Cassian didn't sleep.
He lay in the dark, Riven curled into his chest, breathing soft and steady—unaware of the war raging in the man who held him.
Silas had returned, and with him came more than just jealousy.
He brought history. Blood. Secrets that still haunted Cassian's skin.
And now Riven was at the center of it all.
Cassian whispered against his lover's hair, "No one will take you from me."
Not again.
---
The next morning, Riven woke with a delicious ache, wearing Cassian's marks like silk under his clothes. His neck was bruised, lips bitten, thighs sore.
And his heart?
Still burning.
But his smile vanished when he opened the door to find a gift box.
Black ribbon. Blood-red paper.
Inside: a collar.
Not the one Cassian gave him.
No. This one was older.
Silas's.
Riven nearly dropped it. His fingers trembled. The past bit hard.
And the note?
> "You still wear me beneath your skin. One night. Come alone. Or I'll tear him apart piece by piece."
Cassian entered moments later and saw the box.
He went still. His jaw clenched so hard it cracked.
"He's testing you," Cassian growled. "And testing me."
Riven stepped back. "I can end it, Cass. I know where he wants to meet. Let me go."
Cassian grabbed him. "You're mine. I don't share. Not with ghosts. Not with devils. If he wants to play… then I'll play too."
Riven's breath hitched. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying…" Cassian pushed him up against the wall, voice dark and rough, "…that I'm going to remind you who you belong to."
He dropped to his knees, pulled down Riven's pants, and worshipped him like a sinner at the altar—lips sinful, tongue merciless.
Riven gasped, moaned, shattered.
But Cassian wasn't done.
He lifted him, carried him to the bed, and bound his wrists above his head with silk. "You want danger?" he growled. "Then feel what it's like to be claimed."
He took him with brutal tenderness—deep, hard, possessive—until Riven cried out his name and came undone beneath him, sweat-soaked and begging.
Only then did Cassian whisper, "You're not going alone."
---
That night, Riven stood outside the abandoned opera house—Cassian hidden in the shadows.
Silas waited inside with a grin like a knife. "You came."
Riven stepped closer. "This ends tonight."
"Agreed," Silas purred. "Let's see what's left of you… when I'm done."
But before he could touch him—
Cassian appeared from the dark, fury incarnate, and pinned Silas to the wall.
"Touch him again," he growled, "and I won't leave you breathing."
Silas smirked. "Still pretending you're the hero?"
Cassian's fist answered that question.
---
Later, Riven sat in Cassian's lap in the car, lips bruised from kisses, hips sore from claiming.
"You scared me," Riven whispered.
Cassian held him tighter. "I'd rather die than lose you."
And when they got home, he made love to him slow and raw—no games, no war—just fire, need, and the quiet vow in every breath:
You're mine. And I'll destroy anyone who forgets that.