The Devil's Bargain
Damon
They dared touch her.
Blood still slicked my knuckles as I paced the marble floor, the scent of iron clinging to my skin like sin. The men who dragged Kaia into that alley—who bruised her—were no longer breathing. But it wasn't enough.
Because someone had sent them.
And that meant someone knew.
I slammed my fist into the wall, plaster cracking beneath the force.
"You're losing it," Bishop said from the doorway, his voice infuriatingly calm. His suit was pristine, as if he hadn't just helped me dispose of three broken bodies behind a nightclub.
I turned slowly, jaw tight. "They went after her, Bishop. Not the Valen name. Not our money. Her."
"She's not yours."
I was on him in a second, slamming him against the wall, fingers locked around his throat.
"Say that again," I growled.
He didn't flinch. "You left her at the altar. What did you think would happen when the Seraphines were wiped out the same night?"
I let him go with a shove, chest heaving.
Kaia wasn't dead. She'd vanished, yes, but not dead. And now, she'd reappeared like a ghost carved in fury and silk, her mouth a weapon, her eyes lined with betrayal—and something more dangerous: control.
And tonight… someone had tried to end her.
"You want my advice?" Bishop asked, brushing off his lapels. "Find her. Before they do."
---
Kaia
I was still shaking when I reached the safehouse.
The room was cold, dim, with cracked concrete floors and an old mattress shoved into the corner. It reeked of mildew and secrecy. But I didn't care.
I needed somewhere to breathe.
Somewhere he wouldn't be.
But Damon Valen was already under my skin, bleeding through my thoughts like ink spilled on silk.
His mouth.
His hands.
The way he looked at me like I was the only war he ever wanted to lose.
He'd saved me tonight, killed for me—but that didn't make him a savior. It made him exactly what he'd always been: a monster in a perfect suit.
I peeled off the torn remnants of my dress and stepped into the shower, letting the freezing water drag me back to reality. Bruises bloomed along my ribs, faint but ugly. I traced one with a fingertip.
Then I touched the pendant hanging around my neck. The one I'd stolen from Damon's study three years ago.
Inside it? A flash drive. Insurance. Evidence of the betrayal that destroyed my family.
And soon, I would bury Damon Valen with it.
Unless he buried me first.
---
Damon
The safehouse was supposed to be untraceable.
But nothing was untraceable to me.
I stood outside the old building as thunder rolled in the distance, lightning casting fractured shadows across the broken windows. I hadn't meant to come here.
But I couldn't stay away.
She was inside. I felt her—like a thread pulled tight between us, humming with every breath I took.
I opened the door quietly.
And stopped.
She stood at the window in nothing but a towel, damp hair slicked back, steam still curling from her skin. Her back was to me, spine straight, chin lifted as she stared out at the rain.
"You tracked me," she said without turning.
"You're bleeding."
"So?"
"I killed them."
She turned then, slowly, eyes sharp. "And I'm supposed to be grateful?"
"No," I said, stepping closer. "You're supposed to stop pretending you don't still want me."
"Wanting you was my greatest mistake."
I reached her in two strides, my hand curling around her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her breath hitched, chest rising against mine.
"I never stopped," I murmured. "Not for a second."
Her eyes searched mine, anger battling need. "You don't get to say that. Not after what you did."
"You think I chose this?" I rasped. "You think I didn't bleed for you every damn day since?"
Her mouth parted.
I kissed her before she could speak.
It was war—violent, hungry, cruel. My hands gripped her hips like a lifeline, and hers clawed at my shirt, dragging me closer. Her towel dropped to the floor, forgotten. She was bare heat and fury and goddamn perfection.
She shoved me back onto the mattress, straddling me with eyes full of venom.
"This changes nothing," she hissed, grinding against me.
"Then let it destroy everything."
She took what she wanted—rough, raw, savage. Nails raking down my chest, teeth at my throat. I let her punish me with her body. I let her hate me with her mouth.
And I matched her, stroke for punishing stroke.
---
When it was over, we lay tangled in silence, the world outside forgotten.
But as I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, something shifted in her gaze.
Fear.
Recognition.
She sat up suddenly, breath catching in her throat.
"What is it?" I asked, voice low.
She didn't answer.
She was remembering something.
Something I didn't want her to.
"Kaia."
Her eyes met mine—and for the first time, I saw doubt.
"Tell me something," she whispered. "Three years ago… the night of the fire… was it you who pulled me out?"
My blood turned to ice.
Because it was.
But I never told anyone.
Not even her.
She stood, grabbing her clothes with trembling hands. "You've been watching me this whole time."
"Kaia—"
She shook her head, stepping back. "You saved me just to destroy me later."
I stood too, stepping toward her.
And then—
A phone buzzed.
She answered, confused. Then paled.
"What is it?" I demanded.
She turned the screen to me.
A black car.
Parked outside the safehouse.
Again.
"They found me," she whispered.
"No," I said darkly, already pulling a gun from my jacket. "They followed me."
And now they were close enough to kill.