Page 34

V anya

The cell door opens with a grinding screech that makes my bones ache. I expect another interrogation, another session with Vex’s unending questions. Instead, a figure stumbles through the doorway, shoved hard by unseen hands.

My breath stops.

Hargen.

“What have you done?” The words tear from my throat before I can stop them. “You were supposed to be protecting Ember!”

He straightens, taking in the binding chains around my wrists, the bruises Vex’s interrogations have left behind. His jaw tightens with anger at the sight. “She’s safe. The Collective is protecting her.”

“You shouldn’t have come.” My voice cracks despite my best efforts. “You were supposed to stay with her!”

“You’re crazy if you think I’d leave you to die here.” He steps closer, and I can see the exhaustion etched into his face, the desperate edge that matches my own.

Before either of us can say more, the door opens again. Vex steps through, his smile sharp as broken glass.

“How touching. The witch returns for his dragon slut.” His gaze flicks between us, savoring our shock. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to walk straight into my trap, Cole. When I heard the reports that there’d been a breach, it seemed too good to be true. I suppose love makes fools of us all.”

My stomach plummets. “Trap?”

“Oh yes. Your touching reunion was always part of the plan.” Vex adjusts his cuffs with meticulous care. “The message you sent was quite helpful in drawing him out. Amazing how predictable grief can make one.”

God. He found a way to pick up that final desperate message I sent through.

Hargen’s hands ball into fists. “You bastard.”

“Now, now.” Vex’s smile widens. “No need for dramatics. You’ll have all night to… reconnect. Consider it my final act of mercy—a condemned couple’s last hours together.”

“Wait, Vex! You can’t—” But before I can continue, he turns and walks out, the door slamming shut behind him.

I stare at Hargen, frustration and desperation warring in my chest. “I sent that message to warn you, not summon you!”

“I spent too long thinking you were dead.” His voice is raw, stripped of the careful control I remember. “I wasn’t going to lose you again.”

The fight goes out of me all at once. I slump against the wall, the chains biting into my wrists. “You should have stayed with her. She needs you more than I do.”

“No.” He moves closer, kneeling just outside my reach. “She’s stronger than either of us realized. Her powers are manifesting early—Viktor says she’s the most powerful being he’s seen in years.”

Pride and terror twist together in my gut. “How much does she know?”

“About this? Everything.” His fingers hover near my face, not quite touching. “She wanted to come too. Has your stubbornness.”

Despite everything, I almost smile. “And your moral compass, I hope.”

“She’s furious with both of us for keeping secrets, but she understands why.” He examines the chains binding my wrists, testing their weight. “She’s training with Viktor’s people. Learning to control what she can do. She’s going to be fine, Vanya.”

I want to believe him. God, how I want to believe that I can stop worrying about her. But the chains around my wrists are a reminder that I have other priorities right now.

“Hargen.” I meet his eyes, forcing myself to be practical. “They’re going to execute me. And now you’re going to get the same treatment. You know that, right?”

He’s looking around at the cell we’re locked in. “Not if we get out of here first.”

“Out?” I scoff. “You seriously think we’d get that lucky again?”

“Lila and the others will help.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “And the Collective. Viktor doesn’t abandon his people.”

“They’d never reach us in time.” My voice is bitter. “This place is warded seven ways from Sunday. The Collective is good, but they’re not miracle workers.”

He works at the chains binding my wrists, examining the locking mechanism. “I’ve been studying Syndicate containment tech for years. These are Fourth Generation binding sigils—strong, but not unbreakable.”

“So break them.” I challenge him, not bothering to hide my skepticism.

His fingers trace the edge of one cuff, sending unexpected shivers up my arm. “Not yet. If I disable these now, they’ll know immediately. The guards monitor these remotely.”

“Then what’s your brilliant plan?”

His silence tells me that he doesn’t have one. “They’ll come,” he says firmly. “As long as we’re alive, they’ll come for us.”

I feel a spark of something dangerous—not quite hope, but its reckless cousin. “How long?”

“Couple of days maybe.” His eyes meet mine, utterly serious. “Viktor’s team was off on assignment when I got your message, so I came in with Lila and the Cravens.”

“Caleb Craven?” I blink in surprise.

“Among others,” he says. “There are more people out there fighting for us than you could have imagined, Vanya. Things are changing.”

The realization sinks in. “So we wait?”

“We wait.” He studies the dampening field generators built into the ceiling corners. “And when the time comes, we’ll have seconds, not minutes, to break free and move.”

“It might not be soon enough, Hargen.” I swallow hard. “My execution is a day away.”

Silence falls between us as the reality of our situation settles like dust. He’s telling me to hold on old onto the hope of a rescue that probably won’t come in time.

He’s quiet for a long moment, studying the cell, the magic-dampening fields, the impossibility of our situation.

Finally, he looks back at me. “This may be our last night together.”

I nod silently, thinking of all the nights I dreamed of seeing him again, all the conversations I imagined having. None of them were in a Syndicate prison cell.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” I whisper. “After you left with Ember…”

His hands work at the chains, loosening them just enough to give me more movement. Not enough to escape, but enough to close the distance between us.

“I told you I’d find my way back to you.” His thumb brushes across my cheek, tracing a path I remember from a lifetime ago. “I meant what I said then.”

The memory brings a wave of pain.

I’ll find my way back to you.

I just didn’t think he’d do it only to die.

“I’m glad you’re here.” The admission scrapes against my throat, bringing guilt with it. “I shouldn’t be, but I am. I was so afraid of dying without seeing you again.”

He cups my cheek. “I’ve lived a lifetime without you, Vanya. I’d rather die than go through that again.”

“You can’t mean that,” I whisper, pressing my cheek into his palm.

“I was dead inside when you were gone,” he says, his voice rough with something darker than fear. “Maybe for these few hours, we can remember what it felt like to be alive.”

When he kisses me, it’s raw with pain, but there’s hope there too. His mouth closes over mine, urgent and demanding. The years have changed us both, carved new edges where there was once softness, but this—this primal recognition—remains unchanged.

My chains rattle as I reach for him, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. I taste blood—his or mine, I don’t know—as teeth catch on lips, neither of us willing to be gentle. Gentleness is a luxury for people with time. We have only hours.

“I watched you burn,” he rasps against my throat, voice fractured with old grief. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck to his mouth. “I stood there while they lit the pyre. I couldn’t look away—couldn’t move—”

“I’m here.” I bite at his jaw, needing to ground him in the now. “I’m real. Feel me.”

His grip tightens painfully, a welcome reminder that we’re both still flesh and blood.

When he pushes me back against the wall, the cold stone against my spine is a counterpoint to the heat of his body pressing against mine.

The chains limit my movement, but I work with what I have, arching into him, seeking friction, contact, proof of life.

“Show me you’re real,” I demand, my voice unrecognizable with need. “Make me feel something besides fear.”

He tears at my clothing—not destroying what I’ll need later, but creating access to skin he’s been denied for too long. When his mouth closes over my breast, it’s not with gentle worship but hungry possession. I cry out, the sound echoing off stone walls, and he covers my mouth with his hand.

“Quiet,” he warns, though his eyes are wild with desire. “Or they’ll separate us.”

I nod against his palm, and when he removes it, I pull him back to me, biting his lower lip in warning and promise. “Then keep me quiet.”

The challenge ignites something darker in his expression. He kisses me again, deeper, consuming, one hand pinning both my wrists against the wall while the other works between us, pushing aside fabric to find the heat between my thighs.

“God, you’re soaked,” he growls against my mouth, fingers finding my core with unerring accuracy. “Some things don’t change.”

I’d laugh if I could breathe, but his touch has robbed me of oxygen. He works my clit with the confidence of someone who once knew every inch of my body, who remembers exactly how to reduce me to trembling need. When his fingers slide inside me, I bite his shoulder to muffle my cry.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this,” he confesses, voice raw as he works me toward the edge. “About having you again. About making you come apart in my hands.”

I struggle against his grip on my wrists, not to escape but to test the restraint. He holds firm, understanding what I need without being told—the surrender of control, the permission to feel without thinking.

“Please,” I gasp, not caring how desperate I sound. “I need to feel you.”

He releases my wrists only to spin me around, facing the wall. The position should make me feel vulnerable, but with him, it feels like sanctuary. His chest presses against my back, one arm wrapping around my waist to hold me steady while the other works at the fastenings of his pants.

“Every night,” he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “Every fucking night I thought about this.”

When he enters me from behind, it’s in one powerful thrust that steals what little breath I have left.

The stretch and burn is exquisite—painful in all the right ways, a physical reminder of how long we’ve been apart.

I brace against the wall, pushing back to take him deeper, and his groan vibrates through both our bodies.

“You’re still mine,” he says, half question, half declaration as he begins to move. “Tell me you’re still mine.”

“Yours,” I confirm, the word breaking on a gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside me. “Always. Even when I couldn’t be.”

His rhythm speeds up, each thrust driving me against the wall with controlled force. One hand slides up to cover my mouth again, muffling the sounds I can’t contain. The other reaches between my legs, circling my clit until my vision blurs at the edges.

“I need to see you,” he pants, suddenly withdrawing. Before I can protest the loss, he turns me around, lifting me against the wall. “Wrap your legs around me.”

The chains limit my movement, but I manage, locking my ankles at the small of his back as he enters me again. In this position, I can see his face—the intensity of his focus, the raw emotion he no longer bothers to hide. Our breath mingles as he drives into me with renewed purpose.

“Look at me,” he commands when my eyes start to flutter closed with pleasure.

I obey, holding his gaze as the pressure builds to breaking point. When it finally shatters, it’s with his name on my lips and tears on my cheeks—pleasure so intense it borders on pain, release so complete it feels like absolution.

He follows moments later, burying his face against my neck to muffle his groan as his cock tenses and throbs inside mine. For long moments, we stay locked together, trembling, neither willing to break the connection that cost us so much to regain.

Finally, he lowers me gently to my feet, steadying me when my legs threaten to give way. With careful hands, he readjusts my clothing, covering the marks his passion has left on my skin. I do the same for him, our movements almost reverent in their tenderness.

“That wasn’t goodbye,” he says firmly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “That wasn’t our last time. They’ll get here.”

I want to believe him. More than anything, I want to believe we have a future beyond these walls. That there will be quiet mornings and lazy evenings, time to relearn each other properly.

I lean against him, my head on his chest, where I can hear the steady beat of his heart. His arms wrap around me, creating a fortress of flesh and bone against the cold reality of our cell.

“Whatever happens,” I whisper into the darkness, “whatever they do to us, they’ll never break us. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple. “We’ve already survived the worst they could do—losing each other. Everything else is just details.”

His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together. We wrap our arms around each other, not in resignation or defeat, but in defiance—a silent promise that this reunion, however brief, has given us something the Syndicate can never take away again.