Chapter 37 Cyrus
CYRUS
The screen of my phone lights up with a text from Xavier Blackwood. I’m in the kitchen making breakfast while Keira showers and Ace checks security feeds.
“Fuck,” I mutter, reading the message.
Ace looks up from his laptop. “What?”
“X wants us at the office. ASAP.”
“Both of us?”
I nod. “Yeah. His office, thirty minutes.”
“Keira stays here,” Ace says, not a question.
“Obviously.” I set the spatula down and switch off the stove. The pancakes will have to wait.
Keira emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping. She’s filled out since coming to live with us—healthier, stronger. The haunted look that used to flash across her face is gone, replaced by something steady and self-assured.
“Why so serious?” she asks, looking between us.
“Work,” I tell her, crossing to kiss her forehead. “We’ll be back soon.”
She tenses slightly. “Is it dangerous?”
“Just a meeting,” Ace says, already sliding weapons into various holsters. “Stay in the penthouse until we return.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re seated in Xavier Blackwood’s office. The fucker is leaning back in his chair, studying us like we’re lab specimens. The room smells like expensive cologne and hidden threats.
“Our Russian problem has escalated,” Xavier says without preamble. “Viktor Kozlov lost over eight million when you eliminated Marconi. Apparently, they were finalizing distribution channels for a new synthetic.”
“You told us Marconi was moving on east district territory,” Ace replies, voice neutral. “Nothing about Kozlov.”
Xavier’s mouth tightens. “Intelligence failure. Kozlov arrived in Ravenwood yesterday.”
My blood runs cold. “He’s here personally?”
“With his security detail. He’s demanding reparations.”
“Or?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Xavier’s fingers tap against his desk, an irritating rhythm that makes my jaw clench.
“There’s more,” he says, reaching for a folder. “Kozlov’s second-in-command, Volkov, has been asking questions about you two.”
My spine stiffens. Beside me, Ace goes perfectly still—the kind of stillness that precedes violence.
“What kind of questions?” I demand.
Xavier slides several surveillance photos across the desk. They show a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his left cheek, talking to various people we recognize from Ravenwood’s underground.
“Where you live. Your routines. Who you spend time with.” Xavier’s eyes lock with mine. “He’s looking for leverage. Anyone close to you is a potential target.”
Keira. Our Keira, who finally sleeps through the night without nightmares. Who dances with newfound freedom. Who trusts us to keep her safe.
I glance at Ace and see my own fear reflected in his eyes. His face remains impassive, but I can read the tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his gaze.
“You’re not the first operatives he’s hunted,” Xavier continues, pushing another photo forward. This one shows a burned-out apartment building. “Moscow, three years ago. Kozlov’s men couldn’t reach their target directly, so they went after his girlfriend instead.”
Ace’s fingers twitch toward the knife at his belt. “We’ll handle it,” he promises, voice deadly calm. “Before he finds her.”
I’m already mentally cataloging safe houses, escape routes, and weapons caches. We’ve never had someone to protect before—someone who matters more than the mission, more than ourselves.
“I’ve doubled security at every Blackwood property,” Xavier says. “But this needs to end quickly. I don’t care how you do it, but Kozlov cannot leave Ravenwood alive.”
We leave Xavier’s office in silence, my rage building with each step. Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out everything except the thought of Keira becoming a target. By the time we reach the elevator, my fists are clenched so tight my knuckles burn white.
The doors slide closed, and something inside me snaps.
I swing at the elevator wall, but Ace catches my wrist mid-air, his grip like iron.
“Stop,” he says. “That won’t help her.”
I try to wrench free, but Ace doesn’t let go. Instead, his grip shifts, sliding down until he’s holding my hand, our fingers interlocking.
“We keep her safe,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Whatever it takes.”
The elevator descends, but I feel suspended in time, caught between blind fury and vulnerability. The thought of Keira hurt—or worse—makes me want to tear the world apart with my bare hands.
“I can’t lose her,” I whisper, the admission ripping from my throat.
Ace studies my face. “This is different, isn’t it?”
I nod, unable to find words. We’ve shared lovers before, dozens of them over the years, but none like Keira. None who slipped past our defenses and made themselves at home in places we didn’t know we had.
“Do you love her?” Ace asks, his voice barely audible.
The question hits me like a bullet. Love isn’t a word we use—not in our world, not with our history. We weren’t taught to love; we were taught to kill, to survive, to own. But the truth claws its way up my throat before I can stop it.
“Yes.” The admission leaves me feeling exposed. “You?”
Ace’s grip on my hand tightens. “A week and a half ago, when you were meeting with Knox… Keira and I were together.”
I nod, unsure where he’s going with this. It’s not unusual for one of us to be with her alone.
“I almost told her then,” he continues, eyes fixed on our joined hands. “That I love her. The words were right there, but I stopped myself.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it felt wrong to say it without you there. We’ve shared everything since we were born, Cy. The good and the bad. When we say those words to her, it should be both of us.”
The elevator reaches the parking garage with a soft chime, but neither of us moves. I’m caught in the strange tension between us—something unfamiliar and raw that’s been growing since Keira entered our lives.
“We’ve never loved anyone before,” I say quietly. “Not like this.”
“I know.” Ace releases my hand, his fingers trailing against mine. “And now we have to keep her safe. No matter what.”
“We protect her with everything we have,” I say, voice rough. “Every resource, every contact. Kozlov doesn’t get anywhere near her.”
“Agreed.” Ace’s eyes harden with resolve. “We take him out first. Pre-emptive. Before he can make a move.”
“Together,” I say, extending my hand. “Like always.”
Instead of taking my hand, Ace pulls me into a tight embrace. I wrap my arms around him, feeling the familiar weight and strength of my other half.
“I love you, brother,” he says quietly, the words muffled against my shoulder. “Have since we were kids in that hellhole. No matter what happens, that doesn’t change.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. “I love you too. Always have.”
We break apart, both uncomfortable with the naked emotion but steadier for it.
“We should tell her,” Ace says as we walk toward the car. “About how we feel.”
“Tonight,” I agree. “Let’s do it right. That salmon recipe you make—the one with the dill sauce she liked.”
A small smile crosses Ace’s face. “I’ll cook. You get flowers. The purple ones she likes.”
“And we tell her it’s not about the Hunt,” I add, voicing what we’re both thinking. “A year isn’t enough. We want her—”
“Forever,” Ace finishes. “If she’ll have us.”
We climb into the car, Ace taking the driver’s seat while I check my weapons.
“We need to reach out to Felix,” I say, focusing on the task at hand. “Get eyes on Kozlov’s operation, find out where he’s staying.”
Ace nods, shifting the car into drive. “Already texted him. He’s setting up surveillance.”
Our hands brush as I reach for the center console at the same moment Ace adjusts the AC. We both pull back instantly, like we’ve touched a live wire.
“What about Keira’s schedule?” Ace asks, eyes fixed intently on the road. “She has that performance at the underground club next week.”
“Too exposed,” I reply. “We need to postpone it.”
“She won’t like that.”
“Better angry than dead.”
The silence that follows feels weighted, uncomfortable. I catch Ace glancing at me from the corner of his eye, then looking away when I turn toward him. There’s an undercurrent pulling at us—something that’s been building since that night Keira confessed her fantasy.
“When we get home—” Ace starts, then stops, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. We focus on Kozlov first, then dinner.”
But it’s not nothing. It’s something neither of us has vocabulary for—this shifting gravity between us that Keira somehow unleashed. It’s in the way we can’t quite meet each other’s eyes, the way our bodies seem hyperaware of proximity.
I turn toward the window, watching the city blur past. We’ve always been in sync, Ace and I—two parts of the same weapon. Now there’s this unnamed current running between us, and I don’t know if it’s making us stronger or threatening to pull us apart.