The safehouse wasn't what Ariana expected.
It looked like a luxury villa dropped in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by thick forest and guarded by a private team of men in black suits with no names. The inside was pristine, cold, sterile. Walls of concrete. Furniture that looked expensive but untouched. Windows that didn't open.
A gilded cage.
Brandon barely spoke on the drive. His grip on the steering wheel said more than words—tight, aggressive, unreadable. Whatever Luka had stirred in him was more than just vengeance. It was personal.
They arrived at nightfall. As Brandon swept through the house, checking rooms and issuing quiet orders to his men, Ariana wandered down the hall, the silence eerie, the walls too quiet. She touched the edge of a table, then a crystal glass on the bar, grounding herself in the reality of this place.
This wasn't just hiding.
It was preparation for war.
She turned when she heard footsteps behind her. Brandon was watching her, his eyes storm-dark, the vein in his neck pulsing with tension.
"This is the last place Luka would expect us to hide," he said. "He thinks I'd run."
"You're not running," she said softly.
"No." He stepped toward her. "I'm baiting him."
He didn't touch her right away. Just stood there, looking at her like she was the only thing keeping him sane. His control was fraying, barely held together by threads of violence and obsession.
Then he moved.
She gasped as he pinned her to the wall, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was raw and claiming. He didn't ask—he never did. He took, because that's what she needed. That's what made the chaos bearable.
Their clothes came off in hurried, greedy motions. His mouth explored her neck, her chest, her hips. She clawed at his back, hungry, lost in him.
He lifted her easily, pressed her against the cool stone wall, and entered her in one long, deep thrust. Her breath caught. He moved like he was trying to erase every trace of the world from her body—every fear, every doubt, every memory of anyone who wasn't him.
"Tell me you're mine," he growled into her ear.
"I'm yours," she moaned. "All of me."
His rhythm deepened, hard and fast, making her see stars. One hand tangled in her hair, the other bracing her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her body catching fire under his.
She came hard, her cries echoing off the walls. He followed with a groan that sounded almost like pain, his body going rigid before collapsing against her.
For a long moment, they just breathed. Tangled. Sweaty. Wrecked.
Then Brandon pulled her close, kissing the side of her neck. "You'll never be safer than when you're under me."
---
Later, as Ariana sat alone on the balcony wrapped in one of his shirts, she watched the moon rise through the trees.
She felt different.
Not broken.
But forged.
This version of her—the one who could love a man like Brandon, who could survive the fire and still want to burn—was new. Powerful.
She heard the click of the door behind her and didn't need to turn to know it was him.
He sat beside her, handed her a glass of dark red wine. "They're watching Luka's compound. Nothing yet."
"You really think he'll come?"
Brandon took a sip. "He doesn't have a choice. I forced his hand."
"Because of me?"
"No," he said, glancing sideways at her. "Because of us."
She didn't speak for a moment. Then: "I don't regret any of this."
"I should," he said quietly, "but I don't either."
Their eyes met, and in the quiet night, something shifted between them. This wasn't just lust anymore. It was possession. Bonded pain. The kind of love that couldn't survive in daylight but thrived in shadows.
Brandon reached for her hand. "There's something else."
She looked at him warily. "What?"
"There's a leak in my inner circle. Someone feeding Luka information."
Her blood ran cold. "Do you know who?"
"Not yet," he said. "But I will."
"And when you do?"
"I'll kill them."
There was no hesitation. No flinch. Just brutal certainty.
Ariana took a deep breath. "What if they're close to you?"
He looked her dead in the eye. "Then I'll kill them slower."
---
Later that night, Ariana woke alone in the massive bed.
She sat up, heart racing. Something felt wrong.
She slipped out of bed and padded toward the door. Brandon wasn't in the bedroom. The hallway was empty, too quiet. Her nerves were screaming. She followed the faint sound of voices toward the main floor, staying close to the walls.
She paused outside a door left slightly ajar.
Inside, Brandon was talking to a man she didn't recognize—tall, built like a soldier, eyes hard.
"She's the one thing I won't let Luka touch," Brandon said, his tone ice. "If it means burning this city to the ground, so be it."
The man frowned. "You're losing control."
Brandon laughed. "I lost control the second I saw her."
The man hesitated. "And if she runs?"
"She won't," Brandon said. "She can't. She wants the darkness now."
Ariana's breath caught.
He was right.
And that terrified her more than Luka ever could.