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She looks tired.

It was Davey’s first thought when the door swung open just as he raised his hand to knock.

Her hazel eyes widened in shock, and her lips parted slightly as she took him in. For a moment, they both stood frozen, the air between them charged with tension.

Luka’s excited bark broke the spell. The dog bounded forward, nearly knocking Davey over in his enthusiasm. He dropped to one knee, burying his face in Luka’s fur as the dog licked and whined happily.

“Hey, buddy. I missed you too.”

When he looked up, Rowan was still standing in the doorway, emotions battling across her face. Shock. Worry. Anger. Fear.

It was the fear that hit him like a gut punch. The Rowan Bristow he knew was fearless, but now she looked like a frightened deer trapped in headlights, ready to bolt at any second.

“Don’t even think about running,” he said, rising to his feet. “We have this place surrounded.”

“We?” Her gaze swung to the mostly empty parking lot behind him. “What’d you do, bring an army of squirrels?”

“Deadly squirrels,” he corrected, deadpan. “They’ve been trained in advanced reconnaissance. Highly coordinated.”

Her lips twitched, but she quickly schooled her features. “Sure they have. Bet you even taught them how to do synchronized nut juggling.”

“Don’t mock the squirrels,” he shot back. “They’ve got tiny earpieces and everything. Very professional.”

“Right.” Her gaze narrowed, and Davey felt his half-baked lie crumble under her scrutiny. “It’s just you, isn’t it?”

Damn it. She saw right through him.

“Okay, you got me,” he admitted, throwing his hands up. “But I’ve been tracking you for weeks, Rowan. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Her lips parted, but she said nothing. For a moment, he thought she might close the door in his face. Then she glanced down at Luka, who was wagging his tail like nothing was wrong.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said finally. “It’s not safe.”

“Not safe for who?” Davey stepped closer, crowding her space. “You? Or me?”

Her gaze darted back to the parking lot, her body taut like a coiled spring. “You need to leave.”

“That’s not happening,” he said firmly. “What’s going on?”

“None of your business.”

“You made it my business when you took Luka.”

The dog wiggled happily at the sound of his name, but as much as he wanted to hug his boy again, he didn’t dare take his eyes off Rowan.

Her fingers tightened on the doorframe. “How did you find me?”

“I’m good at what I do. Though, if it makes you feel any better, you didn’t make it easy. What were you thinking taking off like that? With my dog, no less?”

A ghost of a smile twisted her lips before disappearing. “Your dog came willingly.” She reached into her pocket, and he tensed, but she only pulled out a jerky treat, which Luka hungrily snatched. The dog gulped it down, then leaned against her leg and stared up at her with adoring eyes.

“Traitor,” Davey accused, crossing his arms. “We survived war together, and this is the thanks I get?”

Luka looked completely unrepentant, his tongue lolling from his mouth in a happy grin.

Rowan stroked his ear. “He knows who has the better treats.”

“So you stooped to bribing my dog. Why? Why take him and leave me tied up in bed?”

Rowan’s eyes flashed. Lots of guilt there, but it was smothered under her trademark defiance. “I didn’t have a choice, Davey. You wouldn’t have let me go otherwise.”

“Damn right, I wouldn’t have,” he growled, taking another step closer. “You’re in trouble, Rowan. I can help you, but you need to trust me.”

Something vulnerable flickered in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by steely resolve. She shook her head, her long dark hair swaying with the motion. “I don’t want your help.”

“But you need it. You’ve got that look, Rowan. The one that says you’re about to do something reckless and probably illegal.”

Her lips curved. “Reckless, maybe. Illegal? That depends on your definition.”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” he said, stepping closer. “But I do know you’re not running from me again.”

Her gaze darted past him to the parking lot, and he felt her muscles tense like she was a second away from bolting. His hand shot out, resting against the doorframe, caging her in. Not quite touching, but close enough that the heat between them felt like a live wire.

“Am I your prisoner now?” she asked, her voice light but her eyes dark with challenge.

“Are you planning to make a break for it?”

Rowan tilted her head, her hair brushing against his arm. “And if I do? Are you going to tackle me to the ground? Or does this mysterious squirrel army of yours handle the dirty work?”

Her voice was little more than a purr that sent shivers down Davey’s spine.

He leaned in closer, trapping her against the doorframe. “I think we both know I prefer to handle you myself.”

“You could try.” She pushed up to her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his ear. “But we both know how that would end.”

Images flashed through Davey’s mind— tangled limbs, heated skin, breathy moans. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Bristow.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” Her fingers trailed down his chest, igniting sparks beneath his skin.

His pulse hammered as her fingers skimmed over his chest, deliberate and teasing. Every instinct told him to grab her, flip her onto the couch, and remind her exactly who she was playing with. Except that’s what she wanted. A distraction. A carefully laid trap. And if he let himself get pulled into it, she’d slip right through his fingers—again.

He caught her wrist before she could trail her fingers further south. “Not this time. We need to talk.”

Her lips curved, wicked and knowing. “Careful, Davey,” she murmured, her voice dropping into a sultry whisper that sent heat curling low in his gut. “You’re in my space now.”

Jesus Christ.

The way she said his name, low and taunting, like she was daring him to lose focus—it did things to him. He should’ve known better. Hell, he did know better, but knowing and resisting were two different things when it came to Rowan Bristow.

His grin turned sharp, and he leaned in just enough for her breath to hitch. “And what happens when I’m in your space, Rowan?”

She arched a brow, daring him. “You find out exactly how dangerous that can be.”

Oh, he already knew. Had known from the moment she walked back into his life like a hurricane, leaving chaos and frustration in her wake. And still, here he was, standing in the middle of the storm.

“I’ve never shied away from danger.” He dragged the words out slowly, giving her a fraction of a second to react before flipping the script. “Last chance,” he murmured, his lips a breath away from hers. “Come with me willingly, or I’ll have to use these.”

He pulled the cuffs from his back pocket, the metal catching the dim light.

Rowan stilled. Her pupils flared. But not with fear.

Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips, and God help him, his self-control was hanging on by a thread.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirked. “Try me.”

For a long moment, they stood frozen in a silent battle of wills. This was always how it went with them. A game. A fight. A dance with no clear end.

Then, to his absolute shock, Rowan’s shoulders sagged. “Fine. You win. I’ll come quietly.”

Wait. What?

Davey blinked, thrown off guard by her sudden capitulation. His brain scrambled to process it, to read between the lines. This was too easy.

She was up to something.

But she stood still, wrists extended, waiting. Daring him to believe her.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” she said softly.

His jaw flexed. He was missing something. He knew it. But if this was the game she wanted to play, fine.

He clicked the cuffs into place, the metal cool against her skin.

Then, the shift. A glint in her eyes. A slow, knowing smile.

Predatory. Calculated.

Oh, fuck.

Realization came a second too late.

She moved before he could react, her leg hooking behind his knee, striking fast and hard. He tried to block, but she knew exactly where to hit—his bad leg. She used his momentum against him, a perfect takedown executed with infuriating ease.

A heartbeat later, he was flat on his back, staring at the night sky. The air whooshed out of his lungs.

Son of a bitch.

She’d played him. Again.

And despite himself, despite the fact that he should be pissed as hell—he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle her or kiss her senseless for it.

His body was still reeling from the fall, his lungs burning from the impact, but the sharp thrill running through his veins had nothing to do with pain.

Yeah, apparently, he was a goddamn masochist because part of him loved every second of sparring with her.

Rowan straddled his chest, her cuffed hands pressed lightly against his throat. Not choking, but a warning. A clear, undeniable threat.

He stilled. Not because he was afraid—no, not even close. But because she wanted him to react, wanted him to try and throw her off balance. And Rowan never made a move without already knowing how it would end.

She eased the pressure on his neck and dragged her hands down his chest until she found the hem of his shirt. Lifting it, she dragged her nails back up his chest, tracing along his ribs, making him tense, then squirm.

That little brat. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Rule number one,” she purred, her voice all sugar and steel. “Never underestimate your opponent.”

He knew better than to let his guard down around her for even a second. Rowan had always been unpredictable, a force of nature that couldn’t be contained. She was wild and dangerous, and yet here he was, letting himself enjoy this when he should be hauling her ass out of here.

She grinned like she’d won something.

Davey’s jaw tightened. Oh, hell no.

“Rule number two,” he growled, his hands clamping onto her hips. “Don’t get cocky.”

With a quick twist, he flipped their positions, pinning her beneath him.

Her eyes widened in surprise—briefly—before narrowing with determination. Yeah, that was more like it.

She bucked against him, trying to throw him off, but he sank his weight, holding her in place.

And holy hell, that was a mistake.

Her body pressed against his, warm and strong and so goddamn tempting, and for the first time in his life, he cursed every ounce of training that told him how to stay in control.

It was torture. Each upward thrust of her body rubbed against him in all the right ways, sending white-hot sparks licking through his veins. His pulse kicked up, fueled by the push and pull of this fight, this game they were always playing. He wanted to snake a hand around the back of her neck and fasten his lips over hers. Wanted to feel the heat of her skin, taste the challenge on her tongue.

But, again, that was precisely what she wanted him to want.

She wanted him horny and distracted so he’d make a mistake.

His breath was heavy, his restraint slipping—and she knew it.

Her lips curved into a wicked, knowing smirk. And then she surged upward, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.

His brain short-circuited.

Heat exploded between them, wiping out all logic, all reason. Rowan kissed like she fought, all teeth, heat, and sheer, reckless determination to win.

For a moment, he forgot everything—the mission, the danger, even his own damn name.

There was only Rowan, soft and pliant beneath him, her body molding to his as if she were meant to be there.

The kiss was all heat and desperation, weeks of pent-up tension and unresolved feelings slamming together in a collision they both should’ve seen coming.

His hands roamed down her back, pulling her impossibly closer, gripping her like he had the right to keep her.

She moaned into his mouth, and that was it. That was his breaking point.

A small, rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop, to remember why he was here.

But Rowan’s soft, needy little sound drowned out that voice, replacing it with a primal, gut-wrenching need to take her, claim her, own every beautiful, infuriating inch of her.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he hauled her off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bed, his hands mapping the curve of her thighs, the dip of her spine.

He kicked the door shut behind them and barely registered the low, confused whine.

Rowan broke the kiss just enough to murmur, breathless, “Let him in.”

Wait, what?

It took him a full five seconds to process what she meant.

Luka. He’d shut the dog out of the room.

Davey hesitated, torn between his instincts as Luka’s handler and the burning, all-consuming need to keep Rowan exactly where she was—pressed against him, her body arching, her fingers tangled in his hair.

With a frustrated groan, he set her down and yanked open the door. Luka bounded inside, tail wagging happily.

“Stay,” he commanded, pointing to a worn armchair in the corner.

The dog trotted over, obedient as ever, but his sharp, knowing gaze never left them.

Davey dragged a hand through his hair, his pulse still thrumming, his body still wired, still wanting as he turned to face Rowan again.

She stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving, lips swollen from their kiss. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of desire and defiance that made his blood sing. And that smug little look on her face told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Jesus Christ.

He was in so much trouble.

And he didn’t care.

“Now,” he growled, advancing on her. “Where were we?”

Rowan’s smile turned wicked. Dangerous. “I believe you were about to make a very big mistake.”

He barely caught the glint of metal before she brought her hands up, the cuffs dangling loosely from her finger.

Fucking hell.

Of course. Of course she’d gotten out of the damn cuffs.

Goddamn it. He wasn’t even mad.

Annoyed? Sure. Turned on? Absolutely.

She was infuriating. Reckless. Uncontrollable. And he enjoyed the hell out of every second of it.

He let out a slow exhale, rolling his shoulders, readying for the next round. “I should’ve known.”

“You really should have. Rule number three,” she said, voice low and husky. “Always have an escape plan.” She threw the cuffs at his chest and darted past him, making a break for the door.

He lunged and managed to snag her arm just as she reached the handle. He spun her around, pinning her against the wall with his body.

“Nice try,” he said, his breath coming fast. “But you’re not getting away from me that easily.”

She laughed, and the sound rolled through him like a tidal wave of fire as she speared her hands into his hair. “Who says I’m trying to get away? This is just foreplay.”

And she captured his lips in another searing kiss. His body responded instantly, pressing her harder against the wall as his hands tangled in her hair.

In the back of his mind, a warning bell sounded. This was a mistake. He needed answers, not another night of passion that would leave him with more questions than ever. But as Rowan’s nails raked down his back, coherent thought fled.

She nipped at his bottom lip, drawing a low groan from his throat.

“Rowan,” he breathed against her mouth. “We’re not doing this?—”

“Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. “Just... shut up.”

His resolve crumbled. With a growl, he hoisted her up, and her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the bed. He threw her onto the mattress and froze.

For a moment, all he could do was drink her in—hair mussed, lips swollen, those golden cat eyes burning with challenge and want. Wild. Untouchable. Every bit the force of nature that had been wrecking his life since the day they met.

When it came to this woman, he was utterly, helplessly doomed.

A slow, unraveling kind of doom—one he had no interest in escaping.

“Davey,” she breathed, reaching for him.

He caught her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm before pinning it above her head. Her breath hitched as he hovered over her, their bodies barely touching, the heat between them crackling like a live wire.

“Tell me why you ran,” he murmured against her neck, his lips grazing the delicate skin just above her pulse. He felt the way it fluttered beneath his mouth, fast and unsteady.

She arched beneath him, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “Davey, please...”

“Tell me,” he insisted, trailing his lips lower, his teeth grazing her collarbone. His free hand slid under her shirt, fingertips skating over the smooth expanse of her stomach, feeling the tremor in her muscles.

She wasn’t faking it. She couldn’t fake the way her body reacted to him—the sharp inhale, the trail of goosebumps, the way her nipple tightened under his thumb.

She wanted him. Just as much as he wanted her.

But it wasn’t just want.

It was more. It had always been more.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

The words sent a chill through him.

He pulled back slightly, searching her face. The hunger in her eyes was still there, but it was buried under something else. Something raw and unsettled.

Regret.

Fear.

And that sliver of desperation that always seemed to lurk below her surface.

Fuck.

She had him right where she wanted him.

Again.

In a fluid motion, she flipped their positions, straddling his hips, her thighs clamping tight around him. His back hit the mattress, and his wrists were pinned above his head. He stared up at her, dazed from the heat of her body against his, from the phantom press of her lips.

She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling against his as she held him pinned. The wicked gleam in her eyes should have sent heat racing through his veins—but this time, it was different.

This time, something was wrong.

Finally, his lust-addled brain caught up. His muscles tensed beneath her grip, and every instinct roared to life.

“Rowan,” he warned. “Don’t.”

She leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “I’m so sorry, Davey.”

A sharp sting at his neck.

His body betrayed him instantly. An unnatural cold slithered through his veins, blooming outward from the puncture like ink spilling into water. His pulse staggered, sluggish and uneven, as if his blood had thickened to something syrupy, too heavy to move. A deep, insidious numbness crept into his chest, his limbs, taking over until his body was no longer his own.

Panic clawed through him, sharp and jagged.

What the hell did she give me?

He tried to shove her away, to fight, to do anything —but the paralysis took hold too fast. His nerves stopped responding, his arms refused to lift, his hands curled uselessly at his sides. The room wavered, tilting at the edges.

No. No, no, no.

“What... whatdidya…” His tongue felt clumsy and foreign, his words slurring before they could fully form.

“Just a sedative,” she murmured, brushing her fingers gently through his hair. “Relax and let it take you. You’ll be fine in a few hours.”

Davey fought like hell to stay awake, but the darkness wasn’t just creeping in. It was crashing over him like a wave, dragging him under.

He was sinking.

“Rowan...” His voice barely made it past his lips. “Don’t...”

She bent down, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips.

Soft. Like she cared.

“I wish things could be different between us, Wilde. I really do.”

So did he.

And then she was gone.

Slipping through his fingers again… just as he slipped into the abyss.