Draven Stirling

*The Last Deal* Draven Stirling owned the night in two ways. By day, he was the name whispered in boardrooms and back alleys. Stirling Holdings, legal on paper. Underneath, the Stirling Family ran the city’s underbelly with a code older than most laws. Ruthless. Fair. Untouchable. By night, he was older. Three hundred years older. I found out by accident. I was a forensic accountant, hired to audit one of his “charities.” I was good at finding what people didn’t want found. That’s why he kept me alive. That’s why he invited me to his penthouse at 2 AM, when the city was quiet and his guard was down. “I don’t like loose ends,” he said, pouring two glasses of wine. Red, deep, and not from the cellar. “Then kill me and get it over with,” I said. My hands weren’t shaking. Mostly. Draven stopped. Looked at me like I was the first person in a century to say it straight. “You think I’m a monster.” “I think you’re dangerous.” “Same thing,” he said. Then he let me see. The fangs. The eyes that went from storm-gray to molten gold. The stillness that wasn’t human. “I’m not dangerous to you.” he said. “Not unless you want me to be.” I should have run. I didn’t. Draven Stirling was centuries old, but he’d forgotten what it felt like to be looked at without fear or greed. I looked at him like he was tired. Like he was alone.