The adrenaline still throbbed in Elara's veins hours after the balcony attack. She sat in the leather passenger seat of Adrian's blacked-out Maserati, the city lights blurring past like streaks of fire.
She'd barely spoken since it happened.
"You're pale," Adrian said, glancing at her before focusing back on the road. "Drink."
He handed her a crystal flask from the center console. She opened it, the scent of strong whiskey burning her nose. She took a sip—warm, liquid fire running down her throat.
They pulled into a private underground garage beneath a building that looked like it belonged in another century—stone walls, wrought iron gates, and a looming sense of power. Adrian's men were everywhere, black suits and cold eyes, each one bowing slightly as he passed.
He led her straight to a heavy double door at the top of a grand staircase. Inside was a penthouse unlike anything she'd seen—warm gold light spilling over velvet couches, thick rugs, and a wall of windows overlooking the sleeping city.
"Home," he said simply.
Home? The word caught her off guard.
"This is my safe house," he clarified. "No one gets in without my permission. You'll be staying here."
She wanted to protest—to remind him she hadn't agreed to be his… anything—but the memory of those claws scraping metal froze the words in her throat.
Adrian took her coat, his fingers brushing her shoulders, slow enough that she felt the heat of his touch long after he stepped away.
"You're still shaking," he said softly.
"I just saw someone—" she swallowed "—something—die. Of course I'm shaking."
Adrian didn't argue. Instead, he reached for her hand and led her to the massive fireplace. The fire crackled, the heat chasing away the chill in her bones.
They sat there for a long moment, the flames painting his face in gold and shadow.
"You're not ready to hear everything," he murmured, "but you need to understand this—wolves are not the only predators in my world. And tonight… that thing on the balcony? It wasn't random."
Her pulse quickened. "Then who—"
"Not now." He cut her off gently, leaning forward, his hand sliding to the back of her neck. "Right now, all you need to think about… is this."
Before she could ask what he meant, his lips brushed hers.
The kiss was slow, deliberate—none of the savage danger she'd seen on the balcony, but something deeper. His thumb stroked her jaw, tilting her head to take more of him, and when she didn't pull away, he deepened it, tasting her like a man who had all the time in the world.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers. "Still shaking?"
She nodded faintly.
"Good," he said, his mouth curving in the faintest, most dangerous smile. "I like knowing I can make you feel that way."