Scene: A Wolf's Curiosity
The vast, dim-lit room pulsed with shadows and low jazz humming faintly from the antique record player in the corner. The velvet curtains fluttered lightly from the wind that crept through the slightly open balcony door. It smelled of cologne, blood, and secrets.
Reyaan Malhotra—calm, composed, and dangerously still—stood by the tall mirror, adjusting the sleeves of his black silk shirt. The devil never rushed his play.
The door creaked open.
Arav stepped inside, stiff, eyes focused, voice low.
> "They've arrived."
Reyaan didn't look up.
> "He's unconscious?"
"Yes. Just like you planned."
> "Good. Tell the guards to take him to the red bedroom. And don't let anyone step inside until I say so."
Without another word, Arav nodded and walked out.
Two bulky guards entered next, dragging the unconscious boy through the hall like they were handling a stolen artifact—delicate, but stolen nonetheless.
They threw the bedroom door open and tossed Kiaan onto the large king-sized bed. His body bounced slightly against the plush velvet sheets, still in deep slumber from the earlier injection. His hands were cuffed loosely now in front of him, his face pale but composed even in sleep.
The guards left.
The heavy iron door locked with a thud.
And then… Reyaan entered.
He didn't rush.
He closed the door behind him quietly and began walking—slowly—around the room. His eyes never leaving the unconscious boy on the bed. His footsteps echoed against the marble floor, creating a sound that was far too gentle for the storm raging in his head.
He stopped beside the bed.
For a moment, he just stared.
The dim light above cast a soft glow on Kiaan's face—his lashes long, cheekbone sharply cut, lips slightly parted. A small dried streak of blood sat on his brow, a bruise blooming at the edge of his jawline. Even beaten, even unconscious, he looked disarmingly beautiful—a dangerous kind of beauty.
Reyaan leaned in, silently undoing the cuffs from Kiaan's wrists. His fingers brushed over the skin.
> "So soft…"
His brows furrowed slightly at the small abrasions on the boy's hands. Traces of the fight. Traces of resistance.
Reyaan traced his thumb along Kiaan's bottom lip, his breath hitched slightly.
> "And this mouth… this is the mouth that's been hunting me?"
He chuckled softly under his breath.
> "You're even prettier than they said… Agent Verma."
He tilted his head, examining him like a rare art piece that had fallen into his lap.
> "You look like sin in a boy's skin. Did you know that?"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
> "But sin or not, you walked into the Devil's den now… and I don't let go of what enters my cage."
He stood up straight again, pacing slowly around the bed once more. The beast inside him growled with hunger—not for flesh, but for domination, for the game, for the fire this boy would bring.
And Kiaan, the flame that had danced too close, had now been captured in the heart of Reyaan's lair.
The door remained locked.
The silence held its breath.
And the Devil sat on the edge of the bed… waiting for the fire to wake.