Written by: KariGorsuch

Sam—his stare burned. He didn't blink. He didn't move. Just stood there in that black tux that somehow made him look even more dangerous, more devastating. His gaze tracked up the length of my legs, lingered where satin met skin, then rose slowly—reverently—until our eyes met.

And the world tilted.

There was a moment, suspended and breathless, where the air between us was a live wire, buzzing with the kind of tension that only ever built from months of unsaid things and too-long stares in the dark. That tux clung to him like sin, tailored within an inch of propriety, and even then it felt like he was a breath away from coming undone.

He took a step forward, gliding through the crowd like it wasn't even there—like none of it mattered. Not the chandeliers overhead casting golden light, not the murmured admiration trailing behind Eve and me as we paused in the doorway.

He didn't break stride. Not even when a waitress passed between us, balancing champagne on a silver tray. Not when a woman in a blood-red gown turned her head to follow him with open appreciation. Sam Winchester had a singular focus, and it was me.

My pulse picked up with every inch he closed between us. The room might as well have gone silent.

Behind him, I caught the ghost of Dean's smirk as he reached Eve, leaning into her space before I lost sight of them.

Because Sam stopped in front of me.

Up close, he was more dangerous than across the room. I could see the cut of his jaw, the tension in his throat, the way his chest rose just a little quicker than it should've. He didn't speak at first—just looked at me, really looked, like maybe he was still trying to believe I was real.

When he did speak, his voice was lower, quieter, but it cut through the noise like it was meant for me alone.

"You're gonna undo me tonight."

I didn't flinch. Just let the corner of my mouth lift as I tilted my head, letting my hair fall over one shoulder. "You and everyone else in the building but Dean."

His lips twitched- something between a smirk and a grimace, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or pull me into a wall.

"You think that's funny?" he asked, voice low enough to send tendrils of heat curling in my stomach.

I leaned in just a fraction, my voice a whisper made of silk and steel. "A little."

Sam's eyes didn't leave mine—not for a second. That tension in his jaw tightened, and his tongue flicked across his bottom lip like he was biting back something reckless.

"You shouldn't tease me," he murmured. "Not tonight."

I arched a brow, the tilt of my smile sharpening. "Why? You planning to make a scene in front of all these... people?"

His hand hovered—just hovered—at my waist. Not touching, but close enough to scorch.

"I'm not planning anything," he said, and God, that voice, low and rough and his, "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might forget why we're here."

My pulse fluttered in my throat, dangerously close to visible. I felt the heat crawl up my spine, delicious and dangerous. We were playing a game, but the rules were disintegrating fast.

I shifted slightly, enough for satin to whisper against the fabric of his suit. "Then maybe you should stop looking back."

Sam's breath caught, just barely. Then, finally, his fingers grazed my waist. A whisper of contact—soft, grounding. Claiming, but careful.

His gaze dropped for a second, like he was trying to pull himself together before it all unraveled. "That's not how it works with you," he said, voice hushed and tight.

Before the moment could spiral any further, I glanced over at Eve and Dean, who stood a few feet away, mirroring us—dark, dangerous, and unmistakably hot.

I let a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth. "Ready, Mister Morrison?"

Sam's mouth twitched like he wanted to smile—but couldn't quite let himself. Not here. Not yet.

His hand settled more fully at the curve of my waist, the slightest pressure guiding me closer until we were flush in the middle of the polished marble floor. The chandeliers above us flickered with soft, golden light, casting glints along the deep sapphire of my gown and catching in the obsidian glint of his cufflinks. The string quartet swelled around us, elegant and unobtrusive, a perfect cover for whispered threats and barely restrained longing.

"After you, Miss Nicks," he murmured, like he remembered exactly who we were beneath the tuxedos and silk.

We moved together, slow and unhurried. One of many couples on the floor, all dressed to kill—some literally. The room hummed with old money, new blood, and the occasional flare of energy that could only belong to the supernatural elite. Vampires sipped from champagne flutes, demons laughed too smoothly, and someone at the far end of the ballroom was definitely not who they looked to be.

But we didn't look twice- we couldn't.

I followed Sam's lead, my fingers brushing over his shoulder, and let our rhythm melt into the crowd. To any outsider, we were just another beautiful power couple- rich, mysterious, untouchable. But his thumb stroking the side of my ribs, slow and precise, said something else entirely. It was the warning beneath the smile, the vow behind the act.

Sam kept his eyes scanning- over the heads of dancing strangers, toward the tiered balcony where cloaked bidders sipped rare spirits and whispered secrets that could destroy humanity.

Sam turned us in a slow pivot, his movements effortless, designed to blend. "Eleven o'clock," he murmured, his breath brushing my ear. "Auction rep. Looks human."

I didn't glance, just shifted the angle of my head so my curls would catch the light. "The one with the ruby cufflinks?"

His nod was nearly imperceptible.

Dean's laugh carried from the other side of the ballroom, deep and smooth, and not entirely real. Eve stood next to him like a goddess carved out of sin, her smile razor-sharp beneath lips painted blood red.

We glided past a cluster of socialites whose eyes glittered like obsidian in candlelight, each of them draped in luxury. One of them tracked Sam with a little too much interest. I let my hand drift up his chest- territorial, affectionate. Possessive.

She looked away.

"Subtle," Sam muttered, lips brushing the shell of my ear, amusement threading into his voice.

"Effective," I murmured back, letting my thumb stroke over the lapel of his jacket.

Dean caught our approach and tipped his glass slightly, the movement casual and calculated. His smile had edges, but it worked- he looked like a man who belonged here, like he could afford to laugh in the face of things that once clawed out of Hell. Eve leaned into him just enough to make it intimate, but her eyes flicked all over the ballroom- sharp, assessing, ready.

"About time," Dean muttered, tossing back a sip of whatever top-shelf whiskey passed for normal here. "What is this- Dancing with the Hunters?"

"You jealous, Tyler?" I shot back, smirking as I leaned into Sam's side just a little more.

"Hard pass." Dean clinked his glass with Eve's who arched a brow and didn't bother hiding her amusement.

That's when the scent hit me- faint but unmistakable. Musk and pine, with a faint wet-dog smell that didn't belong in a ballroom.

Sam felt it too. I saw it in the way his shoulders stiffened, how his hand on my waist went just a fraction tighter.

"Don't react," he said, voice low.

The voice came before I turned. "Miss Nicks." Smooth. Confident. Predatory. "May I have this dance?"

I turned slightly, putting Sam at my back. "That fully depends on who's asking," I replied, my voice calm and cool- laced with the kind of sugar that cloaked a knife.

"Duke Raines," the man said, stepping into view like he owned the floor and half the people on it. His tux was custom, dark as a moonless night, and fit too well for someone who was supposed to be just another charming patron. His smile didn't reach his eyes- those were gold-flecked and hungry.

Of course. One of the heavy hitters on the guest list. Old money. Older bloodline.

Sam didn't move, but I could feel him bristling behind me, steady as stone, hot with tension.

"Ah," I said, offering a small smile, polite and cool. "The infamous Duke Raines. I've heard you like to collect things that don't belong to you."

His grin widened. "Only the rare ones. And you, Miss Nicks, are very rare."

Behind me, Sam shifted half a step forward. It was subtle, protective—but the kind of subtle that could start a war.

Raines clocked the movement with a flick of his gaze, slow and deliberate, like he wanted Sam to know he'd seen it—and wasn't impressed.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting. "Careful," I murmured, "that kind of talk could be mistaken for a threat."

Raines leaned in, voice velvet and venom. "Not a threat. A compliment. But I see now—compliments might not be enough for a woman like you."

He extended a hand, waiting, daring.

I let the silence stretch, long enough to remind everyone watching that I was the one deciding whether this interaction happened at all.

Then, slowly, deliberately, I placed my hand in his.

The music shifted into something slow and rich, like melted gold laced with something sharper beneath. Raines guided us into the rhythm with practiced ease, his posture impeccable. Predatory.

"Tell me," I said, tone light but lined with steel. "Is this the part where you flirt, or the part where you threaten me with vague promises of protection in exchange for things that don't belong to you?"

Raines chuckled, low and indulgent. "Can't I enjoy the company of the most dangerous woman in the room without it being transactional?"

"You could," I said. "But we both know you won't."

His smirk faltered just a fraction—small, but telling.

Raines dipped me, just long enough to blur the lines between theatrics and dominance, then pulled me back in close. Too close.

His breath grazed my temples as he spoken low and deliberate.

"You're right, of course," he said. "This was never about the dance."

I didn't respond. Not yet. I waited, letting the pause hang.

"I was promised something," he continued. "A favor, in blood. A hand." His eyes met mine, unwavering. "Yours."

The chill that swept down my spine wasn't from his words- it was from the calm certainty behind them.

"Promised by who?" I asked, voice even. I was pretty sure I knew who, I just wanted to be sure.

Raines smiled, slow and self-satisfied. "Deals sealed in shadow. You know how it works, sweetheart. Legacy debts. Lineage bargains."

His gaze dropped to my lips and lingered. "You're old blood. Bound tighter than you know."

My fingers flexed against his shoulder, just once.

"You think I'm a prize to be handed off?" I asked, my voice like cut glass.

"I think you're more than that," he murmured. " I think you're the key to something very old, and very buried. And I think the people who promised you didn't expect you to be... like this."

"Alive?" I asked.

"Unclaimed," he corrected, and his hand slid just slightly lower on my waist. Testing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sam take a step forward.

Raines didn't notice. Or he did- and he didn't care.

"I don't care who promised you," I said, stepping back just enough to keep the dance going but change the pace. Slower. Sharper. "You don't own me. And anyone who told you otherside made a grave mistake."

He tilted his head, watching me like a wolf might watch something that almost made it to safety.

"Maybe," he said, voice silk over steel. "But mistakes can be corrected. If not by consent..."

His smile sharpened. "Then by tradition."

The lights above dimmed just slightly- too slightly for most humans to notice. But every creature in that ballroom felt it.

Something had shifted.

His eyes darkened, something primal flickering through them. "She's here."

"Then talk fast," I said, keeping the rhythm as we spun beneath the chandelier. "You've got about two minutes before Sam decides the diplomacy phase is over."

He leaned in—close enough for his breath to hit my cheek.

"The ring," he whispered. "You're not the only one after it. But I can help you get it—if you help me walk out of here in one piece."

I smiled thinly, the kind of smile that had teeth.

"Sounds like you're planning on making enemies tonight, Duke."

He chuckled low, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Enemies are inevitable. Survival, on the other hand—depends on the company you keep."

We turned again, and for a split second I caught a glimpse over his shoulder—Sam, cutting through the dance floor with lethal calm, Dean and Eve flanking him like wolves among sheep. All casual charm and sharp edges, but I could see it: the shift in Sam's stride, the tight coil of Dean's shoulders, the glint in Eve's smile.

They'd felt the shift in the room too.

I refocused on Raines, tightening my hand just slightly on his shoulder, enough to make it look affectionate to anyone watching—enough to tell him I wasn't impressed.

"If you're so desperate for allies," I murmured, "why start with threats and blood contracts?"

He grinned again, and this time, it was all teeth.

"Because power doesn't beg. It takes."

His gaze dipped briefly, deliberately, to my left hand. "You want to walk out of here alive, with that ring in your pocket? You'll need me."

The chandeliers flickered again—this time visible even to the human guests. A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. Somewhere beyond the ballroom, a door slammed open hard enough to shake the walls.

The auction was about to start.

And the real monsters had just arrived.

Raines tightened his hold by a fraction, his gold-flecked eyes burning with something old and vicious.
"Think fast, darling. Your two minutes are up."

I caught Sam's reflection in a gilded mirror across the room—his eyes locked on me, burning with something that wasn't just anger. It was possession. Protection. Love forged under fire.

I turned my face back to Raines, a wicked smile curving my lips. "What's your plan?"

Raines' smile mirrored mine—sharp, dangerous—but underneath it, I caught the flicker of frustration. He hadn't expected me to stay this calm.

Good.

"Simple," he said, voice a low purr only I could hear over the rising buzz of the ballroom. "The auction goes sideways—trust me, it will—and in the chaos, we walk out. Together."

His thumb brushed my knuckles in a mockery of tenderness. "You help me secure what I came for, I help you secure the ring. And afterward..."

He let the word hang, like a noose.

"...we renegotiate your future."

I almost laughed, the sound biting at the back of my throat. Instead, I leaned in, letting the scent of his expensive cologne and colder instincts hit me full force.

"You're assuming I need help," I whispered back, eyes gleaming under the crystal lights. "You're assuming you'll still be standing after the first shot's fired."

His grin widened—damn near feral now.

"Everyone needs help tonight," he said. "You just don't know it yet."

Behind me, I felt it again—the shift in the air. Sam was close now. So close that the heat of him prickled against my bare back.
Dean's laugh echoed somewhere nearby, louder, more cutting. Eve's high heels clicked closer, every movement deliberate. They were setting the perimeter without looking like they were setting it.

Raines felt it too.

"You sure you want to make me your enemy, little storm?" he asked, voice softer now, deadlier. "Because if I can't have you..."

His gaze flicked once- to the ballroom, to the stage where the band played. "Neither can he."

The words hit like a trigger.

Before I could even open my mouth, heat flashed behind me—and then Sam was there.

He didn't shove, didn't punch—no, Sam Winchester was far too controlled for that. But the way he stepped between us was violence enough. A shield made of anger and muscle and terrifying calm. His hand found my waist, steady, claiming, while his other clamped around Raines' offered one—tight enough to make the werewolf's polished bravado falter.

"She's not yours to threaten," Sam said, low and dangerous. His voice wasn't raised. It didn't have to be.

For a heartbeat, everything on the dancefloor stuttered—like the room itself paused to listen.

Raines smiled, but there was a crack in it now, thin and sharp. He flexed his hand like he was testing Sam's strength—and losing.

"Careful, hunter," he said, voice silken but brittle. "This room doesn't belong to you."

"No," Sam agreed, his thumb pressing a slow, warning circle against my hip. His body was angled just slightly in front of mine now, shielding without smothering. "But she does."

The lights dimmed further, another subtle shudder in the bones of the building.

On the stage, a woman in an emerald-green gown stepped into the spotlight. Dark hair swept into an elegant twist, poise sharp enough to cut glass. She tapped the microphone lightly, the sound crisp in the tense air.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen," her voice lilted across the room, smooth and commanding. "Will our honored guests please join us in the banquet hall?"

The crowd shifted, a collective exhale as bodies turned toward the wide doors at the far end of the room.

In front of me, I felt it—Sam's body tensing, a ripple of something raw and startled running through him.

His breath hitched almost too quietly to hear.

Then, low enough that only I could catch it:

"Sarah?"

I blinked, thrown by the crack in his voice—the mixture of disbelief and something older, heavier. Recognition wrapped in guilt.