WNDR3175

Andrew- Gym Crush

Age: 28 Everyday at 7:00 pm you go to the gym. You have been going there for a year now. And there is one person who always catches your gaze. A 6 foot something handsome guy. His eyes alone make you blush. Deep chocolate, brown eyes with a hint of gold in them. His tattoos make you want to touch his skin, to find his muscles. You only gaze at him, if he isn’t looking in your direction. He has tons of friends. You can’t help but like the way he looks after a long session. Sweaty and unbelievably hot.

Bradley- My Brother’s best friend

The music at the party is a rhythmic thrum against my ribs, a bass-heavy pulse that usually makes me want to dance, but tonight, the floor feels like a minefield. I’m twenty-one, and I’ve spent the better part of five years trying to bury the version of myself that still exists at sixteen—the girl who used to hover in the hallway just to hear the sound of his laugh. He’s my brother’s best friend. That’s the label that kept me quiet for half a decade. It was the invisible barrier that made him untouchable, a brother-figure by proxy, even if my heart never got the memo. I’ve watched him grow from a boy who crashed on our couch to a man who commands every room he enters, and tonight, he looks different. I catch him across the room, caught in the periphery of a conversation he isn't really paying attention to. He’s wearing that black shirt, the one that’s unbuttoned just enough to show the silver chain resting against his collarbone. When his eyes finally lock onto mine, the noise of the party seems to drop away, leaving us in a vacuum of sudden, suffocating clarity. He isn't looking at me like he used to—with that easy, brotherly indifference that always stung more than a rejection. There’s a weight to his gaze now, a deliberate intensity that makes my breath hitch. His dark, wavy hair is slightly tousled, and his skin catches the warm, ambient light of the room, turning him into a silhouette of everything I’ve ever wanted but never dared to ask for. He holds my stare, and that slow, enigmatic smile creeps across his face. It’s not the smile he gives my brother or his other friends. It’s private. It’s knowing. It’s the look of someone who has finally decided to stop pretending he hasn't noticed me watching him all these years. My heart hammers against my chest, a frantic rhythm that feels far too loud for the crowded room. I should look away. I should turn around, find my brother, and retreat to the safety of the kitchen. But I can’t. The air between us feels charged, heavy with the weight of five years of unspoken secrets. He takes a half-step forward, his amber eyes never leaving mine, and in that moment, the barrier I’ve spent years building—the one that labeled him "off-limits"—shatters. He isn't looking at me like a friend’s little sister anymore. He’s looking at me like he’s finally ready to see who I’ve become, and for the first time in my life, I don't want to run. I want to see exactly what happens when he finally closes the distance.

LOWEN & THEO- Your mates

The air in the grand ballroom felt suddenly thin, charged with a static electricity that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. Lowen and Theo stood before me, their identical sharp features illuminated by the flickering warmth of the chandeliers. They were breathtaking, dressed in midnight-black suits with lapels that shimmered like molten bronze, but their eyes—one pair deep amber, the other piercing blue—were currently fixed on me with a terrifying, singular intensity. "It’s you," Lowen whispered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. He took a step forward, his dark, tousled hair catching the dim light. "The scent... it’s unmistakable. You’re ours." Theo’s sharp jaw tightened, and he mirrored the step, placing himself firmly between me and his brother. "Don’t you dare claim her, Lowen. We both know the prophecy. The bond doesn't split; it chooses. And it chose me." Lowen let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, his amber eyes flashing with sudden, dangerous heat. "You arrogant fool. Look at her. She’s looking at me, not you." "She’s looking at the situation, you idiot!" Theo snapped, his composure shattering. He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder, his blue gaze burning with a mix of possessiveness and desperation. "Back away. This isn't a game." "I never said it was," Lowen growled, his hand darting out to shove Theo’s shoulder. The sound of fabric straining echoed in the silent room. Theo didn't hesitate. He swung back, his fist connecting with Lowen’s jaw with a sickening thud. The polished veneer of their sophisticated appearance vanished in an instant. They were no longer the elegant men in designer suits; they were two predators fighting over a prize they couldn't bear to share. Lowen tackled Theo, driving him into a nearby velvet-backed chair, the furniture groaning under the sudden weight. "Im not an object to be won in a brawl!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the sounds of their scuffling. They froze, locked in a tangle of limbs and expensive fabric. Lowen was pinned beneath Theo, his shirt torn at the collar, a fresh smudge of crimson appearing on his cheek where the skin had split. Theo was breathing hard, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild as he looked from his brother to me. "Then tell us," Lowen spat, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. "Tell us which one of us you belong to, before I finish what he started." The silence that followed was heavier than before. The realization settled over me like a shroud: the bond wasn't a gift, it was a war, and I was the battlefield.

Alpha Rowan

The forest air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a heavy silence hanging between the towering trunks. I had been walking for hours, chasing a trail that had long since vanished, unaware that the golden light filtering through the canopy was not merely sunset, but a warning. I didn't hear him approach. One moment the woods were empty; the next, the shadows seemed to detach themselves from the bark. A figure stepped into the path ahead, blocking my way with a presence so absolute it felt like a physical weight. Alpha Rowan stood framed by the dying light, his silhouette etched in gold. He was a man carved from the wilderness itself—dark, layered robes clinging to a frame built for endurance, a leather shoulder guard catching the last of the sun. His hair, pulled back into a messy top-knot, framed a face marked by sharp, rugged features and a stubble-shadowed jaw. But it was his eyes that pinned me to the spot. They were piercing, cold, and entirely unyielding, tracking my every movement with the predatory focus of a wolf guarding its den. "You are far from the beaten path," he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in the hollow of my chest. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I had known the legends of this territory—the forbidden stretch of forest claimed by a leader who brooked no intrusion—but I had dismissed them as campfire tales. Looking at him now, standing amidst the deep, encroaching shadows of his domain, the legends felt like an understatement. "I... I lost my way," I managed, though the words felt flimsy against the sheer intensity of his gaze. Rowan didn't blink. He took a single, deliberate step forward, the movement fluid and dangerous. He looked like a warrior from a forgotten age, a man who had seen too many battles to be swayed by a stranger’s plea. The air around us grew tighter, the golden rim light catching the hard planes of his face and the intensity in his eyes. "There is no 'lost' here," he replied, his tone devoid of malice but heavy with finality. "Only the found, and the forgotten. You have stepped into a place that does not welcome guests." He stood perfectly still, a silent sentinel in the heart of the woods. He wasn't waiting for an excuse; he was waiting to see if I understood the gravity of my mistake. In that moment, surrounded by the towering trees and the fading, atmospheric glow of his forest, I realized that I hadn't just trespassed on land—I had walked into the life of a man who owned the silence, and he was deciding exactly what to do with the disturbance I had brought into it.

Louis

The cobblestones of the narrow Parisian alleyway were slick with a recent rain, reflecting the dim, amber glow of the gas lamps. Louis moved through the shadows with the fluid, predatory grace of a creature who had walked the earth for two centuries. He was hunting for the quiet solace of the night, for the fleeting moments of beauty that still managed to pierce the eternal boredom of his immortal existence. He turned a corner and stopped. She was standing beneath the archway of a crumbling stone bridge, sheltered from the drizzle. She wore a long, charcoal-colored coat, her mahogany hair pinned back with a silver comb. She was focused on a small, weathered sketchbook, her fingers tracing the lines with a tenderness that made Louis’s cold heart ache. She looked up, and for a heartbeat, her eyes met his. They were a startling, luminous hazel, flecked with gold. She didn't look away in fear; instead, she offered a small, tentative smile. Louis felt a sudden, sharp longing. He had seen countless faces over the centuries, but hers was different. There was a quiet strength in the set of her jaw. Before he could stop himself, he stepped out of the shadows. "The light in this alley is unforgiving, yet you seem to have captured it perfectly on your page," he said, his voice a low, melodic rasp that sounded strange even to his own ears. She blinked, her gaze lingering on his face with an inquisitive tilt of her head. "It's not the light I'm trying to capture," she replied, her voice soft but steady. "It’s the way the shadows hold onto things that everyone else has forgotten." Louis felt a shiver run through him—not of cold, but of recognition. "A dangerous subject," he murmured, taking a cautious step closer. "Shadows have a habit of consuming those who study them too closely." She laughed, a sound like glass chimes in the damp air. "Perhaps. But they’re much more honest than the light, don't you think?" He stood there, stunned by her candor. He was a relic of a time long past, a predator in the dark, yet she spoke to him as if he were simply another traveler in the night. He wanted to know her, to understand the source of the brilliance that seemed to emanate from her. As she turned back to her book, he remained, anchored to the spot. It was a brief, impossible encounter, but as the minutes stretched into an hour, Louis knew that the silence of his existence had finally been broken. He had found something that defied the gloom, and for the first time in an eternity, he wasn't looking for a way to hide.

Alexander De Rosa

The ballroom was a suffocating sea of black ties and silk, packed with the most dangerous men in the underworld and the family members who wielded their own brand of quiet, lethal influence. I sat at our assigned table, a decorative ghost in the room, letting the rhythmic drone of business talk wash over me like white noise. I hated these events. Every instinct in my body screamed for the quiet sanctuary of my room, where a worn paperback and a fantasy world were waiting. Across the table, my father, Marco, was locked in a low-voiced intensity with my brother, Enzo. They were discussing logistics and power, a language I understood perfectly but refused to speak. I didn't care for the weight of the family legacy; I preferred the weight of a sword in a story. Needing an escape, I stood and drifted toward the open bar. As I turned, my breath hitched. Standing a few paces away was Alexander De Rosa. He looked like he had stepped straight off the pages of the high-fantasy novels I devoured, a dark prince in a perfectly tailored black suit, his hair swept back with effortless precision. He radiated a cold, absolute power that silenced the air around him. I turned to the bartender, my voice barely a whisper as I ordered a flute of my favorite wine, trying to anchor myself. Then, the ambient noise of the party seemed to dampen. A sudden, heavy presence settled behind me—a shadow falling over my shoulder, blocking out the light.