Chapter 219 Who’s hunting him?
Chapter 219: Chapter 219 Who’s hunting him?
Aria’s POV"Relax," a voice said from the darkness. Male. Unfamiliar. "I’m not going to hurt you."
I spun back around, yanking the pistol from my waistband and aiming it into the shadows. My hands were steady now, adrenaline sharpening everything into perfect clarity.
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded. "Where’s Damian?"
A low chuckle echoed through the darkness.
"He’s safe. For now."
"Show yourself," I snapped. "Or I swear to God, I’ll start shooting."
"With silver bullets, no less." The voice sounded almost... impressed. "You came prepared. Smart."
There was a soft click, and suddenly the room flooded with light.
A man stood across from me—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and sharp features that looked vaguely familiar in a way I couldn’t quite place. He didn’t look threatened by the gun pointed at his chest. If anything, he looked pleased.
"Put the gun down, Aria," he said calmly.
"Not a chance." My finger hovered over the trigger. "Start talking. Who are you? Where’s Damian?"
The man’s smile widened slightly. "You really love him, don’t you?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Damian." He tilted his head, studying me like I was some kind of interesting puzzle.
"You drove out here in the middle of the night, armed yourself with silver, walked into an obvious trap—all for him. That’s either love or stupidity."
My jaw clenched. "I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing—"
"No game," he said simply. "And no more questions—not here."
He turned and pressed his palm against a panel on the far wall. Something clicked, and a section of the brickwork slid aside with a low grinding sound, revealing a passage descending into darkness.
"Come with me. I’ll take you to Damian."
I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Right. Follow the stranger who lured me into an abandoned mill down a creepy underground tunnel. Do I look that stupid to you?"
He reached into his jacket—my grip tightened on the gun—but what he pulled out wasn’t a weapon.
It was a ring. Damian’s engagement ring—its band engraved with a thin crescent moon on the inside.
My breath caught.
He never took it off. Never. Not once since the day I’d slid it onto his finger.
"He gave me this himself," the man said quietly. "You know he’d sooner lose the hand than let anyone take it from him."
He was right. Damn him, he was right.