Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart

Chapter !!!!! - Harry x Dominik

The city hums beneath the thick cloak of night. Fog rolls through the alleyways, blurring the edges of the world—perfect hunting weather. My boots make no sound as I move from shadow to shadow, eyes locked on him. My senses are heightened, every detail sharp and clear—the faintest flicker of movement, the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with sweat, the delicate vibration of his pulse, the faintest shift in the air.

I've been following him for a while, long enough to notice his every move—the way he shifts uneasily on the street, how his pulse jumps when he feels someone's gaze. He doesn't know it yet, but tonight, he's mine.

But I know. I always know.

Somewhere, deep within the confines of my mind, I scream. My soul thrashes against the walls of this endless prison, pounding against the invisible chains that bind me. My body moves without my consent — a cruel puppet of bloodlust and desire. I claw, I beg, I cry. But no one hears.

Tall, broad-shouldered, in his late thirties—an unremarkable man, but I know his blood will be anything but ordinary. The way he walks, his jacket flaring out, the faint scent of sweat and cologne mixed with tension—it tells me more than he realizes. His heartbeat is steady, but my enhanced hearing picks up the slight quiver in his pulse as he walks. He's aware, but not enough to be cautious. That's what I like about him.

No, that's what it likes about him. The thing wearing my skin. The monster I cannot stop.

I keep my distance as he rounds another corner, slipping into a quieter alley. I feel the change in the air around him, the shift in his awareness as he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. His heartbeat accelerates, a tell I've learned to read, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But it's too late. He can't run.

I want to scream to him. Run. Get away. Don't look back. But my mouth doesn't obey. Instead, I move faster than the eye can follow. Before he can turn, I'm there—one hand on his shoulder, spinning him to face me. His mouth opens in surprise, but no sound escapes. His breath catches between fear and confusion.

"Who are you?" he stammers.

I don't answer. I don't need to.

Inside, my soul writhes in horror. Please. Let him go. Don't do this. I can't watch this again. But I have no voice. No power. Only the agonizing awareness of what comes next.

His heartbeat is loud beneath his shirt, the beat calling to me. My fangs extend, sharp and hungry, and before he can react, I sink them deep into his neck.

I scream. My soul howls. But my body drinks.

The first taste is always the best. His blood is warm and thick, rushing into me like a flood of life and power. I drink deeply, feeling his pulse slow, his body weakening beneath my touch. His hands weakly push at my chest, but they have no strength, no chance. His knees buckle, and I let him slide down the brick wall, his body slumping helplessly beneath me.

The taste is intoxicating, every drop fueling the hunger that festers inside. I am drowning in it. But within the tide of ecstasy, I feel the jagged edges of my own despair. I don't want this. I never wanted this.

Make it stop. Please, make it stop.

But it never does.

His struggles weaken, slow. I know it's almost over. His heartbeat is faint, a distant echo. One last pull, and the life that once surged in his veins is gone, leaving only an empty shell.

I pull back, wiping the blood from my lips. He's barely conscious, eyes half-lidded, his body hanging limp. But he's done. There's nothing left to take.