Aurora didn't move.
The echo of Rafael's last words—"They breached the south gate"—hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking.
He was already out the door, gun in hand, body tense like a predator on the hunt. The bedroom door slammed shut behind him, and she was alone again—sweaty, trembling, and still spread across the sheets he'd just ravaged her on.
She sat up, hands trembling as she pulled the covers over herself. Her heart thudded loud in her chest, not just from the sex—but from fear.
Something was happening.
Something real. Something deadly.
She slipped off the bed, her legs barely steady. The robe Rafael had peeled from her earlier lay in a heap on the floor. She snatched it up and wrapped it around her, even though the silk did little to calm the storm in her chest.
She ran to the door. Locked it. Just like he told her.
And then… silence.
Except the distant sound of gunfire.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Then shouting. The crackle of radios. The heavy stomp of boots.
She pressed her ear to the wood. Someone screamed—not Rafael. A man. Cut off mid-sound like someone had snapped his neck or shot him in the throat.
Her stomach turned.
But then—footsteps. Heavy ones. Rushing. Coming fast.
Closer.
Too close.
Her breath caught as the handle jiggled. Once. Then again. Harder.
Then a pause.
And then the voice.
Not Rafael's.
Low. Rough. Amused.
"You in there, pretty thing?"
Her blood froze.
He jiggled the handle again, this time with more force. "You Rafael's new toy?"
She backed away from the door, panic seizing her throat.
"He's a fool, keeping something like you locked up. He should know by now—anything that makes a man soft needs to be taken."
BANG.
The door shook. It wasn't gunfire—it was a kick.
Another.
Aurora scrambled to the nightstand, yanked open the drawer. Nothing. No weapon. No phone.
BANG.
She backed into the corner, clutching the robe like it was armor.
Just as the door began to splinter—
BOOM.
A gunshot. Loud. Close.
Then another. A third.
And silence.
Her heart nearly stopped when the door creaked open, slowly.
And Rafael stepped in.
His shirt was stained with blood. His face spattered with it. A cut ran down the side of his temple, but his eyes… his eyes were wild with fury.
She'd never seen him like this.
He was death in human form.
He kicked the body of the man who'd tried to get in—now lying motionless in the hallway—then shut the door behind him and locked it.
Aurora's voice broke. "Rafael…"
He walked toward her, chest heaving, gun still in hand.
"You didn't open the door," he said hoarsely. "Good girl."
"I—I thought it was you. I almost did."
He dropped the gun onto the dresser. "You didn't. That's all that matters."
"Who was he?"
Rafael didn't answer. Instead, he walked up to her and gently took her face in his blood-slicked hands. She didn't flinch.
His eyes searched hers. "You okay?"
She nodded. "I think so."
And then he kissed her.
It was savage. Desperate. A claiming.
His blood smeared across her cheek, her neck, her lips, but she didn't care. She kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers fisting into his ruined shirt as he lifted her against the wall.
"I almost lost you," he growled against her mouth. "And I haven't even finished breaking you yet."
"Then do it," she whispered.
That was all it took.
He spun her, ripped the robe from her shoulders, and bent her over the vanity like she was nothing but something to be used—his to use.
"I should punish you for looking so fucking pretty when I was out there bleeding," he snarled.
She moaned as his hand came down on her ass, once, twice—then again, harder. It stung, but it sent a bolt of pleasure straight to her core.
"You like that, don't you?"
"Yes," she breathed. "More."
He unzipped his pants, yanked her hips back, and slammed into her with a growl.
She gasped, both hands braced on the vanity mirror as he drove into her, over and over again, one hand gripping her hair, the other snaking around her front to rub her clit with cruel, relentless circles.
"You're mine," he gritted through his teeth. "Even if I have to kill the whole fucking city to keep you."
She cried out, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as he fucked her harder, deeper, more possessive than ever.
And just when she thought he was finished—
He pulled out.
And knelt behind her.
His tongue found her again. Lapping. Devouring. Tasting her like she was something sacred. A reward.
Or a curse.
"God, Rafael—"
"You'll never leave me," he whispered against her folds. "Not alive."
She didn't answer.
Because somewhere inside, she already knew he was right.