CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
MALIK
I tucked the rough woolen blanket around Rosie, her small form barely denting the straw mattress beneath her. She was nearing that magical age of seven—when the world should be full of wonder and discovery. Despite the relentless dangers stalking us at every turn, I was determined to shield her delicate innocence from the harsh realities pressing in. Yet, it often felt like trying to light a fire amid a raging storm—futile and nearly impossible. The shadows of deceit and betrayal loomed constantly, threatening to consume us. And still, I persisted, my resolve unyielding.
Her eyelids fluttered like moth wings near the flickering candlelight, casting faint, dancing shadows across the room. The mingling scents of woodsmoke and the distant murmur of tavern patrons seeped through the floorboards, grounding us in the fragile sanctuary of the moment.
“Are we going to be okay?” she mumbled, her voice thick with the pull of sleep yet tinged with a fragile innocence that tugged painfully at my heart.
“Always,” I whispered, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “I will protect you until my dying breath.”
It was a promise as solid as the ancient stones forming the walls of Vézelay, unshakable even in the face of our precarious reality.
She burrowed deeper into the covers, her tiny hand curling around mine. “I miss my bedtime stories,” she mumbled, the wistful longing in her voice like a blade to my chest.
A small, bittersweet smile crept onto my face, defying the heaviness in my heart. “When we’re safe, my little rose, I’ll tell you a million stories. Each one will be filled with wonders and adventures beyond anything you could dream.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Across the room, Reyna sat by the window, her silhouette framed by the soft, fading light outside. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her posture a silent testament to her grief. The space between us felt vast and cold, a chasm carved from her pain and self-imposed isolation. She had built an invisible wall brick by brick, keeping everyone at bay since the tragedy that had shattered her world.
I longed to bridge the gap, to offer solace or even just understanding, but in her eyes, I remained a stranger. The distance between us wasn’t merely physical; it was a void filled with heartbreak, broken trust, and the jagged remnants of a love fiercely given and just as fiercely lost. She glanced at me briefly, her gaze skittering away like a frightened bird, refusing to linger.
I watched her with a quiet sadness that seemed to mirror the creaking timber of the old tavern. Yet, I understood her withdrawal with a painful clarity. To her, I was little more than a shadow passing through her life, unable to mend what had been irrevocably broken.
As Rosie’s breathing evened into the rhythmic cadence of sleep, I smoothed the creases in her blanket. Serenity clung to her small form, a fragile peace I was determined to protect. Casting one last glance at my daughter, I turned back toward the evening, knowing Reyna’s silent vigil would continue—ever watchful, always tense, bracing for life’s next cruel blow. All I could do was respect her space, standing guard from afar, hoping time would heal what seemed irreparable.
A knock shattered the stillness. I strode across the wooden floorboards, their grain rough beneath my boots, glancing back at Reyna. She didn’t stir, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window, lost in her thoughts.
I lifted the latch, the door creaking as it opened to reveal a stout woman, her cheeks flushed from exertion or perhaps the bite of the evening chill. She bustled into the room, her gaze darting briefly toward Reyna before settling on me. A faint tension hovered in the air, amplified by the hurried energy radiating from her.
“Good sir,” she began, her voice breathless yet tinged with urgency. “I have an important message for you.”
Her eyes flickered back toward Reyna, then returned to mine, laden with an unspoken gravity. Sensing the significance of her words, I stepped into the dimly lit hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me.
The woman leaned closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You are to meet someone named Zara on the next floor up. Third floor. She says it’s important.”
“Zara,” I repeated, the name slipping from my tongue like a secret code. It carried a gravity that sent a chill down my spine despite the lingering warmth of the tavern.
“Indeed.” The woman nodded emphatically, her expression underscoring the urgency of the message.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my mind already racing with the possibilities of what this summons could entail.
The woman turned and descended the corridor, her steps muffled by the thick rug underfoot, leaving me alone with the weight of this revelation.
When I re-entered the room, Reyna remained unmoving by the window, her silhouette etched in quiet defiance against the dim light. The mention of Zara’s name would mean nothing to her, yet everything I held dear seemed to hinge on this clandestine meeting. Our destiny may rest in the hands of the figure waiting just one flight above.
“I’ll be back,” I said, infusing my voice with reassurance, though the unease gnawed at me.
Her gaze remained fixed on the world beyond the glass.
“You don’t need to check in with me. I’m nothing to you,” she replied, her tone devoid of emotion, her words sharper than I cared to admit.
I hesitated, struck by the cold indifference in her voice.
I’m a fool to care for her. She lost her true love four weeks ago.
And yet, some foolish part of me yearned for a hint of concern, a trace of a connection.
Shaking the thought from my mind, I turned and stepped into the hallway. As I climbed toward the third floor, the wooden stairs creaked underfoot, the shadows lengthening with the waning light of day. Each step echoed the tension coiling inside me, a prelude to the unknown that awaited.
When I reached the third floor, I paused. Through an open doorway, I saw Balthazar lying on a bed, his body writhing as he muttered incomprehensible phrases. His voice was strained, threading through the dimly lit space like a fractured melody.
Without hesitation, I crossed the threshold, my focus narrowing to the figure before me. In the corner of the room, Zara stood silently, her presence steady and watchful. Her eyes caught mine, and with a subtle nod, she gestured toward Balthazar, permitting me to approach.
“How are you, old friend?” I asked softly, though the words felt hollow as they left my lips.
Balthazar’s eyes fluttered open, flickering between recognition and turmoil. His features twisted with pain and despair.
“Why did you save me from Mathias’ dungeon?” he rasped, his voice a hoarse whisper laden with anguish. “You should have let the poison and fire consume me.”
Every syllable pierced through me like a knife, stirring up memories and emotions I had long buried.
“I saved you because you’re fighting for the wrong side,” I said firmly, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions. “You’re not the despicable man you pretend to be. Alina and Mathias—they’re the ones who twisted your mind and corrupted your soul. Alina, with her insatiable hunger for power, and Mathias, with his endless desire to destroy you. But before all that, before Alina came into your life, you were different.” My voice softened, carrying the echoes of old wounds and unresolved pain. “After you destroyed Mathias’ school of darkness, you were like a father to me. You took me in, nurtured me, and molded me into who I am today. You made me strong. You made me powerful. And then, one day, you turned against me. You abandoned me.”
The words cracked as they left my lips, a tremor betraying the tears that threatened to spill. The memory of betrayal was a fresh wound, raw and unhealed even after all these years.
The room fell silent, the weight of our shared history pressing down on us. Balthazar’s labored breaths punctuated the stillness, a stark reminder of the fragility of the moment. The air between us grew heavy with unspoken truths, the tension thickening like a gathering storm.
The tension coiled tighter.
“Don’t let this go to your head,” Balthazar growled through clenched teeth, his piercing gaze boring into mine with an almost physical intensity. He was a broken shadow of the man I once knew, yet his will remained unyielding. “Thank you, Malik, for saving me and pulling me from Mathias’ clutches. I despise that fucking man who took everything from me.”
His gratitude, twisted and cloaked in bitterness, left a sour taste in my mouth.
“You shouldn’t have gone after Olivia all these years,” I said, my voice slicing through the charged atmosphere like a blade.
Balthazar’s face contorted into a vicious snarl, his eyes blazing with fury. “I will not rest until every last descendant and offspring of Mathias and Alina, including Olivia, lies in ruin at my feet!”
“Then you’ll have to kill your daughter, Emily, too.” The words fell from my lips with deliberate precision, sharp and unforgiving.
The fire in Balthazar’s eyes faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of horror. His body recoiled, shrinking under the weight of his monstrous vendetta. The realization struck him like a physical blow, stripping away the veneer of rage to reveal something far more human—anguish.
The room’s shadows shifted, and Zara stepped forward, her presence emerging from the gloom like a specter-made flesh.
Balthazar’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Why do I keep seeing this ghost? She’s dead!”
Zara’s hand moved with the swiftness of a striking serpent, the crack of her slap resounding through the room. “I have never been a ghost,” she said, her voice laced with authority and exasperation. “I am very much alive. Flesh and blood. And I have been for centuries, you idiot.”
“Impossible!” Balthazar’s voice cracked, his words trembling under the strain of his fragmented psyche. “I saw Mathias kill you all those years ago!”
“You’re wrong,” Zara said, her voice unwavering, her gaze fierce and unyielding. “I’m not dead. I’ve always been here, always tried to reach you, even when you refused to see the truth. When Alina left you and poisoned you, it was me who set your house on fire. I took Malik from your dungeon and healed him when you thought he’d died in the flames.”
A sliver of hope dared flicker within me. There may still be a chance to salvage what remained of the man who had been my mentor and tormentor. With Zara’s return, there may still be a chance to salvage the broken man before me. Maybe redemption wasn’t as far out of reach as it seemed.
Balthazar’s trembling fingers rose, pointing at Zara with a mixture of shock and dawning comprehension. “It was you? All those times you appeared to me—comforted me during the darkest moments of my life—it was always you?”
Zara nodded, her eyes locked onto his, unwavering. “Yes, Balthazar. But how could you bring so much pain and suffering to Olivia and still want to kill her when you and her share a history and past together?”
“She’s Alina’s daughter and Mathias’ granddaughter!” Balthazar spat; the words were venomous, his face contorted with years of ingrained hatred.
“Enough of this revenge!” Zara’s voice cut through the charged air like a blade. “You need to wake up and remember who you were before this madness consumed you!”
Balthazar flinched as if her words had struck him physically. His voice rose in a roar, laden with anguish and fury. “How dare you speak of betrayal? You, who slept with Mathias and turned away from your husband? You betrayed me—us—everything we had together. He was our enemy! He took our family from us!”
The accusation hit Zara like a blow, her resolve crumbling under the weight of his words. Her body trembled as she fought to suppress the sobs threatening to overtake her, but the dam broke, and tears streamed down her face, her pain raw and unrelenting.
I couldn’t remain silent any longer. Stepping forward, I met Balthazar’s furious gaze with one of my own.
“Everything Zara did with Mathias was for you, Balthazar. She sacrificed herself for you. And you turned your back on her.”
The weight of the truth hung heavy in the room, laden with sorrow for the years lost to betrayal and vengeance. Zara tried to speak, her lips parting, but the words caught in her throat. Tears streaked down her face as she choked on her anguish.
“I can’t do it! I can’t get the words out,” she cried, her hands clenched into fists.
“I’ll tell him,” I said, stepping closer to Balthazar. His breathing was ragged, his wild eyes flickering between rage and confusion. “The only reason Zara slept with Mathias—one time, not continuously as you’ve imagined—was to uncover the truth.”
Balthazar’s chest heaved, his fists tightening at his sides. I pressed on, my voice steady.
“You were right about Mathias. He killed your family. He sent the Timehunters to destroy everything you loved. In the middle of his pleasure, Mathias confessed it to Zara.”
The sound that erupted from Balthazar was primal, a guttural howl rattling the room’s very walls. His body trembled with unrestrained fury.
“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” His voice was a storm, his eyes blazing with rage and betrayal. “All those times in his stupid, sanctimonious school, preaching about only killing bad people—it was all a ploy. It was a manipulation to make me believe he was some savior. But I see him now. For what he truly is. He’ll pay for what he’s done. They all will. I’ll make sure anyone who stood by and let this happen—they suffer for betraying me!”
His rage was unbound, a beast clawing into the dimly lit room. The flickering candlelight seemed to waver with the intensity of his fury, and for a moment, the hope of redemption flickered dangerously close to extinguishment.
“But you will not touch Olivia,” Zara said, her voice steady, cutting through the tempest of his anger. Her tone carried a resolute authority, her tear-streaked face now calm. “You and she share a history that even your fractured mind cannot erase or ignore.”
Balthazar froze, his hands clawing at his temples as though trying to unearth memories buried deep within him physically. His frame quivered under the weight of the unspoken truth.
“This is preposterous!” he growled, his voice laced with frustration. “How can I not remember something so important?”
“It’s part of the curse placed when the blades were separated,” I explained, my gaze fixed on him, willing him to see the truth. “I hope that you and Olivia will soon remember who you truly are. Only then can we stand stronger in our war against Salvatore.”
The room seemed to contract under the weight of those words.
Balthazar turned to Zara, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Tell me, how did you cheat death? I saw you crumple, lifeless, like a corpse. I held your cold body in my arms.”
His eyes darted over her as if searching for any sign of deception.
“Lazarus, the Shadow Lord,” she said calmly. “He saved me. Just as he saved our beloved Freya in the snow centuries ago.”
Balthazar lurched upright, disbelief etched across his features. “My baby… Freya… she’s alive?”
The hope that ignited in his eyes was raw and untamed, almost childlike in its purity.
“Yes,” Zara said with a steely glint in her eyes. “But she’s all grown up now. And she’s betrayed us. She’s become an ally to the other side.” Zara’s voice faltered for a moment before she pressed on. “All of our other daughters… they’ve perished. Their lifeless bodies remain as haunting reminders of our failures. Our last hope is up to the blades to restore their lives and bring them back from the dead.”
A flicker of realization passed across Balthazar’s face, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of this revelation. “That’s why I’ve been after the blades,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “That’s why I’ve been pursuing Olivia so relentlessly. It wasn’t just for vengeance on Alina and Mathias. It was because she was hunting for them, too. The journal was a crucial piece in finding the blades.”
His resolve hardened like iron, a determined light replacing the shadows of his burning desire for revenge.
“No more going after Olivia,” Zara said firmly, stepping closer. “You’re supposed to be her protector. That was your duty from the start. You’ve lost sight of that, but it’s time to remember who you are, Balthazar.”
“Protect Olivia? Preposterous.” His hands flailed as if trying to swat Zara’s words away like bothersome flies. “And who are these people? Who is Lazarus? Salvatore?” Confusion laced his questions, his voice rising to a crescendo of frustration.
My heart grew heavy with sympathy for the man grappling with phantoms of a past just out of reach.
Zara stepped forward and slapped him, the sound echoing sharply in the small chamber. “Violence is the only way to get through to you. You must wake up and remember!”
“Stop hitting me,” Balthazar growled, rubbing his cheek, yet there was a glint of something new in his eyes—perhaps recognition or the dawning of understanding.
I stood silently, observing the scene unfold. With a resigned sigh, I finally turned toward the doorway, prepared to leave them to reconcile their fractured history.
But Balthazar’s voice stopped me. He turned to Zara, his expression softening into something raw and unguarded—a look of profound relief as if her presence was a miracle he scarcely believed.
“I’m sorry, Zara,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, each word trembling sincerely. “For turning away from you, for becoming this… evil monster. I missed you—your wisdom, your guidance. I missed everything about you. And to know you’re alive… to know Freya is alive too…” His voice cracked, and he let the words hang heavy in the air.
Then, slowly, he turned to face me. His gaze, filled with remorse and hope, met mine for the first time without malice.
“Malik,” he said, addressing me directly, “I know I’ve done terrible, despicable things. The road to redemption is long and difficult, but with both of your guidance… I hope to return to being the man I once was.”
Upon hearing Balthazar’s words, my chest tightened with mixed emotions. My eyes, usually steady and unwavering, flickered with hope as I absorbed the weight of his confession. The air between us seemed to crackle with vulnerability, the sincerity in his voice—a voice that once commanded fear and respect—cutting through the layers of darkness. Despite our tumultuous past, a sliver of belief stirred within me, fragile but persistent, whispering of second chances and redemption.
“I’m leaving. Zara, is there anything I need to know before I go?” I asked, my tone brisk, though my heart was heavy.
“It’s about to get dark and dangerous,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “We’re going to lose people. Protect Olivia and Roman. Protect your heart. Don’t let your emotions get in the way.”
Her words landed like a weight on my shoulders, a burden I hadn’t fully realized I’d accepted.
“You’re in good hands,” she added. “Pasha Hassan is a good man. You’re going to like him.”
“Okay,” I replied, with a nonchalance I didn’t feel. The corner of my mouth twitched into a wry smile. “Have fun with Balthazar. I’m sure you both have a lot of catching up to do. Maybe having sex with him will help him remember.”
The words were meant to break the tension, a thin veil of humor to mask the unease in my gut.
Zara’s expression hardened, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “No. He doesn’t deserve to share intimacy with me.”
Her rebuff was a cold splash of reality.
Without another word, I stepped out into the corridor, the door closing behind me with a resolute finality. The weight of what I’d left behind lingered, the revelations and pain sealing themselves away in the confines of that chamber.
Darkness enveloped me as I stepped into my room, the worn tavern floorboards muffling my cautious footsteps. My eyes had barely adjusted to the absence of light when a presence whirled around me. From the shadows, Reyna’s silhouette emerged with fluid precision. Cold steel kissed my throat—the unmistakable sharp edge of her dagger, wielded with deadly accuracy by her delicate hands.
“It’s just me,” I said, my voice steady despite the blade at my neck. “Why the sudden attack?”
“I’m protecting Rosie from intruders,” she said.
“Is that what you think I am? An intruder?”
She didn’t answer, her silence more telling than any words.
“You’re fast,” I said, a hint of admiration slipping into my tone. “How did you get to be so skilled?”
Her breath was ragged, the tension between us thick in the stillness. “How are you connected to Zara?”
“Zara?” I echoed smoothly, masking my reaction. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She pressed closer, her chest rising and falling against my back, her breath hot and uneven. The heat of her body, the subtle curve of her frame pressing against me, sent a dangerous thrill coursing through my veins. My body betrayed me—my cock hardened, and a wicked smile curved my lips. I leaned imperceptibly into her, savoring the illicit contact. In one fluid motion, I spun on my heel. The blade grazed my skin, leaving a whisper-thin line of warmth as a bead of blood traced its path. I faced her now, our proximity electric.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her breath unsteady.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” My voice dropped, laced with seduction, as I brushed my finger along her cheek.
She shoved my hand away, her defiance as sharp as the blade she still held. “Trying to seduce me?”
Her voice was cutting, but beneath it trembled something unspoken, unguarded.
“Can you blame me?” I murmured, my hand trailing to the nape of her neck, my fingertips seeking the rapid thrum of her pulse.
With unexpected strength, she shoved me back, her ferocity commanding. “I see what you’re up to, Malik,” she sneered, a smirk playing at her lips as she stepped away, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.
“Stay away from me. Don’t delude yourself into thinking I have any interest in you.” She paused, her voice hardening. “Have you quenched your thirst for blood yet?”
“Thank you for asking,” I said, grinning as I stepped closer. “Quite enough.”
Reyna wasn’t fooled. She stepped closer, pressing her hand against the hollow of my chest.
“You’re lying to me,” she said, her voice low, a mix of concern and suspicion. Her eyes locked onto mine, searching for the truth that danced out of reach. “You haven’t killed a soul tonight. You never left the tavern. So, I’ll ask again—where were you?”
“Drop the knife, and I’ll tell you,” I said, extending an open palm toward her, my tone laced with a false gentleness. It was bait, and I waited to see if she’d take it. With feline quickness, she recoiled, brandishing the blade before her like a talisman against evil. The dim light of the room glinted off the knife’s edge, mirroring the sharp determination in her eyes.
I couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at my lips. This dance between us was as exhilarating as it was dangerous. I lunged, not to harm her but to disarm. She dodged gracefully, retreating a few steps, keeping the distance between us. Each move she made was measured and calculated—traits of a predator or perhaps prey determined not to be caught.
With a swift motion, I cornered her against the rough-hewn wall, clamping her wrists before she could react. The knife slipped from her grasp, the cold metal clattering to the floor with a metallic song. I leaned in close, inhaling deeply, taking in the intoxicating mix of her fear and defiance.
She aimed a knee at my groin, a calculated strike, but I sidestepped it with a smirk as laughter bubbled up from my throat.
“You’re feisty,” I said, relishing her spirit.
Drawing back slightly, I studied her face, the contours sharpened by shadows and resolve. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but her eyes never wavered, burning with fierce determination.
“I know you’re not who you say you are,” I murmured, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I know you’re a skilled assassin. It was you who killed Raul and chopped him into bits in that dungeon.”
Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, the intense stare in her eyes never faltering. “That vile man deserved every ounce of pain I inflicted upon him. After all he had done to me and Marcellious in that wretched prison, he knew what consequences awaited him. He attempted to rape me, subjected us to brutal forms of torture, and continued to be a loyal member of the ruthless Timehunter society. But I promised myself and my father that I would bring down their corrupt empire and every last Timehunter who supported it. It was a matter of survival for me, drawing on my background and instincts as a fighter to defend myself against that monstrous creature.”
“Defend yourself?” I threw my head back and laughed, the sound ricocheting through the dimly lit room. “The way you carved up Raul, severing his manhood like some grotesque ritual—it wasn’t just survival. You, Reyna, might wear the face of an innocent angel, but there’s a darkness in you that’s impossible to ignore. It calls to me. You need someone like me—someone who thrives in violence and danger—someone who can unleash the wild desires you keep locked away.”
My voice dipped lower, laced with a dangerous seduction.
Her expression twisted, not with longing but pure revulsion. “You’re the very embodiment of darkness,” she spat. “I swore to my father I’d never give my heart or body to a man like you.” Her words landed sharp, but her eyes betrayed her. Beneath the disgust, a flicker of something unspoken danced—fear, doubt, or perhaps curiosity.
“Darkness, am I?” I murmured, leaning in until our foreheads nearly touched. Shadows danced across her face, weaving us together in an intimate web of light and shadow. “And what about you? The woman who butchered a man into unrecognizable pieces, who took down opponents like it was second nature, who freed Marcellious and escaped that fortress with him—all that doesn’t make you dark?”
The words rolled off my tongue like a caress, dripping with eroticism.
I leaned in closer, my gaze fixed on hers, searching for every flicker of emotion. She didn’t flinch, but her voice came like a dagger, laced with defiance.
“I don’t care where you were or who you were with,” she said coldly. “You could’ve been with a lowly whore for all I care. It’s your business. Now, let me go.”
Her controlled tone couldn’t hide the raw anger simmering just beneath. The hurt that bled into her words only deepened my amusement.
“Who are you, Reyna?” I asked, my tone a mix of mockery and genuine intrigue. “How do you know so much about the darkness? And what’s your vendetta against the Timehunters?”
“My blood is dark and dangerous,” she murmured, a seductive whisper laced with ice. Though her hands were trapped, she didn’t struggle—no, she leaned in, pressing against me, her body fitting against mine like a slow-burning challenge.
Her lips brushed my jaw, barely there, her breath hot and teasing—a slow, deliberate game. I clenched my teeth, grip firm, but the smirk curling at the edges of her mouth sent a dangerous thrill through me.
I loosened my grip. A single hesitation. That was all she needed.
With a swift, fluid motion, she twisted against me, feigning surrender, her body pressing closer as if yielding. Her fingers skimmed down my waist, featherlight, and in a heartbeat—the dagger was hers.
Cold steel pressed against my chest, but I was faster. My hand shot out, seizing her wrist, forcing her arm back as the blade hovered between us, the deadly tip trembling in her grasp.
Her breath hitched. Not in fear—but in exhilaration.
Her chest rose sharply against mine, our bodies flush, her pulse as wild as my own. The dagger stayed tight in her grip, caught between our struggles, her fingers refusing to loosen.
She didn’t flinch.
“If you don’t let me go,” she said, her voice steady, edged with dark amusement, “I’ll use this blade to kill you—and control you.”
“Well, my love, I’m your perfect match.” The words lingered in the air, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes. The tension between us snapped, and I closed the distance, claiming her lips with a hunger that bordered on savage.
The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was a storm, fierce and consuming, a clash of need and chaos that left no room for hesitation. My hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against me, our bodies fusing as if trying to erase the space that had dared to separate us. Her taste was intoxicating, a dangerous blend of sweetness and fire that sent heat coursing through my veins.
Her lips parted beneath mine, inviting my tongue to delve deeper, to explore, to conquer. The soft, wet friction of our mouths was maddening, each movement igniting a new blaze of desire. My hands roamed her body, desperate to claim every curve, every inch of her as my own. Her nails raked down my back, sharp and unyielding, sending a jolt of pain laced with pleasure straight to my cock.
This wasn’t just a kiss—it was a reckoning, a volatile explosion of passion that blurred the line between ecstasy and destruction. Every touch, every bite, every breath we shared was charged with the unshakable knowledge that we were playing with fire. And yet, neither of us could stop.
Her moans vibrated against my lips, fueling the primal need surging within me. I pressed her against the wall, my hands threading into her hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt her head back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. My lips trailed down her neck, tasting her skin, biting just enough to leave a mark—a declaration that she was mine and mine alone.
Our spirits collided like stars exploding in the night sky, a violent, beautiful chaos that defied reason. She was everything I shouldn’t want and couldn’t have, and yet I was incapable of letting her go.
As her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, my mind warred with itself. I’d loved and lost before—lovers consumed by the darkness I carried. But with her, there was something different, something dangerous. A fragile ember of hope flickered in the storm of my thoughts.
Could she survive me? Could we survive this?
And yet, as I deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of longing, fixation, and desperation into it, I knew it was already too late. I’d claimed her, sealed her fate. Whether it ended in salvation or tragedy, I couldn’t care. At that moment, nothing else mattered but the taste of her, the feel of her, and the dangerous, unrelenting hunger that bound us together in a tempest of unbridled desire.