dissipating slightly. "Did you track me?"
He hesitated for a long time, fingers tapping against the table. "I might have had a little help. But I didn't want you to be alone, not when you're walking straight into the mess we're trying to get away from."
"Help?" I repeated. "Who helped you? How?"
Miras's gaze flicked away, like he wasn't sure whether to share that part with me. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and for a second, it was like he was pulling back into that shell of his.
"Doesn't matter," he said, his voice hardening again. "What matters is that you're here now. And that's the only thing I need to focus on."
I bit back the frustration that threatened to spill out again. Not the answer I wanted, I thought bitterly. But then again, when had Miras ever given me a straight answer?
I wanted to press, to dig deeper, but part of me—part of me that hated to admit it—knew that pushing him too hard right now wouldn't help either of us.
The tension in the air was thick, a sense of urgency hanging around Miras as he moved through the safehouse. His movements were sharp and precise, like he'd done this a thousand times before. The way he checked the windows, tested the locks, and set up surveillance systems—everything he did felt like it was part of a well-rehearsed routine.
I leaned against the wall, watching him, something heavy weighing in my chest. This wasn't the Miras I'd seen before. He wasn't the one who fought for me on instinct, the one who pulled me out of trouble without thinking. No, this version of Miras was colder, harder, like a soldier preparing for war. I'd always known he had his demons, his scars, but watching him now—it was different. This was the side of him I hadn't seen, the one that had been forced to survive in a world full of threats and shadows. When he finished setting up the last of the equipment by the door, he finally turned to me, his face unreadable. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to pin down.
"You should sleep."
I scoffed out a laugh, "and leave you here to guard this place all night?"
"Someone has too."
I could feel the tension in the air, thick and almost suffocating, as he stood there, unmoving. Miras always had that ability to command the room, even in silence. I studied him, trying to read between the lines of his rigid posture, the way his jaw clenched just slightly. This version of him wasn't the comforting presence I'd known—no, this was a soldier preparing for something much darker than I wanted to imagine.
It wasn't long before I felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at me, every muscle aching for rest, but I still couldn't shake the unease that clung to me like a second skin. The air in the room was thick, and every noise seemed amplified in the silence. It wasn't just the events of the day—it was Miras, the distance between us, the change in him that I couldn't quite understand.
I rolled over, hoping sleep would claim me, but it wouldn't come. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet my mind. The sound of soft footsteps broke the stillness, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if I was imagining it. But then I heard the bed creak as someone settled beside me.
Miras.
I didn't even have to look to know it was him. His presence filled the space, familiar and comforting in its own way, but it still felt like a shadow of the man I knew. The weight of his body next to mine was different—there was no warmth of reassurance, no comforting embrace. He was just there, his stillness matching mine.
"Go to sleep," he murmured, his voice low, rough, like he hadn't said much in hours. He shifted closer, just enough for me to feel his breath on my neck, but he didn't touch me. Didn't reach out.
I exhaled, my chest tight, and turned my head just slightly to look at him. His profile was a hard line in the dim light, eyes closed, but there was something about the way he held himself—so controlled, so distant. It was like I could see the cracks in his armor, even if he tried to keep them hidden.
"I don't know if I can," I said, barely above a whisper. I didn't want to admit it, but I felt like I was losing him, and it made the world feel even more uncertain.
His fingers brushed the edge of my hand, just enough to make me freeze, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his hand settled there, gentle but firm, like a silent promise. Miras pulled me in by my waist, pinning me against him.
"Miras?" I whispered, closing my eyes to keep the tears in.
"Cherie?"
"Kiss me."
The words hung in the air, fragile and hesitant, as if the very act of speaking them might shatter the delicate balance between us. I didn't open my eyes, afraid that if I did, I'd see the hesitation in his gaze, the walls he'd built between us.
But instead of pulling away, Miras shifted closer, the heat of his body almost unbearable in the quiet darkness. His breath was shallow, and for a moment, it felt like everything paused—like the world outside that room didn't exist anymore, like it was just the two of us, tangled in this space of unspoken things.
His hand, which had been resting near mine, moved slowly to my cheek, his touch featherlight. I could feel the tension in him, like he was holding himself back, weighing the cost of what might happen next.
"Cherie…" he murmured again, the name sounding almost like a question.
But then, with a quiet exhale, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against mine. It was soft at first, like he was testing the waters, unsure if I needed him to take it slow or if I was truly ready for this.
But when I responded, the kiss deepened, slow and uncertain at first, like we were both trying to navigate this unfamiliar territory between us. His fingers slid into my hair, pulling me closer, and the warmth between us grew, washing over the ache in my chest. The world outside that room—outside of him—seemed to fall away.
The kiss had ignited something in both of us, a longing that had been buried beneath the surface, masked by the weight of everything else. Miras's fingers traced the line of my jaw, his touch lingering as if he were afraid I might disappear if he let go.
I tilted my head slightly, eyes half-lidded as I met his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something raw, something vulnerable—that I hadn't seen in him before. It was almost as if the world outside of us didn't matter anymore, that all that mattered was the space between us, and the quiet intensity of the moment. His lips brushed over mine again, slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring the touch, like he needed to make sure this was real. His hand slid down my neck, fingers grazing over the sensitive skin, and I couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through me. Slowly, he leaned in again, this time more urgent, his lips pressing against my throat, trailing down to the soft spot just below my ear. The sensation sent a wave of warmth spreading through me, and I found myself responding instinctively, my fingers digging into his shoulder as I pulled him closer.
His hands roamed over my body, not rough, but with a quiet intensity, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me. I could feel the restraint in him, the way he was holding himself back, trying not to rush, but the tension between us was building with each touch, each kiss.
"Miras…" My voice was barely a whisper, but it felt like a plea. A request for something more, something that couldn't be said out loud.
He met my gaze, his lips hovering over mine, breath mingling with mine in the space between. "Tell me what you need," he murmured, the words coming out low and ragged, like they were just as much a plea as mine.
"You."
Miras pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine for some kind of reassurance. "Are you sure?" he whispered, voice thick with need. There was a hesitation in his words, a desire to make sure I was as ready for this as he was.
I gave a quick nod before the need to kiss him pulled me back in, "please."
Miras's hands reached for my sides, slowly working their way up before just stopping shortly at my chest.
"You have promise me that if you want to stop, you'll tell me."
"I promise."
In one swift motion, Miras was on top of me, alreadying taking off his own shirt. Seeing me do the same must have surprised him, because he stopped.
"God, you're perfect."
Our kiss didn't last long, he was already quickly making his way down my neck, leaving bite marks as he made his way towards my bra. He reached his arm underneath my back, unclipping it with a single pinch. I smirked at him as he sent my bra flying across the room. "Someone's cocky."
"You have no idea."
Miras leaned back down, forcing a moan out of me as his fingers teased my nipple.
"That's my new favorite sound."
I was already gripping the sheets, this new sensation radiated throughout my whole body. Every ounce of me demanded more. God, I needed more. I felt another nip at the sensitive spot behind my ear, and I whimpered.
"Let me take care of you," Miras whispered in my ear, his hot breath causing my face to flush. "I don't want anything in return. Just please keep making those pretty noises."
I felt Miras's lips on my chest, his tongue swirling around my nipple while he continued to play with the other one.
"Oh god…"
Miras's lips smirked against me, sending another round of pleasure rippling through my body. "Are you a virgin, Cherie?"
I gulped, unsure of how my answer would change things. "Yes." I was more than just a virgin. No one had ever touched me, I had never touched me. These sensations were new, uncharted territory. And somehow I think Miras knew. His fingers traced down my stomach, hooking themselves into the waistband of my band of pants. My body shivered from the cold, but all I could think about was him, and how I desperately needed more. I didn't even care about the fact that I was laying in front of him in nothing but my underwear. My pants were tossed off in another unknown direction. For a second, nothing happened. Miras's eyes scanned over my entire body, refusing to skip over a single thing.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Miras scoffed as if he couldn't believe it.
His touch reconnected with my near my ankle, very quickly moving my way up my leg before stopping at my thigh, inches away from where I wanted them to be.
"I'm just going to touch you, ok? Help you relax."
His fingers only graced the fabric of my underwear, but it was enough to make my entire body jerk. I could hear the sounds of Miras's smirk—far too amused by this. His fingers ran over me a second time, this time with pressure and purpose.
"Holy fuck—-Miras."
"We're just getting started, baby girl." A heat formed in my core as his fingers circled around my clit, starting off big but so slowly making them smaller. "You're already so wet."
An unrestrained moan echoed and the room, Miras's posture stiffened.
"That's it, let me hear them."
My first curled around the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto. Miras's fingers circled a few more times, causing an unfamiliar feeling to consume me, one that I wished would never go away. He raised his other hand to his mouth, inserting his middle and index finger, coating them with his saliva.
"What are you—"
My question was cut off by the sudden feeling of his fingers inside me. My moan was so loud it was nearly a scream. Miras stayed still for a second, allowing me to adjust before slowly moving his middle and index finger in and out. I felt his fingers curl inside me, and my back involuntarily arched.
"There you go," Miras's voice was soft, full of lust. "You're doing so good, Cherie."
I couldn't even process his words, all I could focus on was him, how he was making me feel, and how badly I needed him to continue.
"Please…don't stop."
"What?" his fingers sped up as proceeded with his sarcastic question. "I didn't hear you."
"Please for the love of God, Miras," my body clenched around him, trying to lock in this sensation forever. "Don't stop."
"I think the only thing hotter than hearing you moan, is hearing you beg." A third finger slid in, making me need him more. "Tell me when you're ready."
"Now—-please."
I struggled to speak, a coil tightened in my stomach, and I knew that I was close. But I didn't want to come, not yet.
Miras didn't need pushing, he slowly pulled his fingers out, letting me savor the feeling for a little longer before reaching to undo his belt. I looked at him, my breath still ragged as I watched him undress. He stood up from the bed, letting his pants fall before pulling off his boxers. Miras looked painfully aroused, he pumped his dick a few times with his hand before climbing back onto the bed, positioning himself in front of my entrance.
"Tell me if it's too much. We can stop or go back."
I nodded, but stopping was the last thing I wanted to do right now. Miras grabbed my hand, giving me something to hold onto as he slowly pushed his way inside me.
Pleasure hadn't consumed me like it had before. I could feel the burn—the stretching—the feeling of my virginity breaking. But it was bearable. Miras stopped again, only this time he was also gasping.
"Holy fuck Cherish."
We stayed still for a few seconds. Miras's forehead rested against mine, breathing in each other's gasps. His hand reached up, pulling the hair away that stuck to my forehead.
"Are you ok?"
I nodded, but still wasn't completely adjusted to this new feeling.
"I'm going to start moving—slowly. It'll hurt for a few seconds but it will get better, I promise. If you need me to stop, that's all you have to say."
"I trust you."
Miras pulled back only a few inches before slowly pushing back in. He strangled a moan, trying not to show how good it felt. I held back a wince, if I could get through torture and dying multiple times, I could get through sex. Each thrust, Miras pulled back a little further, his speed increasing. It only took a few minutes before the pain inside me was replaced with the sensation my body was desperately craving. And once it had, both of us began to lose control.
Miras's hands grabbed mine, pinning them to the pillow beside my bed. I gripped him helplessly, my moans had turned into his name mixed with whatever curse words fell out of my mouth. And he was loving every second of it.
"Good girl, keep moaning my name."
He released one of my hands, pushing his hand down on my lower stomach. It was more a scream than a moan, but whatever sound I made only encouraged Miras further.
"Oh, you like that." He pushed his hand down again, resulting in the same sound escaping my mouth.
"Fuck—feels—so good."
"I love it when you scream," Miras pushed down a third time, only this time, he didn't let up. The overwhelming pleasure quickly took control of my body, my orgrasm approaching whether I was ready for it or not.
"Miras–fuck–-I can't, I'm gonna—"
"Cum," he finished my sentence. "It's ok, I've got you."
As if permission was all I needed, I felt my first orgasm take control over my body. My back arched, and my free hand desperately gripped onto Miras's bicep for stability. Any air I had left my lungs, and the edges of my vision were turning white.
"Oh fuck—Cherish," I felt Miras's release before he could warn me, but I didn't care. The way he twitched inside me as he came only sent aftershocks of pleasure radiating through my spine. Miras moved slowly, helping me ride out the high of my orgasm until we were both gasping for air. My legs—no, my entire body was shaking, trying to comprehend the feeling I had just experienced.
Miras shifted his weight onto his elbow, making a conscious effort not to put any of it onto me. He reached his hand into my hair, pulling me into a kiss. "You felt so good."
I could only breathe in air as a response, still not over the shock of what had just happened. Miras kissed my forehead, resting his head there for a second as if he was trying to saviour this moment. I closed my eyes, wrapping my hand around his arm that was still in my hair. "I love you."
I could tell Miras was taken aback by what I said, even if he was trying not to show it. It was the first time I had ever said it. Even more so, I had hated him a week ago, refused to talk to him, or to let him touch me. Now his touch was all I wanted.
"I love you too, Cherie," he whispered. "God, I love you so much." There was something emotional behind his voice, something he was trying to hide from me. I pretended I didn't hear it, not daring to ruin the moment. "We should get you cleaned up. There's got to be clothes around here somewhere."
I held back a sigh, not ready for this moment to be over.
"I'll find some clothes if you want to take a shower."
I reached for the blanket wrapping it around me as if he hadn't already seen me completely naked a few minutes ago.
"Meet me in there?"
Miras looked back at me with a smirk, "absolutely,"
****
The morning light filtered in through the thin curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. The warmth of it touched my skin, but it wasn't what woke me. It was the steady rise and fall of Miras's breathing beside me, the quiet weight of his arm draped over my waist, anchoring me to the present.
I blinked slowly, still caught between sleep and wakefulness, my body heavy with exhaustion but wrapped in a comfort I hadn't felt in so long. Miras was warm against me, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm, his presence grounding in a way I hadn't expected.
I turned my head slightly, careful not to disturb him, just to take him in. His face was softer in sleep, the hard edges of him momentarily dulled, the tension that so often held his body coiled now unwound. He looked younger like this, peaceful in a way I knew wouldn't last once he woke.
My fingers twitched with the urge to reach up, to trace the lines of his face, to feel the reality of him beneath my touch. But I hesitated. I wasn't ready to break this fragile moment, wasn't ready for the shift that would come once his eyes opened and the weight of the world settled back onto his shoulders.
But as if he could sense me watching, Miras stirred, his fingers flexing against my hip before tightening slightly, as if instinctively making sure I was still there. His brow furrowed for the briefest second before his lashes fluttered open, those sharp, storm-dark eyes finding mine in the hazy light of morning.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just looked at each other, caught in the space between what had happened and what came next.
Then, his voice, thick with sleep, broke the silence. "You're staring."
I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, a quiet huff of amusement escaping me. "Maybe."
His lips curved, just barely. "Creep."
I nudged him lightly with my elbow, but he didn't let me go. Instead, he pulled me closer, his grip firm but unhurried, his forehead pressing against mine for just a second before he exhaled.
"Morning," he murmured.
"Morning," I echoed, my voice softer than I meant it to be, like the moment demanded quiet.
Miras didn't move to let me go, and I didn't pull away. His warmth surrounded me, the steady press of his arm across my waist, the slow rise and fall of his chest against my back. It was easy—easier than anything had been in a long time.
For a while, we just lay there, letting the morning settle around us. The world outside hadn't caught up to us yet. No urgency, no threats. Just the two of us in the golden hush of early sunlight.
Miras shifted, his fingers brushing over my ribs before he lifted his hand, tracing absent patterns along my spine. "How's your hand?" His voice was quieter now, careful.
I flexed my fingers under the blanket, testing the stiffness. The ache was familiar, duller than before but still there, a reminder that some things never quite go away. "Manageable."
Miras hummed, skeptical. His hand moved, sliding down my forearm until his fingers ghosted over mine. He didn't push, didn't press, just held me there, waiting for me to decide what I wanted to do with the space between us.
I curled my fingers into his, letting the warmth of him seep into my skin. "Better when you're not looking at it like that."
His lips quirked, but the concern didn't leave his eyes. "Like what?"
"Like you're planning a murder."
Miras huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No promises." But he didn't pull away. His thumb brushed lightly against my knuckles, grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.
Silence stretched between us again, comfortable, but it didn't last.
A knock on the door shattered the stillness. Three sharp raps—too firm, too controlled.
Miras was already moving before I could fully process it, the warmth of him vanishing as he sat up, muscles tensed, eyes sharp. My stomach twisted.
We weren't alone anymore.
Miras was off the bed in an instant, his movements fluid and controlled, but I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched toward the knife he always kept within reach.
I pushed myself upright, heart pounding, every sense sharpening in the sudden shift from comfort to alertness. Whoever was at the door—they weren't here for anything good.
Another knock, this time slower. Measured.
Miras glanced at me, and in that split second, we both knew—whoever it was, they weren't just some early morning visitor.
He moved to the door but didn't open it, pressing his back against the wall beside it instead. He tilted his head, listening.
"Who is it?" His voice was steady, controlled, but I could hear the edge in it.
A pause. Then—
"Room service."
So they had a sense of humor.
Miras held up a hand—stay put—before reaching for the door handle. But instead of opening it, he twisted the lock shut, then stepped back, pressing a finger to his lips.
Whoever was outside chuckled. A slow, deliberate sound that made the hairs on my arms rise.
"We know she's in there," the voice continued, easy, almost amused. "And we know she's awake. Let's not make this difficult."
My stomach knotted.
Miras moved before I could. He grabbed my wrist, his touch firm but not rough, guiding me toward the back of the room. "We're leaving," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. But just as we turned toward the bathroom—toward the emergency exit we hadn't thought we'd need this soon—something heavy slammed against the door.
The lock rattled. Another hit.
Then—
The crack of wood splintering. They were coming in.
I felt the surge of panic before I could even take a full breath. The energy that had been simmering just beneath the surface for days flared to life, quick and violent, responding to the danger, to the fear creeping into my chest.
Miras's grip on my wrist tightened, but he didn't flinch. His eyes were trained on the door, the muscles in his jaw working as he made his decision. We need to move. Now. His gaze flickered toward the window, but I saw the uncertainty there too—too risky, too exposed.
A third impact shook the door, this one more forceful, the hinges screaming under the pressure. I could hear the sound of boots scuffing on the floor outside, the scraping of something sharp on metal.
"Cherish." Miras's voice was low, urgent, but there was a subtle, growing tension in his tone. His hand never left mine, never stopped pulling me toward the bathroom.
But the energy—my energy—was thrumming through my veins, singing with a wild, dangerous potential I couldn't control. My fingers tingled, a current racing through me that felt both terrifying and intoxicating. I could feel it pressing at my skin, begging to be released. My chest tightened in reaction, each breath coming faster, shallower.
Miras didn't notice. He was already focused on the door, calculating his next move. He was trained—he knew how to handle this. He'd always known how to handle everything. But this… this was different. And I wasn't sure I could trust myself with what was happening.
Another hit. The door splintered more, the sound of cracking wood making my skin crawl.
I took in a shaky breath. "Miras, I can't… I'm not—I'm not ready for this. I can't—" I stumbled, my voice catching in my throat. The energy was too much—it was tearing at me, clawing its way up, wanting out.
Miras's face was still focused, his eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a hard line. "You don't have a choice."
But then, the flicker of hesitation passed through him. He glanced down at me, and I saw the rawness in his eyes, the fear that wasn't for himself. He had seen me at my worst. He had seen the aftermath of when the energy got out of control. He knew what I was capable of.
He wasn't going to say it, but I could feel it. Don't let it happen again.
But it was already too late. The moment the door was struck again, the energy exploded outward.
I didn't even know I was doing it, but suddenly, the room was charged, the air heavy and electric, humming with raw power. It wasn't just the energy I'd been trying to control—it was panic, desperation, the fear of what might happen next.
I felt the walls pulse around me. The air itself seemed to bend, rippling with the force of my panic. I gasped, stumbling backward as the energy surged uncontrollably, a violent storm within me that I couldn't contain. The door shuddered, but the pressure from inside was more intense. I could hear the men outside trying to break through, but the energy had taken on a life of its own. It wasn't just shaking the door—it was cracking it.
The heat in the room rose to a suffocating level, the power of it crashing through my senses, twisting the space around us. The men outside were shouting now, their voices distorted through the growing wave of force I was creating.
"Miras, I—" I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control it.
And then, with one final scream of defiance, the door exploded inward, the frame splintering into a million pieces as the men rushed in—only to be met with the full force of what I had unleashed.
The world seemed to slow in that moment, the crash of the door and the violent surge of energy cutting through the air like a lightning strike. The men, their faces frozen in shock and disbelief, staggered back as the pulse of raw power filled the room. Their weapons—their voices—all vanished beneath the weight of it, drowned out by the chaos I had unleashed.
But it didn't stop there.
The force was too much. Too much for me to handle, too much for anyone in that room. The men didn't even have a chance to raise their guns. One was thrown back against the wall by an invisible force, another crumpled to the ground as though the very air had turned to lead, heavy and suffocating. I could feel the panic rising in my chest, the frantic realization that this—this was everything I had been trying to avoid.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to concentrate, trying to hold it together, but the energy surged again, more uncontrolled than before, a whirlwind of power twisting the space around me. It was as if everything—everything—was being pulled into the current of my fear.
"Cherish!" Miras's voice cut through the haze of power, urgent, desperate. But I couldn't—I couldn't stop it.
"Stop it! Please—stop it!" Miras shouted, his hand on my arm, trying to ground me. But I was slipping. His words were just sounds against the force rippling through my body.
The walls shook. The furniture rattled violently. The men were scrambling now, trying to recover, but it was useless. The weight of the energy in the room was more than they could handle. One of them tried to fire a shot, but the bullet ricocheted off the air, leaving them stunned, barely able to move.
I felt it—the crushing weight of what I had become. The thing I had feared most. The energy was not just mine anymore; it was consuming me, pulling me deeper into a place I couldn't reach.
But then… I felt his touch. Miras's hand on my wrist, firm and unyielding, grounding me in the storm. His voice, low and steady, reached me through the fog of power.
"Cherish… focus. Breathe. Focus on me. Focus on us."
I could feel him through the haze, his strength pulling at me, like a lifeline I had forgotten existed. Us. Miras. The warmth of his hand, the weight of his presence, the trust I had placed in him—it was enough.
I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. The energy pulsed again, responding to my rising panic, but I heard Miras. His voice, sharp and clear. I focused on it, clinging to it as the world continued to spin around me.
Focus.
I tried again, forcing my breath to even out, trying to control the wild surges of energy that wanted to tear everything apart. I could feel it—a flicker of control, a tiny thread to hold onto. The tension in my chest eased, just a little, the storm inside me beginning to calm. But I could still feel it lurking beneath the surface, ready to explode again.
Miras's voice came again, steady and low, his other hand coming to rest on my shoulder, offering whatever calm he could. "Let go of the fear. You're not alone. We'll handle this. Together."
The men in the room were scattered, disoriented, but the real threat was the one I had created—the power I could not contain.
The pulse of energy began to weaken, slowly at first, the air no longer crackling with electric tension. The storm inside me didn't vanish, but it was no longer a raging force. It was still there, still dangerous, but now there was a sense of stability—a fragile control.
I opened my eyes, finding Miras's gaze—steady, unbroken. He hadn't let go of me, even when everything seemed to be falling apart.
"They're going to keep coming," Miras muttered, looking over at the fallen men, his expression hardening. "And now they know what you're capable of."
I didn't know if I was still in control. I didn't know if I ever would be again.
When I woke up, the world was a blur, a haze of motion and disorienting light. My body was heavy, sore, but not in the way I expected. It wasn't just from the physical exhaustion or the remnants of the energy I had unleashed—it was a deeper kind of fatigue, like I had been through something far worse than I could comprehend.
I blinked a few times, trying to focus, but everything was moving too fast, too erratically. The car's engine hummed beneath me, the tires rolling over uneven pavement. But it was the smell—the scent of the air, sharp and metallic—that made my stomach churn.
The sound of the engine was steady, though, and beneath it, there was a quiet tension in the air. My body was aching, my chest tight. I wasn't sure if it was the aftermath of the power or something else, but every breath felt like I was dragging it through fire.
"Miras?" I managed to croak, my voice rough, cracked. I didn't know if I could stand, or if I even had the strength to lift my head. I felt… strange, as if my body wasn't quite mine anymore. As if it had been used up, worn out, and the force I'd just unleashed had taken more than I realized.
The car swerved slightly, and then I heard his voice, low but steady, cutting through the silence like a lifeline.
"I'm here," Miras's voice was like a grounding force, though there was a hint of something behind it—concern, maybe fear.
"How long was I out?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. It felt too loud, too raw. My throat burned, and I wanted to curl into myself and make it stop. The pain, the exhaustion—it was suffocating.
"A few hours." Miras's voice was clipped, controlled. But there was something there. Something underneath it that I could hear, even if he was trying to keep it buried.
I feel his eyes on me, steady and intense, and it makes my skin prickle with that familiar, unsettling feeling. The same one I've been trying to ignore since the safe house—like something's always too much in my chest. Miras' voice cuts through the silence, low but sharp.
"Cherish... what happened back at the safe house? You suddenly had control of everything. That power… where did it come from?"
I swallow hard, my throat dry. It's like the room closes in on me, the walls pressing in as if they're waiting for me to have some answer. But I don't have one. How could I? I don't even understand what happened myself. One minute, everything's falling apart, and then—then I felt it. This wave of... something. Like it was inside me the whole time, just waiting for the right moment. I never meant to control it. I never meant to make everything around me bend and break.
"I... I don't know," my voice cracks, the words heavy, each one slipping out like a confession. "I don't even remember exactly how it started. I just... felt it. Like it was always there, waiting, and then I just... let it happen. I didn't mean to—"
He interrupts me, and it's not like he's angry, just worried. But that worry hits me harder than any accusation. "I'm not asking if you meant to, Cherish. But you did it. You controlled it, even if you don't understand how yet. And that's what I'm worried about."
I stare at the floor, my hands starting to shake. I want to say more. I want to explain that it's not like I was trying to summon all of that. I don't even know what I did. It just happened. I felt like I was on the edge of something... like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and everything—everything—was about to collapse beneath me.
But I can't explain that. I can't find the words.
"I just want to know you're okay. I need to know you're not going to hurt yourself with whatever this is."
I glance up at him then, and his face is soft, but there's that edge of concern in his eyes. I can see it, feel it—he's scared. And suddenly, I realize just how much he's been carrying since I woke up, how much he's been trying to protect me, keep me safe. From everything. From them. From whatever's inside me.
"I'm... trying," I whisper, almost to myself. "But I don't know what I'm doing, Miras. I don't. And that terrifies me."
We pull into a small, quiet diner on the outskirts of town, the kind that's tucked away just enough to feel like it's off the grid. The neon sign flickers above, casting a soft glow across the parking lot, but it doesn't do much to ease the tension between us.
Miras parks the car, but neither of us moves to get out right away. I can feel the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest, and I'm pretty sure he can feel it too. I glance over at him, catching his eyes as he stares straight ahead, fingers gripping the wheel a little too tightly.
"You think they're still watching?" I ask quietly, even though I know it's possible.
He doesn't answer right away, just runs a hand through his hair, the worry lines on his face deepening, "Let's just get something quick, you need to eat."
We finally get out of the car, my legs feeling stiff from the long drive. As we walk into the diner, the sound of soft country music hums in the background, but it only amplifies the tension. The place is mostly empty, except for a couple of older folks sitting at the counter, chatting quietly. I sit across from Miras in one of the booths, sliding into the seat with a sigh.
The menu is barely in my hands before I push it aside. I'm not hungry. Not really.
Miras orders for both of us without asking, the routine making me feel just a little less on edge, though the gnawing anxiety won't let me go. It's like something's too quiet. I glance out the window, scanning the lot behind us, but there's nothing—nothing out of place. I lean back in the booth, the unease still gnaws at me. I don't know how long we can keep this up—being on the run, always looking over our shoulders, trying to outsmart something we barely understand.
The food comes, but neither of us touches it right away. Instead, we sit there, the quiet stretching out like a thin thread that could snap at any moment. I can feel the weight of everything—the power I don't fully control, the organization that's hunting us, the fear of what comes next.
Miras shifts, catching my gaze, and for a second, I think he's about to say something more. But instead, he just reaches across the table, his hand settling gently over mine, a wordless promise in the gesture.
The phone booth feels like a prison, the glass walls trapping me in a space that's too small for everything swirling in my mind. My fingers tremble as I dial the number, the familiar ring echoing in my ear as I wait. The moment it connects, I brace myself for whatever comes next.
It rings twice before he picks up, but it's not just my dad's voice that cuts through the static—there's someone else in the background, a faint noise at first, but then it grows louder, sharper. It's Imani, his voice rising in frustration, nearly drowned out by the distance.
"Damn it Maurice, just let her talk—Cherish!" Imani's voice cracks with anger, and then there's the sound of muffled yelling. My chest tightens, and my throat feels like it's closing up.
"Cherish?" My dad's voice is calmer now, but I can hear the underlying panic. "Is that you?"
I take a shaky breath, pushing the tumult of Imani's yelling from my mind for a moment. "Yeah, Dad... it's me." I swallow hard. "I... I don't know what to do."
"Sweetheart," he says, his voice softening, "you have to come home. We'll figure this out together. It's the only place you're safe."
I feel the knot in my chest tighten. I can hear Imani shouting something in the background, something about keeping her safe, and not giving up. But I can't focus on him right now. I close my eyes, letting my dad's voice ground me for a moment, even as the weight of everything crashes over me.
"I can't just come home, Dad," I whisper, my voice tight. "You don't understand... they're after me. The people from the Cube—they know about me, about what I can do. And if I come back, they'll find me. They'll find you."
The yelling in the background dies down for a moment. I hear my dad take a deep breath, the hesitation in his voice clear. "I know, sweetheart. I know it's dangerous. But I—please—you have to come back. I'll protect you. We'll protect you. I can't lose you."
Imani's voice flares up again. "Cherish Amora Battle, listen to him—get your ass home right now—just come home. If you don't come here right this instance I swear to god I'm going to—"
I cut him off, my voice barely a whisper, a tight ache in my chest. "I can't, Dad. I can't risk it. Not when they'll come after all of us."
There's a long, shaky pause on the other end. I can almost hear my dad pacing, each breath heavier than the last. "Cherish... please. I'm begging you. Come home. We'll figure it out together. We'll keep you safe."
The weight of his plea crashes over me, but I push it down. I can't let myself cave. Not when I don't even know how to control this power, not when I'm dragging Miras down with me.
"I'm sorry, Dad," I choke out. "I can't. Not now."
There's a painful silence on the other end before he speaks, voice barely audible. "I love you, Cherish. No matter what happens. I'll always love you."
"I love you, too," I whisper, a single tear slipping down my cheek before I can stop it. But I don't let the sob break free. I hang up without another word, my heart aching with the sound of his love, his fear, his desperation.
I step out of the phone booth, my pulse racing, feeling the weight of everything—the power I can't control, the constant threat of the underground organization, the tension in my chest that doesn't seem to ease.
Miras is waiting by the car, watching me with that steady, knowing gaze. His eyes lock onto mine the second I step into the light, searching my face for any hint of what just happened.
"What happened?" he asks, his voice tight, on edge.
I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it won't go away. "He wants me to come home," I murmur, my voice thin, "but I can't... not when it's not safe for anyone. Not when they'll come for him too."
For a moment, Miras doesn't say anything, just looks at me with that steady, unwavering expression. Then, without a word, he nods, understanding everything I'm too afraid to say.