Bound by fate:the vampire CEO's bride

Chapter 2: The Marked Message

Amara sat frozen at her desk, the words on her phone glaring at her in bold, unsettling clarity: "You've been marked." Her hands trembled as she held the phone, the eerie message sinking into her mind like a poison. Who could it be? And what did it mean? The words haunted her, twisting in her chest.

She looked around the office, trying to shake off the feeling that had taken root in her. The hum of air conditioning, the sound of phones ringing distantly-all so very far away now, as if she no longer stood full-square within the room. The message had turned everything sharp-edged and jagged; her focus splintered.

Marked? The word resounded in her mind. It felt too.personal. Too intentional.

Amara pressed her fingers to her temple, willing herself to think clearly. It had to be a prank, maybe one of her coworkers messing with her. But why would anyone send a message like that? And why her?

She tried to push the thoughts away and focus on her work, but the feeling of unease wouldn't leave. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, but no words appeared on the screen. The feeling of being watched again crept along her spine, like a shadow refusing to fade. She looked around the room once more, her eyes scanning the empty office. It was only her and a few other employees, scattered about in the distance.

And then she saw it.

The reflection of a man-tall, with dark, imposing features-appeared in the glass of the window. He was standing by the entrance, watching her, his eyes cold and predatory. Her breath hitched in her throat.

It was Damien.

But no… he wasn't supposed to be here. She had just seen him, just left his office. Why was he back now?

Amara rose from her desk, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't explain why, but a gut-wrenching sense of danger surged through her. Her body moved on its own accord, compelled it seemed by some unseen force. She walked toward the door, her legs shaking, every instinct screaming for her to turn back. But she didn't.

He was waiting for her outside the door. His tall figure loomed over hers as she stepped out into the hall. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was something about him, some magnetism in his person that pulled her to him, even against the cold crawl of unease across her skin.

Amara," he growled low, the words running a shiver across her skin. "We need to talk."

She swallowed, the sudden dryness of her mouth making speech difficult. "About what?

He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. There was something different about him, something dangerous in the way he moved, like a predator closing in on its prey. But it wasn't his actions; it was his eyes. The deep, shadowy pools of black that seemed to flicker with something else beneath the surface-something primal.

"You got a message, didn't you?" Damien's voice was low, but with a thread of an edge. A warning.

Amara's heart quickened. How did he know? She hadn't told a soul. She hadn't even replied to the message.

"Who was it from?" Damien's eyes didn't leave hers, the intent in them searching.

"I. I don't know," Amara stuttered, feeling exposed under his gaze. "It was just a text from an unknown number."

Damien's face changed then-his jaw clenching in irritation. "This is no game, Amara," he said, his tone low, authoritative. "You have been marked. And now, there are those who will not stop until they find you."

The words hit her like a kick in the stomach. Marked. What did that mean? Who were these people? Why her?

She opened her mouth to ask, but the words died on her lips as a sharp sound sliced through the air, like the howl of a wolf. Chilling and haunting, it seemed to vibrate through the walls.

Damien's eyes flickered to the source of the sound, his face hardening. "We need to leave. Now.

And before she could react, he had her wrist in an unforgiving grip, urging her toward the elevator. Amara gasped-a rush of fear and adrenaline flooding her veins.

"What is going on? What is that noise?" she managed to ask, trembling.

"Keep quiet," he snapped. "There's no time to explain. Trust me, Amara."

With a soft chime, the doors of the elevator clicked shut, and down they went, much too fast. Damien's hold on her wrist never faltered-strong, like fingers of steel. The air was tight in the elevator, fraught with tension. Amara could feel her heart hammering against her chest as the unease gnawed at her insides.

The instant the elevator doors opened, she was treated to a sight that sent a shiver down her spine. Papers flew through the air, and the lights lining the lobby were flickering violently as people scrambled for shelter. There, in the middle of man-made chaos, stood one man menacingly, his dark eyes fixed on Amara. His presence alone seemed to weight the air heavier.

Damien's grip tightened on her wrist. "No," he muttered, his voice sharp. "Not now."

The man in the lobby took a step toward them, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "I've found you," he said, his voice cold as ice.

Amara's breath caught in her throat.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The man smiled broadly. "It doesn't matter who I am, sweetheart. What matters is that you're mine now."

 The message, the feeling, the dreams-it all finally clicked into place: She had been marked, and there was no turning back.

Before Amara could react, the man lunged at her, but Damien quickly shoved her behind him and inserted himself between them. "Stay back, or I swear I'll make you regret it," he growled, and for the first time, I really heard something in his voice that sounded dangerously primal.

The man just smiled. "You're too late," he said, his eyes clouding. "The bond has already been made."