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VEYLAN

T he fire crackles low in the hearth, casting flickering gold against the rough-hewn walls of the mountain hideout. The cold wind howls outside, but inside, the warmth is suffocating. Not from the flames, but from her presence.

Sera moves like a phantom, lingering at the edge of my vision. I pretend not to watch her. Pretend not to notice the way she has changed—how she moves without hesitation now, how her steps no longer falter, how her shoulders no longer curl inward.

She is no longer afraid of me. That should be a victory. It isn’t.

The gap between us is unbearable. I have forced distance between us since that night in the ruins, since she held a blade to my throat. But she is everywhere. Even in my silence. Even in my breath.

I am restless.

I sit by the fire, sharpening a dagger with slow, methodical precision. Sparks catch along the blade’s edge, and I imagine sinking it into the throat of the next fool who comes for her.

Hazeran has found us. The message arrived on black wings.

A single piece of parchment. A warning. A promise. It does not matter. I will not let them take her.

Sera stands by the window, her profile outlined against the dark glass. Snow flurries beyond, but she is untouched by the cold. The tension in her body is like a blade unsheathed. She has not spoken since the raven arrived.

She is waiting. For me. For something.

She turns, and our gazes collide.

Neither of us look away.

“You’re avoiding me.” Her voice is quiet, but not uncertain. She has lost the fear of demanding answers from me.

I smirk. “That’s bold, little siren.”

Her lips press together, but she does not falter. “Are you afraid of me now?”

The words dig beneath my skin, sink deep into my chest where nothing should reach. No one should reach.

I do not answer.

Her expression hardens. She steps closer, slow, deliberate. The crackling fire casts her in molten light, and I should move—I should step back, push her away. But I don’t.

Her hand grazes my chest, and even though it’s just a whisper of contact, it feels like a brand. A spark of heat that ignites something primal deep within me.

My cock twitches in response, already hardening at the mere suggestion of her touch. The dagger slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor, forgotten.

Her lips part, a sly smile playing at the edges, her eyes dark and smoldering with a challenge that sets my blood on fire. There’s defiance there, yes, but also something wilder, something that makes my pulse race.

“Prove it,” she whispers, her voice low and dripping with temptation.

It’s not magic, not this time. But it doesn’t need to be. Her words alone are enough to unravel me.

I close the distance between us in a heartbeat, my hands gripping her waist, pressing her back against the wooden table. She gasps—not in fear, never fear—but in a way that makes my cock ache with need.

Her pussy is already a furnace, and I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric separating us.

She doesn’t yield. She pushes back, her hands sliding up my chest, fingers gripping, nails digging into my skin. It’s not submission.

It’s a battle, a dance, and she’s every bit as dangerous as I am.

Her breath is hot against my lips, her voice a taunt. “You always take what you want.”

I growl, my voice rough and raw. “You think this is me taking? No, little siren. This is you begging.”

Her eyes flash, and she tilts her chin up, daring me. “Then take it.”

That’s all the permission I need.

I crush my mouth to hers, and she meets me with equal ferocity. There’s nothing soft about this, nothing gentle. Her teeth sink into my lower lip, and I groan, my hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.

She moans into my mouth, her hips grinding against mine, and I can feel how wet she is, how ready.

The table creaks beneath us as I press her harder against it, my cock straining against the confines of my pants. I need her. Now.

I fumble with the buttons of her pants, my fingers trembling with urgency. She helps me, her hands just as desperate, just as hungry. Her pants fall to the floor, and I slide my hand between her thighs, finding her pussy slick and throbbing.

She gasps, her head falling back as I stroke her, my fingers sliding through her wetness, teasing her clit.

“So wet, so ready for me, little siren,” I groan, almost going crazy. I press on the clit and she shivers, her fingers pulling on my hair.

“Fuck,” she breathes, and her boady arches even more. “Yes!”

I don’t wait. I can’t.

I push her panties aside and guide my cock to her entrance, the tip pressing against her soaked folds. She’s tight, so fucking tight, and when I push inside her, she lets out a cry that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

She’s mine. All mine.

I thrust into her, hard and deep, and she meets me with equal force, her hips rocking against mine. Her pussy clenches around me, and I see stars exploding. She’s everywhere—her scent, her taste, the sound of her moans filling the room.

I grip her hips, slamming into her again and again, each thrust driving us both closer to the edge. Her nails rake down my back, and I growl, my pace quickening.

I turn her around, her back facing me so I can move faster. Rawer. Harder. Deeper.

“Damn, you love this position, Sera?” I ask her as she holds onto the table.

“Yes, deeper, Veylan!” her legs clenches and she lost strength in it and I have to prop her up with my arms.

I pull her hair roughly as my spine tingle. We’re both so close to the zenith.

“Shit!” I curse as her pussy grips my cock like a vice. I move even faster, the sound of flesh slamming flesh becomes more pronounced in the room.

She’s close—I can feel it in the way her body tightens around me, in the way her breath hitches.

“Come for me,” I demand, my voice rough and commanding.

And she does. Her pussy spasms around my cock, her back arching as she cries out, her climax crashing over her like a wave. I follow her over the precipice, my own release tearing through me as I spill inside her, my cock pulsing with every wave of pleasure.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the heat of our bodies pressed together.

She’s not caged beneath me. She’s beside me, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest, her lips swollen and her eyes heavy with satisfaction.

“Why are you really here with me?” she whispers, her voice soft but laced with something unspoken.

I could lie. I could tell her it was just a moment, just a distraction. But the truth is, I don’t want to leave.

I brush my knuckles along her jaw, tilting her chin up so I can look into her eyes. There’s no regret there, no demand. Just understanding. And maybe, just maybe, a flicker of something more.

My lips brush against her forehead, lingering too long. She exhales softly, and for a moment, I let myself believe in the illusion of peace.

But it’s just that—an illusion.

War is coming.