Progule
Lyra opened the door just a crack. "How... how did you find me?"
Alaric didn't answer immediately. He leaned one hand against the doorframe, looming over her, his 6'4" frame blocking out the moon.
His steel-gray eyes scanned her face, noting the flour on her cheek and the way her hazel eyes were wide with terror.
"You didn't pick up your phone, Lyra," he said, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. "I don't like being ignored."
"I... I told my parents I needed time," she stammered, trying to close the door, but Alaric’s hand moved with lightning speed, holding it open. His strength was effortless.
"Your parents work for me now," Alaric said, a cocky, predatory smirk playing on his lips. "And you? You belong to me. You don't get to 'take time' from your owner."
He stepped inside without being invited, his presence instantly shrinking the cozy room.
