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Emotions roil. The next heartbeat slams into me, a wave of reckless need. I yank her closer, the distance between us vanishing. She gasps, but her body moves in tandem, as though some invisible thread tugs us both. My free hand slides to her waist, heat flaring under my palm.

“You drive me mad,” I whisper, voice ragged. “Every time we speak, I teeter on the edge of losing control.”

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, her gaze drops to my mouth. Her voice comes out strained. “Then maybe… we should let go. Just for a moment.”

The last shred of restraint snaps. My lips crash against hers, hunger and anger colliding in a fierce, desperate kiss. She sucks in a startled breath but doesn’t pull away—instead, she presses closer. A raw sound escapes me. My senses reel from the taste of her, the electric jolt of tension transmuted into fiery contact.

Her fingers curl into my tunic, gripping it tight as though she’s drowning and I’m her lifeline. We stumble backward, pinned against the wall. My thoughts blur, replaced by the urgent ache of this moment. The threat of assassins, the council’s looming demands, it all dims compared to the feverish press of her body.

She breaks the kiss, chest heaving, eyes ablaze. “I hate you,” she breathes, though there’s no conviction behind the words—just a trembling intensity. “I hate that I want this.”

My throat constricts. “The feeling is mutual,” I rasp, unable to tear my gaze from her parted lips. “You’re a poison in my veins, Lysandra.”

She clenches her jaw, then surges forward again, dragging me into another fierce kiss. This time, it’s all tongues and muffled groans. My hands slip under the hem of her tunic, grazing the soft skin of her waist, drawing a breathless gasp from her. We break apart, devouring the sight of each other in that lamplit hush.

A small, rational voice tries to break through—reminding me we’re in the corridor near my quarters, that guards could pass by. But I shove it aside, hooking an arm around her legs and sweeping her up. She yelps, arms flung around my neck. I stride through the open doorway into my personal chamber, kicking it shut with a savage motion. The wards hum, sealing us in.

We tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and half-choked gasps. My cloak tangles around me, so I yank it off, cursing under my breath. She braces on her elbows, hair fanning around her face. In the low lamplight, her features glow, eyes dark with need.

My breath is ragged as I lower myself beside her. Our gazes lock again, a swirl of conflict and longing dancing between us. She places a hand on my chest, pushing me to pause. We hover there, hearts pounding in unison.

“I still hate you,” she murmurs, though now it’s tinged with self-mockery and a small, wry grin. “This changes nothing.”

My lips curve into a hollow smile. “Agreed. We’re still mortal enemies.” Then I lean in, brushing a gentler kiss against her jaw. Her breath hitches, her hand curling over my shoulder. The tension of the day melds into a raw, chaotic desire. No more words. We lose ourselves in sensation.

She tugs at my tunic, nails scraping lightly across my skin. Every nerve in me ignites. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling the faint scent of floral soap she must have used earlier. My kisses trail along her pulse point, drawing soft sounds from her throat.

Our movements become a frantic dance. I help her remove her tunic, my breath stalling at the sight of bruised but resilient flesh. She’s all wiry strength, scars testifying to a life of combat. I trace a dark patch on her ribs, remorse flickering that she was hurt in my fortress. She arches into my touch, not letting me dwell on guilt.

Time blurs. Our lips meet again, devouring each gasp. The sense of danger only amplifies the urgency. I can’t recall the last time I felt so consumed. Her hands skim over my chest, exploring, and I groan at the contact. Her nails rake lightly, sending jolts of pleasure across my skin.

It’s not gentle, nor is it romantic in any conventional sense. It’s desperation, fury, pent-up longing, all colliding in sweat and whispered curses. We roll across the bed, limbs tangling. I brace above her, brushing hair from her face. For a fleeting moment, our eyes meet, vulnerability shimmering beneath the anger.

Then the final barriers crumble. We surrender to the force of this moment, grappling with each other, shedding clothes in clumsy haste. Her breathy moans fuel my own arousal. Our bodies align, hot and frantic, everything else forgotten. Thefortress, the council, the threat of assassins—none of it invades this moment.

My lips crash against hers again, this time with no restraint—only hunger, fury, and the need to ruin her the way she’s ruined me. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, a battle for dominance neither of us is willing to lose. She gasps into my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood, and I groan against her lips.

"Still hate me?" I growl, dragging my mouth down her throat, biting just hard enough to make her shudder.

She arches beneath me, her breath ragged. "More than ever," she hisses, but her hips roll up against mine, seeking friction. The evidence of her need is undeniable—her pussy is already slick, hot against my cock as I grind against her.

I let out a dark laugh. "Liar." My hand slides between us, fingers slipping through her wetness, and she gasps, her thighs tensing. "You’re fucking drenched for me, Lysandra."

Her eyes blaze, defiance and desire warring in her gaze. "Doesn’t mean I like you," she snaps, but the way her breath hitches when I slide a finger inside betrays her.

"No?" I curl my finger, dragging a choked moan from her throat. "Then tell me to stop."

She grits her teeth, hips rocking against my hand. "I won’t give you the satisfaction."

I smirk, adding another finger, stretching her, relishing the way her cunt clenches around me. "You don’t have to. Your body’s begging for me."

She lets out a frustrated sound, her nails raking down my back. "Fuck you, Xelith."

"Oh, you will."

I withdraw my fingers, ignoring her sharp inhale of protest, and grip her hips, flipping her onto her stomach. She braces herself on her elbows, glancing back at me with a mix of defiance and anticipation. I drag her up onto her knees, her ass pressed against me, and she lets out a shaky breath when she feels the thick length of my cock against her.

"Tell me you want it," I demand, dragging the head of my cock through her slick folds, teasing but not giving her what she craves.