Hawk's Captive

A Self-Narrated Biography (Because If Anyone Else Tells It, They Won’t Live to Finish the Story)

The Night I Should’ve Died

Not every kid has a near-death experience before hitting puberty.

I did.

Some kids are born into love.

I was born into a war zone with a front-row seat to my own execution.

Grace. My mother. She named me Gabriel. Maybe she thought it would save me. Maybe she was too drunk to realize the irony.

She had a habit of picking the wrong men—men with heavy fists and short tempers.

The last one? He wasn’t just a mistake.

He was a monster in human skin.

For ten years, I lived in a house that smelled like cheap liquor and bad decisions.

For ten years, I learned that silence was safer than speaking, that shadows made better company than people.

And then, one night, he got tired of dragging it out.

My stepfather decided he was finally done playing house.

He had a baseball bat—wooden, solid, and stained with things I didn’t want to think about.

I had nothing.

He swung.

I heard the crack before I felt it.

Pain exploded in my skull, sharp and white-hot, the kind that makes you forget your own name.

I hit the ground.

The world went sideways.

My ears rang. My vision blurred.

This was it.

This was how it ended.

Then—

A voice.

Soft but sharp, clear through the chaos. Like a whisper between reality and a bad dream.

Run, Gabriel! Run!

It wasn’t my mother. It wasn’t some guardian angel.

It was Alena.

I didn’t know her then. Had never met her.

But she saw it all—in a dream, a vision, a nightmare she had no business witnessing.

And somehow, in the fog of pain and blood, I heard her.

So I ran.

Crawled, staggered, bolted—straight into the only place no one would follow.

The drainage tunnel.

Dark. Narrow. Reeking of piss, crawling with rats and cockroaches the size of my fist.

I didn’t care.

I kept running.

Because survival doesn’t care about comfort. Survival doesn’t care about fear.

Survival is getting out, no matter what it takes.

And that night? That night, I survived.

What Came After

I don’t know how Alena saw it. I don’t know why she did.

And when we met years later, she didn’t have to ask.

She already knew.

Somewhere between fate and something darker, our lives tangled long before we even knew each other’s names.

I don’t believe in destiny. I don’t believe in miracles.

But I do believe in survivors. And Alena?

She saw me die before I ever had the chance to live.

And now?

Now, I never plan on dying again.

Wanna read spoilers? Click here

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The Pull

He was about to start the car when his phone buzzed. A message.

She’s here.

Hawk’s grin sharpened into something predatory. Of all the bookstores in all the cities, she had to walk into his.

Coincidence?

He laughed to himself, dark and low.

“Sorry, love. Wrong place, wrong time.”

He adjusted the rearview mirror, already seeing her reflection in his mind.

But don’t worry. You’re gonna love what happens next.

There it was—the silver Mustang parked a few meters away, like a bullet with her name engraved on the hood. And then, a man stepped out of the passenger side.

Not a bodyguard.

Too soft around the edges. Too smug. Too alive.

A boyfriend.

His jaw clenched so hard it could cut diamonds. He was about to march over and “help” Alena out of the car, but then he saw it—that giggle, that flutter of fingers brushing her hair back, that whispered “Ako na.”

The boyfriend offered his arm like some third-rate Prince Charming, and Alena took it.

He tasted blood. His own. From biting his tongue to keep from snarling. He could snap the guy’s neck faster than anyone could scream “911,” and no one would even find the body.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

Oh right. Jealousy.

What a ridiculous, humiliating emotion for a man like him.

The clueless boyfriend had no idea Death himself was parked in a pickup truck a few feet away, watching him, considering whether he deserved to live through the hour.

Sunglasses on, emotions off. He left the truck and slipped into the bookstore.

It was massive—four floors of literature and overpriced coffee. But he didn’t need maps or signs to find her. Even without the micro-tracker in his watch (which, yes, he had hacked months ago), he could always find Alena.

He could feel her in his pulse. Smell her in the air. That scent—powdery florals with a sinful kiss of vanilla almond.

On anyone else, it would’ve been forgettable. On Alena, it was addictive. Her scent alone made him hard. He was losing his mind.

Maybe it was the celibacy—over a year of self-imposed chastity like some deranged monk with a death wish. But not for long.

He spotted the boyfriend downstairs, camped at the café with a laptop, looking harmless, oblivious—temporary.

Alena, predictably, had ditched him to browse romance novels. Of course. She always preferred her own company. The boyfriend was probably an unwanted accessory, like a purse gifted by someone who doesn’t know your style.

Even blindfolded, he could’ve found her in a crowd of thousands.

And there she was—fingers trailing spines of paperbacks, her curls spilling down her back like a sunset tangled in silk. Sunglasses perched on her head, yellow summer dress swaying with every step, cardigan slipping off one shoulder.

She looked like sunshine wrapped in sin. A goddess dressed for brunch. And if she was a goddess, then consider him her most pathetic, willing sacrifice.

She was beautiful under moonlight, sure—but under bright lights?

 Devastating.

Even in a sea of bodies, Alena shone like a beacon.

He caught her gasp the moment she felt him watching her from the next shelf over.

Her head snapped up. Their eyes locked.

The paperback slipped from her fingers.

“You.” Her whisper was soft, like a prayer she never wanted answered.

He smiled—a slow, knowing curve of the lips that said You’ve felt me watching, haven’t you?

“Coincidence?” she asked, voice trembling. “Or… you’re following me?”

He stepped closer, shadow swallowing her whole. She backed into the shelf, eyes wide, breath shallow. His face hovered inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin—laced with unspoken hunger. Something feral. Something dangerous.

“Both.”

The air felt too thick to breathe. The world shrank down to just the two of them, hidden between towering shelves of forgotten stories.

“Coincidentally,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers, “I saw you walk in… with your boyfriend.”  The word tasted bitter on his tongue. 

His hands caged her in, palms braced on either side of her head. “And then, I followed you here.”

“B-boyfriend?” Her voice broke, barely audible.

His smile vanished.  “It doesn’t matter, Alena.”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear.  “You belong to me.”

Hindi maintindihan ni Alena kung saan nakahugot ng lakas ang mga binti niya kaya kaagad siyang nakalayo sa lalaking pangahas!

Alena’s heels clacked softly on the floor, each step echoing louder than her conscience. Sa monastery, tahimik ang mga madre. Pag nag-ingay ka ng ganito, automatic may community rosary para sa kaluluwa mo.

Pero ngayon? Wala nang madre. Just her, this aisle, and her runaway heartbeat. Nagtago siya sa likod ng bookshelf, chest rising and falling like she just escaped confession.

“Lord, sorry po sa mga impure thoughts ko.” She whispered it to the ceiling, kasi reflex na ang makipag-usap kay Lord kahit nasa mall lang.

And by impure thoughts, she meant that man and his sinful arms, that hair na mukhang hindi nagsusuklay pero ang ganda pa rin, at yung ngiti niya na parang invitation sa impyerno with free welcome drink.

“Buti na lang di niya ako sinundan.” She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her wild pulse. Pero bakit parang disappointed siya? Aba, Alena! Saan mo natutunan ‘yan? Sa Leviticus?!

Every time she swore she wouldn’t think about him, boom, andyan siya—like a demonic apparition pero hot. Stalking ba ‘to? O siya lang talaga ang sinumpaang magpakita tuwing sinusumpa mo nang wag siya isipin?

“Stalking is a crime, ha!” she muttered, even though the only law she knew well was “Thou shall not steal.”

But deep down, she knew—wala siyang takot sa kanya. Just… this strange feeling, like standing too close to a candle. Alam mong mapapaso ka, pero ang ganda kasi ng apoy.

Then, ayan na. The voice.

“You know I won’t hurt you, Alena.”

Napapitlag siya. The way he said her name—parang kasalanan pakinggan pero gusto mo pang marinig. Nahiya tuloy siya sa guardian angel niya. Sure siya nag-log out na yun.

On instinct, she parted the books between them. Nandoon siya—leaning casually sa shelf, like temptation itself took a coffee break.

That smirk. Those shoulders. Yung pose niya na parang bida sa paperback romance na tinago ng mga madre sa kumbento library.

He held a book, pretending to read, pero halatang hindi. His fingers weren’t even on the right page. Sira-ulo rin ‘tong lalaking ‘to.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice so soft it could pass as a prayer.

Diyos ko, ito na ba ang seven deadly sins? Kasi counted as all-in-one package siya.

She noticed the other girls swooning nearby. Pero hindi man lang siya nilingon. Diretso tingin lang sa kanya.

“What? Giving up already, princess?” he teased, his voice warm and low—pang huling tukso bago ka ipatawag ni Mother Superior.

“Hindi noh!” she snapped, like a kid caught sneaking out after curfew.

He finally turned fully—those eyes na parang storm clouds and stained glass windows combined, locking straight into her soul.

His wolf-cut hair was tied loosely, a few rebellious strands framing his face. Everything about him screamed wildness and control—a contradiction that left her breathless.

She forgot how to breathe. This was the opposite of silent prayer.

“You’re following me!” she accused, voice too shrill to sound intimidating.

“Me? Following you?” He grinned like the devil making small talk. “Who’s the one hiding behind a bookshelf, huh?”

His smile could charm the devil out of hell.

“May bahay ako,” she said sharply, her chin tilting up. “Nasundan mo nga ako dito, kaya huwag kang mag-excuse na hindi mo alam kung saan ako nakatira!”

He chuckled, that low, dangerous laugh that made her knees weak. Sa monastery, tinuro sa kanila na ang ganitong kilig ay gawa ng demonyo. Kung ganon, this is demonic-level kilig.

“Of course I know where you live.” Then, his voice softened. The teasing melted into something real. “Would you let me take you home?”

Home. Ano nga ba ang home sa kanya? Yung monastery? Yung bahay ng magulang niyang itinapon siya sa mga madre? O itong moment na ‘to, dito, sa gitna ng mga libro at delikadong feelings?

He stepped around the shelf, removing all barriers. Her brain screamed flight pero her feet betrayed her and stayed.

“Would you say yes if I asked you out?”

She bit her lip—reflex. Sa monastery, bawal ‘yun. Pero ngayon? Mukha siyang accidental thirst trap na walang idea kung bakit.

Lintek. Para siyang natapakan ng santo statue. Eh wala naman akong boyfriend since birth. Wala ngang holding hands, except sa peace be with you!

He moved closer. Close enough na naramdaman niya yung warmth niya, and that scent—cedar at konting kasalanan.

And when his fingers brushed hers, parang may electric shock—except hindi kuryente. Kuryente ng kabaliwan siguro.

For the first time in her ultra-sheltered, rosary-filled life, wala sa Bible study ang sagot dito. This was no temptation sa libro. This was real life.

And God forgive her—but she didn’t want to run.

When she didn’t answer, he tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

 “See? Now you know.”

“Hindi naman sa ganoon—”

“I miss you.”

His voice was a whisper, but the words hit her like a storm. Her breath caught, and she gasped softly.

Miss niya ako? Totoo ba ito?

Before she could process it, umikot ito mula sa shelf na nakapagitan sa kanila. He stood so close she could feel his warmth, smell the faint cedar and musk on him.

She swallowed hard, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Her heart raced, her nerves trembled. He was too close. But she didn’t move away.

And when he reached out, his fingers grazing hers—

 Her knees nearly buckled.

She has beautiful hazel eyes fringe with long thick lashes. 

Her lips trembled, and Hawk’s manhood twitched. Fucking hell.

What was it this time—fear, guilt, or the same filthy little craving she was too polite to name?

Didn’t matter. As long as she trembled for him.

He stalked closer, slow enough to make her feel it, like a heat crawling up her spine. 

“Easy, baby girl,” he purred, voice rough from all the things he wanted to do to her. 

I only fuck my enemies’ sisters if they ask nicely.

Her breath caught. Sweet, innocent Alena. All wide eyes and shaky hands. But her gaze dropped to his mouth, and that was it. Permission granted.

He kissed her like he had the right. Like her lips were made to shut him up. Tongue sliding past her shock, tasting cherry lip balm, warm breath, and that soft, helpless sound she made when he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth.

She kissed him back. Hesitant at first—sweet, almost shy—but when his hand slid down her spine and grabbed a handful of her perfect ass, she gasped into his mouth, and suddenly, there she was.

The real Alena. The one who wanted to be kissed stupid.

“See?” he murmured against her mouth, grinding just enough for her to feel exactly what she was doing to him. “You’re bad at pretending, baby.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt, clutching like she needed him to hold her up—or pin her down.

He could do either. Hell, he could do both.

He slid his thigh between hers, just to feel how warm she was through that prim little skirt, just to hear her breath hitch again.

She was so fucking soft. He wanted her spread out, all pink and messy, begging him to finish what they started.

“Relax,” he whispered, licking into her mouth like he was teaching her how to sin. “No one’s watching.”

Lie.

Her boyfriend was one aisle over, flipping through something boring, probably thinking Alena was too sweet to get fingered between hardcovers.

Idiot.

Her hands trembled against his chest. “No—”

“Shh.” He kissed her again, slower this time, like they had all the time in the world. Be good and I’ll let you come next time.

She blushed—bright fucking red—right there in the middle of the bookstore. His good girl with her dirty little secret smeared all over her lips.

“Alena?”

The boyfriend.

She yanked away, eyes wild with panic, but her nipples were hard through her blouse, her breath ragged, and her mouth still wet from his.

She looked like a girl who’d just been thoroughly corrupted.

She ran to Ryan like a guilty schoolgirl, stammering some excuse about not finding what she wanted.

Hawk just leaned back into the shadows, licking the taste of her off his lips.

Liar.

She found exactly what she wanted—and Hawk wasn’t even done giving it to her yet.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes begging for one last look at him.

He gave her a slow, filthy smile. Later, baby.

After all, she wasn’t married yet. And Hawk always played with his food.

Hawk's Captive

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Ang Makulay (at Medyo Madugong) Kasaysayan ng Pamilyang Mondego

Sa malupit na larong tinatawag na “Angkanan Wars,” may dalawang nag-aalburotong pamilya—ang Mondego at Vera Luna. Hindi sila basta mga mortal na kaaway; sila ‘yung tipong kung pwede lang ipadeport sa kabilang buhay ang isa’t isa, matagal na nilang ginawa.

Sa gitna ng kanilang signature vendetta, may apat na biktima—ay este, magkakapatid—mula sa lahi ng Mondego:

• Jose Gabriel – The eldest. Mayabang pero charming. Parang CEO na hindi mo alam kung yayaman ka o mawawalan ng kaluluwa kapag kinausap mo.

• Marco Antonio – The second-in-command. Medyo mas tahimik pero may potensyal na mag-utos ng “make it look like an accident.”

• Miguel Paolo – The adopted one. Pero twist: anak siya ng mortal nilang kaaway na si Vera Luna! Kaya technically, spy? O long-lost asset? Who knows.

• Ana Gisella – The missing sister na parang telenovela ang plot twist—kinidnap ng Vera Luna at pinalaking one of them!

  
  

Dahil sa kanilang high-budget revenge arc, ang Mondego siblings ay muling nagtagpo sa Vera Luna clan, at anong nangyari? Aba, siyempre, love story! (Dahil walang mas epic na paraan para ipagpatuloy ang generational trauma kundi ang magpakasal sa mortal mong kaaway!)

• Si Jose Gabriel at Rosangelica Vera Luna – Parang Romeo at Juliet, pero mas rich at less suicidal.

• Si Marco Antonio at Ana Paloma Vera Luna – Mas tahimik pero mukhang mas maraming skeletons sa closet.

• Si Miguel Paolo at Ana Gisella – This one’s wild. Inampon si Miguel Paolo, pero in the end, nagkatuluyan siya sa kapatid niya by name. ‘Di natin alam kung poetic justice o accidental incest speedrun.

  
  

Fast forward sa susunod na henerasyon—dahil ang kayamanan, trauma, at pangalang mahirap i-spell ay dapat ipasa sa future generations.

Dalawang sosyal na apo ng magkapatid na Mondego ang nakahanap ng kanilang walking bank accounts sa Estados Unidos:

• Ana Karenina ‘Nina 1.0’ Mondego (apo nina Jose Gabriel at Rosangelica) – Napangasawa si Mr. Moneybags mula sa Wolf Archer Finance Conglomerate. Hindi lang stock market ang iniinvest-an nila, pati generations ng socialite heirs.

• Mineah Almira Mondego (apo nina Marco Antonio at Ana Paloma) – Mas pinili ang big oil money at napangasawa ang isang Fuentabella heir ng TexaCo Oil Company. Because who needs morals when you have Texas oil?

At ang ultimate product ng high society mergers na ito?

• Alaric at Alena – Magkapatid na sumalo ng burden ng generational wealth and existential crisis. Si Alaric, bored na bored sa structured life niya at nangangarap lang mag-camping with the wolves. Si Alena, well… let’s just say, she probably learned how to wield a knife before she learned how to do taxes.

  
  

And that, my friends, is how two warring families turned an age-old vendetta into a multi-generational financial empire.

Welcome to the Mondego legacy—where love, revenge, and mergers are just business as usual. 🚬🍸