Love Without Measure

12. Crimson Shadows

Rain slicked streets reflected the neon glow of Berlin, the puddles shivering with every flicker of a passing taxi's headlights. Mara Duvall moved like a shadow through the narrow alleyways, her leather jacket plastered to her form by the relentless rain. Her boots splashed silently across the wet cobblestones, each step precise, calculated. She was trained for this—an expert at slipping unseen, vanishing into the night—but tonight, something was off. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward her; every echo of footsteps carried a deliberate rhythm. She wasn't alone.

She ducked behind a dumpster, pressing herself against the cold brick, her pulse hammering in her ears. Her eyes darted, scanning every corner, every flicker of movement. And then she heard it—a soft footfall, deliberate, slow. Someone was following her.

"Relax," a voice whispered from the darkness, smooth, dark, and unnervingly calm.

Mara spun, gun raised, finger trembling ever so slightly on the trigger. The alley's shadows seemed to fold in on themselves. Her eyes caught a figure stepping out of the darkness, tall and lean, scarf wrapped around his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. They were dark, intense, and unnerving—eyes that seemed to see straight through her.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, stepping closer. His boots echoed against the wet cobblestones, each sound deliberate, confident.

Mara's grip on the weapon tightened. She was trained to trust her instincts. This man radiated danger—but also something else, something that made her heart betray her caution.

"Name's Luca," he said, voice low, smooth, a hint of amusement threading through it. "And you might want to put that down."

"Why?" Mara's voice was sharp, wary. "Because you're scared?"

"No," he said, smirking despite the dripping rain. "Because you'd be wasting bullets on someone who could... steal your heart."

Her breath caught. She didn't lower her weapon, but she didn't fire either. Something in the way he carried himself, in the calm confidence of his stance, told her he wasn't just another thug or a random pursuer. He was something else entirely—danger wrapped in charm.

"I work alone," she spat, the words tasting bitter even as they left her mouth. A lie she barely convinced herself of.

"I know," Luca said, tilting his head, the scarf shifting slightly in the rain. "I've heard the rumors. Mara Duvall doesn't need anyone. Never has. But... some things, some opportunities, they're better shared. You're good. I can see that. But I'm better."

Mara's eyes narrowed, suspicion and curiosity warring in her chest. "Better how?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.

"Better at surviving," he said simply, stepping closer. The scent of rain and something faintly metallic clung to him, the air around him charged, magnetic. "Better at reading people, predicting moves, disappearing when everyone else thinks you're gone."

Her finger twitched against the trigger, but her mind was racing. Who was he really? How did he know her name? And more importantly... why did she feel the pull to lower her weapon, even for just a second?

"You shouldn't follow me," she said, the rain dripping from her hair into her eyes. "Not unless you want to die."

"I'm already risking that," he replied, the smirk in his voice gone, replaced with a seriousness that made her stomach knot. "But you... you're not like anyone I've ever seen. And I don't run from things I can't ignore."

The words hit her differently than bullets ever could. Mara's chest tightened, her instincts screaming caution, yet the strange, magnetic pull of him made her hesitate. He was a threat, she knew that—but there was more to him than danger. Something in his eyes promised fire, chaos, and the kind of recklessness that mirrored her own.