Page 24 of The Syndicate’s Shadow Heiress (Branche de Lune Syndicate #1)

THE BURNBACK

Kali’s Emotional State: High-functioning fury, refined into evolution. The Spiral’s corruption still itches beneath her skin, but she doesn’t flinch—she adapts. She isn’t unraveling. She’s mutating. And what survives this burn won’t be touched by mercy.

T

he Maybach’s windows were blacked out. The city roared around them, but inside the car, it was all velvet shadows and violent restraint.

Kali sat in the backseat, legs crossed, the conduit still pulsing in her palm like a second heartbeat. Her shadows refused to retreat. They clung to her like a second outfit, writhing, electric, feral.

Across from her, Lev sat, shirt torn, chest streaked with blood and grime, jaw locked like a storm just shy of breaking.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Until—

“Take your shirt off,” Kali said.

Lev blinked. “Excuse me?”

The corner of Kali’s mouth curled, not in humor, but in hunger.

“You’re bleeding,” she said coolly. “And if you ruin these seats, Irina’s going to neuter you before I get the chance. ”

Lev chuckled, low and rough, but obeyed.

And Kali? She took him in.

His body was ink and shadow, battle-worn scar tissue. a battlefield carved into flesh. Pain sculpted into worship.

She shifted forward.

“This one?” she murmured, brushing a scar above his ribs.

“Alpha trial,” he said. “Didn’t go as planned.”

Her fingers drifted lower.

“This one?”

“Protection mark. You.”

Her pupils flared. Her hand dipped again.

“This one?”

Lev caught her wrist, gently, but not softly.

“I don’t regret any of them,” he said, voice low and grounded.

“Not even tonight?”

“I regret not gutting them faster. I regret not being the one between you and that Spiral abomination. I regret not kissing you the second you walked back into that conference room with blood on your heels and chaos in your wake.”

Kali’s lips curled. “Chaos and blood? That’s just Tuesday, sweetheart. ”

Lev’s eyes darkened. “No. That’s you. Kali fucking Branche de Lune.”

She moved.

Straddled him in a fluid blur, crashing their mouths together like war and worship fused at the bone. Her shadows surged, cloaking the windows like instinct knew what was coming.

He groaned into her lips. “Tell me what you want.”

She bit his bottom lip. “Everything.”

His hands gripped her hips. Tighter. Rougher. The heat between them could’ve melted through steel.

“You’re not mine yet,” he growled.

Kali’s laugh was smoke. “Sounds like a you problem.”

She rocked her hips once. He shuddered.

Magic sparked…bond magic. Untethered. Unsealed. But gods, it wanted to be born.

He slid a hand beneath her shirt, tracing the base of her spine, sigils glowing faintly like breathing coals.

But then he stilled.

His touch changed.

Slower. Intentional. Reverent.

His palm pressed against her lower back, kneading into the tightest muscle there, tracing the old wound line she always ignored .

“You’re hurting,” he said quietly.

Kali’s breath caught in her throat.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

He didn’t say it to scold. He said it because he saw her. And maybe that was the real danger.

She didn’t stop him.

His fingers pressed deeper, dragging tension loose like he was pulling trauma out through her skin.

“You’re not soft, Kali,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to carry the fire alone.”

Still, she said nothing.

Then his hand dipped lower.

And claimed.

Two fingers. Deep. Hooked. Right where she was begging to break.

She arched, breathless, shadows curling up his forearm like a lover’s oath.

He found her clit. Dragged slick from her entrance. Circled, slow. Cruel. Perfect.

She rode his hand like survival depended on it. Shadows flared. Breath caught. Her spine coiled like a bow pulled taut. Every pulse. Every grind. Every stuttered inhale tore another crack into her control.

Head tipped back. Mouth parted. Throat exposed.

“Fuck,” she gasped.

And Lev? He watched her with worship.

“You look like war when you come,” he growled. “And I would burn for it. Every time.”

She shattered.

Spine bowed. Shadows pulsed. Magic roared.

For one violent, infinite heartbeat, she wasn’t a queen, wasn’t a predator. She was needy, pure, and undone.

The orgasm cracked her clean open.

Kali collapsed forward, breath stuttering against his skin.

Still trembling.

Still sovereign.

She brushed his mouth with hers. Taunting. Cruel.

“And you still don’t get to finish.”

She slid off his lap like sin in heels, adjusted her coat, and rolled her neck like she hadn’t just detonated in his hand.

“We still have to save Silas,” she added, voice calm, sharp, and newly armed .

Lev slumped back, hard and undone, staring like she was a prophecy wearing a smirk.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered.

Kali didn’t look back.

“No,” she said with a smirk that could break empires. “I’m going to make you beg.”

A moment passed. She smoothed her cuffs. Reset her spine. Shadows slipped back into formation. And the war crown settled.

The car stopped. Shadows flared. Kali stepped out already armed. Lev watched her walk away, hard, reverent, and slightly wrecked.

Minutes later — Kali’s estate, War Room

Vaerkyn was waiting at the front gate when she arrived. Massive and silent, the hellhound fell into step beside her like a nightmare come home. His molten eyes scanned every inch of the estate like it was a battlefield already burning. As they entered, the doors parted without a word.

Tiger, pacing like a general, let out a sharp bark of acknowledgment.

Nickel padded up to Kali’s side, brushing her thigh with a steady, grounding presence.

Spike scurried ahead and curled on the warmest tile like a sentinel too small to fail.

Kota lingered in the corner, tail low but eyes alert.

Megan trotted up behind, nudging Kali’s leg with her nose, soft and loyal.

Somewhere in the distance, Bentley let out a deep, echoing neigh, a low, rumbling call that echoed across the estate like a war drum’s answer.

It wasn’t fear or panic. It was recognition.

A welcome. A promise. And the rest of the herd followed suit, their distant voices rising in unison like a cavalry hymn.

Irina stood waiting at the head of the war table, all business, but her silver eyes tracked Kali like a predator watching a queen return from battle. As Kali passed, Irina pressed a firm hand to the small of her back, not gentle, not asking. Just a quiet force. Grounding. Checking her.

“We analyzed the artifact," Irina said. "It can purge the Spiral infection—but it has to be fused into Silas’s chest before the next flare. You’ve got 36 hours. Max.”

Kali nodded. All blade. All command.

Lev hadn’t looked away from her once.

She’d danced with the dark. Teased the bond. Come undone.

And walked away unclaimed.

But everyone knew, You don’t tempt shadows and walk away unscarred.

And Kali? She didn’t collect scars anymore. She collected oaths.”