The scream lodged in Ariana's throat as she raced into the darkness, the echo of that gunshot still ringing in her ears. The warehouse was a maze of rusted machinery and broken crates, shadows dancing wildly with every flicker of light. Her pulse pounded louder than her footsteps, fear tightening around her chest like a vice.
"Brandon!" she called, breathless.
No answer.
Another shot. Closer this time. The sharp crack reverberated through the metal skeleton of the building, and Ariana ducked instinctively behind a broken-down conveyor belt. Her hands trembled as she reached into her coat, fingers closing around the handle of her knife.
Adrenaline surged. This wasn't just fear anymore. It was rage. Rage at whoever tried to take Brandon from her. Rage at the world for dragging her into this hell.
A low grunt echoed ahead.
She darted forward, weaving through the scattered debris until she saw them—Brandon crouched behind a steel pillar, blood smeared across his temple, gun in hand. His eyes snapped to her immediately, wild and furious.
"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
"I'm not leaving you!" she shouted back.
His jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. Instead, he dragged her down beside him just as another bullet ricocheted off the pillar.
"We're ambushed," he growled. "Two shooters. Maybe three. Luka's playing smart now."
Ariana's heart sank. Luka. Always one step ahead. She scanned the area, mind racing. "How do we get out?"
Brandon's hand tightened around hers. "We kill our way out."
And then, chaos erupted.
Brandon moved like a demon in the dark, precise and brutal. Ariana watched him shift from pillar to beam, gunshots muffled by a silencer. She tried to stay low, follow him, but a sudden figure lunged at her from the shadows.
The man was tall, masked, knife gleaming.
Ariana reacted on instinct. She twisted, slammed her elbow into his gut, and brought her blade up hard. It struck flesh. Warm blood splattered her hands as the man crumpled with a gurgled breath. Her chest heaved, eyes wide. She'd never killed anyone before.
"Ariana!" Brandon grabbed her, yanking her back just as another bullet flew past. "You okay?"
She nodded, too shocked to speak.
He didn't hesitate. His arms went around her, strong and demanding, pulling her into him behind the safety of a rusted column. "Don't ever do that again," he growled, lips at her ear. "Don't ever risk yourself for me."
"You'd do it for me," she whispered, the words trembling.
"That's different," he snapped.
"No, it's not." Her voice broke, emotion spilling free. "We're in this together, Brandon. Whether you like it or not."
He stared at her, breathing hard, the tension between them suddenly shifting. Not fear. Not rage. But heat.
"Goddamn it," he muttered, and then he kissed her—hard, fierce, his mouth crashing onto hers with all the force of a man unraveling. Ariana gasped, arms wrapping around him, clinging to him like her life depended on it.
The taste of blood and danger lingered between them, but neither pulled away.
His hand slid into her hair, fingers tightening, his body pinning her to the wall. She felt the hardness of him through his clothes, felt the sheer force of want pulsing off his skin.
The warehouse around them was war, but here, in this stolen breath of time, all that existed was fire and flesh.
"I should hate you for this," she whispered, eyes locked on his.
"You probably will," he growled. "But I'll still make you mine."
She didn't protest when he lifted her, setting her on top of an old packing crate. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. Every fiber of her being screamed for him—despite the chaos, despite the blood on their hands.
His lips trailed down her neck, biting, tasting. Her jacket was tossed aside, shirt unbuttoned with hungry hands. He was worshipping and punishing her all at once, every touch dripping with possession.
"Tell me to stop," he rasped against her skin.
She didn't.
Instead, she pulled his shirt open, kissing every scar, every inch of pain etched into his skin. "Don't stop," she whispered.
And he didn't.
Their bodies collided, raw and unfiltered. The world fell away. For a few endless minutes, there were no enemies, no threats—only moans, gasps, and the frantic rhythm of two souls claiming each other in the ruins of war.
When it was over, they collapsed together, tangled in breathless silence, surrounded by the ghosts of battle and blood. Ariana rested her head on Brandon's chest, listening to the thunder of his heart.
"We're not getting out of this clean," he said hoarsely, fingers stroking her back.
"No," she agreed softly. "But we're getting out of it together."
Brandon didn't respond. He didn't need to. His arms wrapped tighter around her as if vowing to never let go again.
But neither of them knew—just outside the warehouse, hidden in the dark—a new threat was watching.
And this one wasn't Luka.