The Storm at the Door
The hotel suite was silent.
Golden light filtered through sheer curtains, brushing against the tangle of limbs across silk sheets. Kaia stirred first, her lashes fluttering as she blinked away sleep. Her body ached in places she hadn't felt alive in for years.
And Damon… was still there.
One arm lay possessively across her waist, his bare chest pressed to her back, the steady rhythm of his breath warm against her skin.
She should've pulled away.
Should've clawed out of his hold and wrapped her fury back around her like armor.
But she didn't.
Instead, Kaia stayed still—just for a breath longer—allowing herself the lie of peace. The illusion that they could exist like this. Without betrayal. Without the blood on their hands.
Without the war knocking on the goddamn door.
Damon shifted behind her, his voice a low rumble against her shoulder. "You're awake."
"I didn't sleep."
"Liar," he murmured, brushing his lips to her neck. "You slept like a kitten after ruining me."
She turned, eyes narrowed. "You ruined me, Alaric."
His smirk was dark, dangerous. "Then we're even."
The tension between them snapped again, magnetic and reckless. His mouth found hers, slow but greedy. He rolled her beneath him, sheets slipping away like water.
But just as his hand slid down her thigh—
Boom.
The floor vibrated.
Both froze.
Another boom, heavier this time. Followed by glass shattering in the distance.
Damon shot up, grabbing the pistol from the nightstand in one practiced motion. "Stay here."
"Hell no," Kaia hissed, already reaching for her discarded dress. "We both know this isn't a coincidence."
He threw her a look. "It's not safe—"
"Nothing's been safe since I let you kiss me."
Sirens wailed faintly below. From the window, Kaia could make out smoke curling from the edge of the building across the street. A car—black, armored—was parked at the curb, engine running.
Her blood turned to ice.
That car… she'd seen it before.
In the shadows of her past.
In the surveillance footage she'd stolen. In the compound where her mother died.
And now, it was parked outside their room.
Damon caught the shift in her face. "Kaia. What do you know?"
She swallowed hard. "That's his car. The man who paid for the hit on my mother. The man who buried my name. He's not just watching anymore. He's here."
Damon moved fast. "We're leaving. Now."
But as they stepped into the hallway—
A bullet ripped through the chandelier above.
Kaia screamed as glass rained down. Damon yanked her into a side corridor, covering her body with his.
"We're compromised," he muttered into his comms. "Activate extraction route seven."
More gunfire.
Kaia felt the thrill of fear twist into something sharper. "You were expecting this."
"No," Damon growled, checking his ammo. "I was preparing for worse."
They sprinted through the emergency stairwell, barefoot and breathless. On the second floor, two masked men awaited—black suits, no insignia, eyes cold.
"Kaia Seraphine," one called. "Your father sends his regards."
She froze.
Damon didn't.
He fired.
Both bodies dropped, but Kaia stood there, trembling. "My… father?"
Damon grabbed her hand, dragging her forward. "Later. I swear. But right now—we run."
---
Back at the suite, another figure stepped into the empty room.
A woman, cloaked in midnight.
She moved like smoke. Sharp eyes scanned the chaos. Her gloved fingers plucked something from the sheets.
A velvet ring box.
She opened it.
Smiled.
And then whispered to no one, "Let's see how far you'll burn for her, Alaric."