Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books. Any recognisable dialogue is from the books or TV show – some lines may be included verbatim, others in an amended form.

This is a modern, no powers AU. Warnings for implied stalking. There is also non-consent implied near the end - nothing actually happens but it is suggested that things might, and it's at a point when Alina has gone semi-catatonic and is therefore in no state to actually consent.

Abduction

Alina doesn't know his name or his job or anything about him.

She knows his face, though.

Only now realises that she has seen it regularly these past few months.

Near the office where she works, in the park where she jogs, at the coffee shop she favours.

Tall, dark, handsome and, apparently, a lunatic.

She's a little fuzzy on the details, doesn't know how she and Mal ended up in this huge house in, from what she can see when she glances out of the huge windows, the middle of a dense forest.

She remembers going to sleep the night before, then waking up with an aching head, bound to a chair.

Mal is in a similar condition, although he also has a nasty bruise blooming on his jaw.

"Hello, Alina," the man smiles at her.

He crouches down in front of her, reaches out a hand to tenderly tuck some hair behind her ear.

She flinches, tries to lean back.

He sighs softly, then stands and settles himself into a chair a few feet away from her and Mal.

"Who are you?" she asks, "what are we doing here?"

"I've been watching you, Alina," he ignores her questions, gaze laser-focused on her, "such an unhappy young woman."

She shakes her head in protest, "I'm not unhappy."

"Mmm, really? Not irritated that your boss won't give you the promotion you deserve? Not frustrated that your boyfriend," he shoots Mal a disdainful glare, "won't get off his lazy ass and actually find a job? Not tired of the tiny apartment with the leaky sink and broken shower and mold on the walls? Not sick of the friends who unload their own problems on you but never have time for yours?"

He pauses, before shooting her a sly smirk, "not angry at the boyfriend who doesn't even have the decency to get you off before he finishes?"

Alina gasps, cheeks bright red, as Mal swears loudly.

How does he know these things? Not just general facts, but the intimate details of her relationship with Mal. How long has he been watching her?

"Well," he leans forward in his seat, "are you sure you're not unhappy, Alina?"

"I'm perfectly happy," she insists tightly.

Even to her own ears she sounds unsure. He's hit plenty of her sore spots with his words and it's thrown her off balance.

"I afraid I don't believe you, malyshka," he says, almost mockingly.

"Leave her alone," Mat spits out, fists clenched, "stop talking to her, you bastard."

Alina winces as the man's dark gaze falls onto her boyfriend.

"Ah, and then we come to you. Malyen Oretsev."

When he says nothing else, Mal lets out a laugh that Alina knows is a bad decision on her boyfriend's part, "what, no list of lies about me?"

The man snorted derisively, "I could write your successes on a postage stamp and have room to spare. You, Malyen, are mediocre. The only interesting thing about you is your lovely little girlfriend."

"I won't let you touch her," Mal growls, "I'll die first."

A wide, shark's grin spreads across the man's face, "well, that is the plan."

"No," Alina shakes her head, panicking and desperate, "please, just let him go. He won't say anything."

"I'll get every cop in this state chasing you," Mal bellows, "you won't get away with this."

"Mal," she hisses, "stop it."

Her boyfriend has never been good at realising when he's outgunned. She's had to pull him away from countless fights over the years, has patched him up a dozen times when he's gone out drinking and got into brawls with men he should have avoided.

Mal is indignant, "what … you want him to touch you, Alina?"

"I don't want you to die," she shouts back, irritated by his stubborn inability to see the danger they are in.

"I'm afraid that part isn't up for negotiation," the man interjects.

He sounds so calm and rational, not at all as if he is discussing someone's murder.

"Please," Alina begs, "I'll do anything, just don't kill him."

"Oh, Alina," he murmurs, "I'm not going to kill him … you are."

"What," she chokes out, "no, no, no."

He shrugs, "I would do it myself, malyshka, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be kind at all. It really would be very painful and drawn out. And I'd hate for you to have to watch. You'd scream yourself hoarse in protest before I even had the chance to get you into our bed."

Mal gives a roar of anger, struggling against his bonds even though he must know how futile it is.

"You're a monster," Alina whispers, horrified.

Her words don't seem to bother him in the slightest, "perhaps I am, but you can call me Aleksander, malyshka."

He stands now, comes around behind her chair and unties the ropes holding her there.

She looks at the door, wonders if she can get to it before he grabs her.

Not a chance, not really. And, besides, how can she leave Mal to this madman's mercy?

"Don't try anything foolish now, Alina," he warns her, wrapping a hand around her waist and tugging her back against his chest, "I enjoy a good chase, but I'm not sure you're quite ready for that yet."

She squirms in his grasp, going suddenly still after a few moments when she feels hardness against her back and realises he likes that.

He guides her over to stand behind the chair Mal is tied to. Then, without warning, a knife is pressed into her hand, glinting in the light coming in through the windows.

Aleksander guides her hands so that the sharp blade is pressed against Mal's jugular.

"Please," she whispers, hand trembling slightly, "stop."

"Just one cut," he tells her, "and then it's all done. You don't want him to suffer, do you?"

And Saints, this isn't some fictional tale. There's no white knight to save them, only the knowledge that if she doesn't slit her boyfriend's throat then she's likely condemning him to a lingering, tortuous death.

She squeezes her eyes shut, hoping she'll open them and find this is just an awful nightmare.

… it's not, though. This is her reality.

And her hand jerks, almost of its own accord.

It is enough. Blood sprays outwards across the floor and she knows instantly that Mal is gone.

Aleksander plucks the knife from her slack grip, drops it to the floor with a clatter.

"Well done, malyshka," he coos, leaning down to press his lips to her cheek, "such a good girl."

She's still in shock as he leads her towards a set of stairs, "let's get you cleaned up and into bed."

A bed sounds nice. Her head is swimming and she can't really focus on anything.

Aleksander just leaves Mal's body there on the floor, like it's nothing, a piece of trash to be cleared away later.

Saints, Mal … Mal, I'm so sorry.

"You've done so well, Alina," Aleksander continues as he helps her up the stairs, "I think you deserve a reward. Shall I make you feel good, once you're settled in bed? Nothing too taxing, not tonight, but I think I can coax some sweet little moans from you. I assure you, I'm far more adept than the late, unlamented Mr Oretsev, and you won't have to do a thing."

Her mind is screaming, grief at losing Mal, and guilt at her part in it, warring with horror at the fact that she's not doing anything, is just letting this stranger take her upstairs, allowing him to say all these things without protesting.

She can't fight, though, can't make her limbs work the way she wants them to.

Is her mind shutting down?

All she knows is that she can't get the image of Mal's still body out of her head, can't stop looking at her bloodstained hands.

Maybe if she closes her eyes, she can pretend none of this has happened.

Can ignore the fact that Aleksander was right when he said she was unhappy.

I never wanted this, though, she thinks, a better job, Mal pulling his weight a bit more … but not this, never this.

Aleksander is washing her hands now, the red disappearing down the sink and leaving her hands unstained.

However, in her mind she can still see the blood, proclaiming her role as her boyfriend's murderer.

Alina starts to cry, tears dripping down her face, hysterical sobs catching in her throat.

"Hush, kotenok," he wipes away her tears, rubs his hands up and down her arms in a soothing motion, "I'll take care of you."

He leads her out of the bathroom, down the hall, into a large bedroom.

"It's just you and me now, Alina," he tells her, holding her close, "and we are all we need anyway."

The door clicks softly shut.

Thanks for reading.