The house felt too large without him in it. Every room echoed with the absence of his footsteps, the low timbre of his voice giving orders to no one, the quiet way he moved through spaces like he owned the air itself. I paced the bedroom for the first hour after he left, fingers constantly finding the tiny key pendant against my chest. It warmed from my skin, a small constant reminder that he had given me something he kept close. I did not know if that made me feel safer or more trapped.
Luca stayed downstairs, a shadow at the windows and doors. I heard him check the locks twice, the soft click of metal on metal carrying up the stairs. He did not speak to me unless I spoke first, and even then his answers were short. "Boss said stay put." "No calls." "No one comes in." I stopped asking after the third time. Instead I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the gold chain until the light outside began to fade into dusk.
The phone rang downstairs. Luca answered on the second ring. His voice was low, clipped. I stood at the top of the stairs and listened. "Yes. Understood. ETA?" A pause. "Copy." He hung up and looked up at me. "He's on his way back. Meeting's done." Relief hit me so hard my knees almost gave out. "Is he hurt?" Luca hesitated for half a second. "Not badly. Cut on his arm. Nothing serious." I exhaled slowly. "Tell him I'm waiting."
I returned to the bedroom and lit the lamp on the nightstand. The warm light softened the shadows in the corners. I changed into one of his shirts again, the black one he had worn yesterday, sleeves rolled up, hem brushing my thighs. I left the collar off. The skin beneath it felt naked, sensitive, like it missed the weight. I sat on the bed with my back against the headboard and waited.
The front door opened twenty minutes later. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Damien appeared in the doorway. Coat gone. Shirt torn at the sleeve, dark blood soaking the fabric from elbow to wrist. A fresh cut above his eyebrow had crusted over. His eyes found me immediately and something in his posture eased, shoulders dropping a fraction.
He crossed the room without speaking. Stopped in front of me. I reached for his injured arm. "Let me see." He did not pull away. I pushed the sleeve higher. The cut was long but shallow, already clotting. "You need stitches." "Later." His voice was rough from smoke and shouting. "First I need to know you're still here."
I looked up at him. "Where else would I be?" He cupped my face with his good hand. Thumb stroked my cheekbone. "Victor offered terms." I waited. "He wants you. In exchange for peace. No more fires. No more bodies." My stomach twisted. "What did you say?" Damien's eyes darkened. "I told him I'd send him your head before I sent you alive."
The words should have frightened me. They did not. They settled something deep inside. I stood slowly. My hands found the buttons of his shirt. I undid them one by one. "You chose me." "I chose you the night you walked into that club and called me out." He let me push the shirt off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. "I've been choosing you every day since."
I traced the new cut on his arm with careful fingers. "You're bleeding on the rug." "Let it." He caught my wrist and brought my hand to his mouth. Kissed the inside of my wrist where his pulse had raced against mine so many times. "I need you." The admission came quiet, raw. "Not the way I usually need you. Not to control. Just to feel you here. Alive."
I stepped closer until our bodies pressed together. His skin was warm despite the blood and the chill outside. I tilted my head back. "Then feel me." He kissed me slow this time. Deep. Like he was drinking me in. His good hand slid to my lower back and pulled me flush against him. I felt the hard length of him against my stomach through his trousers. Desire coiled low in my belly, steady and insistent.
He walked me backward until my legs hit the bed. We fell together, him careful of his injured arm, me careful not to hurt him more. I pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. His hands found my thighs, sliding up under the shirt until he reached bare skin. No underwear. Just me. Wet and ready from the moment he walked through the door.
I ground down against him slowly. He groaned low in his throat. "Elena." My name sounded like a prayer when he said it like that. I leaned down and kissed the cut on his eyebrow, tasting salt and iron. Then lower, along his jaw, his throat, the place where his pulse hammered. I bit gently. He bucked under me.
His fingers dug into my hips. "Ride me." I reached between us and freed him from his trousers. He was thick and hot in my hand. I positioned him at my entrance and sank down slowly. Inch by inch. The stretch burned sweetly. When he was fully inside I paused, breathing hard, feeling him throb deep within me.
His hand came to my throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. Like always. I rocked slowly at first. Long rolls of my hips that made us both gasp. His thumb stroked the spot where the collar had been. "You're mine." The words were rough, possessive. "Always." I moved faster. Harder. The bed creaked beneath us. Pleasure built in tight waves, coiling low and spreading outward.
He sat up suddenly, arm banding around my waist to keep me close. His mouth found mine again. Kissed me through every thrust. I rode him with abandon now, nails digging into his shoulders, chasing the edge that hovered so close. His hand tightened on my throat just enough to make my vision sparkle. "Come for me." The command was soft. Almost pleading.
I shattered. The orgasm crashed through me in silent violent pulses. I cried out against his mouth. He followed seconds later, thrusting up hard once, twice, then burying deep and spilling inside me with a low groan that vibrated through his chest.
We stayed locked together for long minutes. Breathing ragged. Bodies slick. His hand never left my throat. When he finally eased his grip he pulled me down against him. I rested my head on his uninjured shoulder. Listened to his heartbeat slow.
"Victor won't stop," I whispered. "Not after tonight." Damien's fingers threaded through my hair. "Then we end him first." I lifted my head. Met his eyes. "We?" He nodded once. "We." The word felt like a vow.
I kissed him softly. "Then teach me how to fight." His smile was small and dangerous. "I already am."
Outside the city lights flickered on one by one. Paris glittered below us, indifferent to the war brewing in its shadows. Inside the bedroom the air smelled of sex and blood and something new. Something unbreakable.
Possession had a price.
We were both paying it.
And neither of us wanted a refund.