Chapter 1 - An Unwelcome Welcome
The drive into the Spanish countryside had been a masterclass in dread. The two cops who were supposed to be his escort locals hadn't said a word for the last twenty minutes. Their silence was heavier than the damp, earthy smell seeping into the car. Leon stared out the window at the gnarled trees and crumbling stone walls, feeling the weight of the mission press down on him. The President's daughter. Ashley Graham. One job, and he was already on edge.
The car rattled over a makeshift wooden bridge and stopped. "This is as far as we go," the driver grunted, not even looking back. "The village is just up ahead."
"Right," Leon said, more to himself than to them. He got out, the crunch of gravel under his boots the only sound. The forest was unnervingly quiet. No birds, no insects. Just the whisper of the wind through the bare branches.
He found the first house easily. It looked abandoned, but the door was unlocked. Inside, a fire smoldered in the hearth. A man sat at the table, his back to the door. He was thin, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Excuse me," Leon began, his hand resting near the grip of his pistol. "I'm looking for a girl."
The man didn't turn. "Hmm? Ah, sí. A girl." He took a long drag from his cigarette. "Many girls have been through here, I imagine." He finally turned, and Leon's breath caught. The man was handsome, with dark, intelligent eyes that seemed to hold a universe of secrets. There was a lazy, confident smirk playing on his lips. "But you must be more specific, americano."
Leon's patience, already worn thin, snapped. "Her name is Ashley Graham. She was kidnapped. I know she was brought here." He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. "You're going to tell me everything you know."
The man Luis, Leon would later learn stood up slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. "So serious. I like that." He took a step back, and then another, as Leon advanced. The smirk never left his face, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. "You and I, we are not so different, you know. We are both... searching for something."
"I'm not searching," Leon shot back, his anger flaring hot. "I'm retrieving. And you're in my way."
He closed the distance in three long strides, grabbing Luis by the front of his shirt and shoving him hard against the rough stone wall. The impact knocked the air from Luis's lungs, and his cigarette fell to the floor. For a split second, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face before being replaced by something else. Something unreadable.
Leon's face was inches from his, his blue eyes blazing with fury. "I'm done playing games. You tell me where she is, or I swear to God–"
But he never finished his threat. In that moment, with his heart hammering against his ribs and Luis's warm, shallow breaths ghosting across his lips, the anger in his chest curdled into something else entirely. He saw it in Luis's eyes too not fear, but a strange, intense anticipation. It was as if this was a moment Luis had been waiting for.
Kiss me.
The thought wasn't Leon's. It couldn't be. It was too clear, too direct, and it felt like it was coming from the man pinned beneath his hands. Luis's gaze flickered down to Leon's mouth, and the invitation was unmistakable. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken words and a tension that had nothing to do with a missing girl.
Leon's grip on Luis's shirt loosened, his knuckles brushing against the warmth of Luis's chest. The fury drained out of him, replaced by a dizzying confusion. This was wrong. This was insane. He was here on a mission. But the magnetic pull was undeniable. He could feel the steady, rapid beat of Luis's heart against his palm.
"Leon," Luis whispered, his voice husky, sending a shiver down Leon's spine. How did he know his name?
Before Leon could process it, a sound from outside broke the spellba low, guttural moan, followed by the shattering of a window.
Luis's eyes widened. "Ah, mierda," he cursed, shoving Leon off him. "We have to go. Now!"
He scrambled for a loose floorboard, prying it up and grabbing a hidden key. "The villagers," he explained frantically, "they are not... themselves."
The door burst open, and a hulking figure with a pitchfork stood silhouetted in the doorway, his eyes glowing with a sickly yellow light. The moment was shattered, the possibility lost to the chaos that had just crashed through the door.
Leon raised his pistol, his training kicking back in. But as he fired his first shot, his eyes met Luis's across the room, and he knew, with a certainty that terrified him, that this was only the beginning.
