The door swung open, revealing a figure backlit by flames that painted the corridor in shades of hell.
Kael.
But not the controlled businessman or the vulnerable man from the study. Not even the cold Ghost who'd implemented protocol seven. This was something else entirely—something primal and devastating that had carved a path of destruction through an entire building to reach her.
His white shirt was no longer white. Blood—so much blood it looked black in the firelight—soaked the fabric, splattered across his face, his hands, his throat. But he moved without any sign of injury, which meant the blood belonged to other people.
How many? How many people's blood is he wearing?
Their eyes met across the smoke-filled cell, and something cracked in his expression. The cold fury that had driven him through the building splintered, replaced by something raw and human and absolutely devastating.
"Elara." Her name came out rough, broken. "Oh God, Elara—"
He crossed the cell in three strides, dropping to his knees beside her with the kind of gracelessness that suggested his legs had simply given out. His hands came up to frame her face, trembling against her skin as he searched her features with desperate intensity.
His hands are shaking. The Ghost's hands are actually shaking.
"Are you hurt? Did they—" His voice cracked. "Tell me you're not hurt."
"I'm okay," she managed, though her voice came out as barely a whisper. "Kael, I'm okay."
But he didn't seem to hear her, his hands moving from her face to her shoulders, down her arms, checking for injuries with frantic thoroughness. When his fingers found the restraints still binding her wrists, something dark and terrible moved across his features.
"They tied you." Not a question. A statement of fact that carried the weight of a death sentence. "They fucking tied you like—"
He pulled a knife from somewhere—wicked and sharp, the blade catching firelight in ways that suggested it had been recently used for purposes other than cutting rope. But his hands were gentle as he sliced through the restraints, his touch impossibly careful despite the violence still radiating from him.
The moment her hands were free, blood rushed back into her fingers with painful intensity. She gasped, flexing her wrists, and Kael caught them with devastating gentleness, examining the cuts and bruises where the metal had bitten into skin.
"I'm going to kill him." His voice was soft, almost conversational. "Slowly. Lucien Mercier is going to die in ways that will make the others look merciful."
The others. How many others?
"Kael—"
"Not now." He pulled her into his arms with enough force to knock the air from her lungs, crushing her against his chest like he was trying to absorb her into his body. "Not now, angel. Just—just let me—"
His words dissolved into something that might have been a sob or a laugh or both. His entire body was shaking now, tremors running through him that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion and everything to do with whatever breakdown he'd been holding off until he found her.
He's falling apart. The Ghost is falling apart in my arms.
She should pull away. Should maintain distance. Should remember that he'd imprisoned her, isolated her, controlled every aspect of her life. That this rescue was just another form of possession.
But he came. Through explosions and gunfire and God knows what else, he came for me.
Her arms came up around his neck, holding him as tightly as he held her. Feeling his heartbeat hammering against her chest, his breath ragged against her hair, his hands fisted in the back of her filthy shirt like letting go would destroy him.
"I thought—" His voice broke completely. "When they took you, when I couldn't stop them, I thought—"
"I'm okay," she said again, louder this time. "I'm here. I'm alive."
"I burned it all down." The words came out flat, emotionless, like he was reporting facts rather than confessing to mass destruction. "Everything between me and you. Everyone who stood in my way. I would have burned the entire city if that's what it took."
The entire city. He's not exaggerating. He would have actually done it.
"How many?" She made herself ask.
"Does it matter?" He pulled back just enough to look at her face, and what she saw in his eyes made her breath catch. Not remorse. Not regret. Just absolute certainty that every death had been necessary. "They took you from me. They put their hands on you. They—"
His jaw clenched, muscle ticking beneath blood-stained skin. "The number doesn't matter. What matters is you're alive and I'm taking you home."
Home. The penthouse. The cage.
"Kael, we need to talk about—"
"Not here." He stood with fluid grace, pulling her up with him. "Not now. This building is burning and Mercier is still somewhere in it. We're leaving. Everything else can wait."
Mercier is still alive. That's why the rage hasn't burned out yet—he hasn't finished.
She tried to step forward and her legs buckled, exhaustion and dehydration making her clumsy. Kael caught her instantly, sweeping her into his arms with the ease of someone who'd done this before.
"I can walk—"
"You're not walking." His voice carried that absolute authority. "You're barely standing. I'm carrying you out of here and you're not arguing about it."
I should argue. Should insist on my own autonomy. Should—
But her head was already falling against his shoulder, the adrenaline crash hitting hard now that rescue had arrived. His arms tightened around her, and despite everything—despite the blood and the violence and the knowledge of what he'd done to reach her—she felt safe.
Stockholm syndrome. This is Stockholm syndrome made manifest. I feel safe with my captor while he carries me through a building he burned down.
He moved through the corridor with purpose, stepping over bodies she tried not to look at too closely. The smoke was thick now, making breathing difficult, but Kael seemed to navigate through it with practiced ease.
"Viktor?" He spoke into what she now realized was a comm device. "Confirm exit route Alpha is clear."
"Clear, sir. But we've got movement on the west corridor. Mercier's people regrouping."
"Numbers?"
"Maybe six. Armed but disorganized."
Six men. Six more people who might die.
"Route them toward sector three. I'll handle them."
Handle them. He means kill them. Six more bodies to add to whatever count he's already accumulated.
"Sir, with respect—you've got the primary. Extraction should take priority."
"The primary is secured." Kael's voice remained calm, clinical. "Now I'm sending a message about what happens to people who take what's mine."
What's mine. Even Viktor doesn't argue with that phrasing anymore.
They were moving through what looked like a warehouse floor now—crates and storage containers creating a maze that Kael navigated with the confidence of someone who'd either been here before or had extensively studied the layout. Bodies littered the floor—some of Lucien's men, she assumed, though she couldn't bring herself to count.
All dead. All dead because Kael came for me.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against his chest.
He stopped moving for just a moment, looking down at her with an expression she couldn't read. "For what?"
"For meeting Lucien. For giving him the reconnaissance he needed. For—" Her voice cracked. "For all of this being my fault."
Something dangerous flashed in his dark eyes. "This is not your fault. This is what happens when someone tries to take what belongs to me. This is what I do to people who touch you."
Belongs to me. Not 'the woman I love.' Not 'my fiancée.' Belongs to me.
"Kael—"
"We're not discussing this now." He resumed moving, his grip on her tightening fractionally. "Right now, the only thing that matters is getting you somewhere safe. Everything else—your guilt, my rage, whatever consequences need to be faced—all of that can wait."
They were approaching what looked like a loading dock when the gunfire erupted.
Not the sustained automatic fire from before, but careful, aimed shots from people who'd had time to set up defensive positions. Kael immediately shifted his body, using himself as a shield while moving behind a concrete pillar with speed that suggested excellent training.
"Stay down," he ordered, setting her on the floor with surprising gentleness before pulling out the gun she hadn't noticed he was carrying. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."
He's going to fight them. With me right here. Using me as motivation to be even more brutal.
"Viktor, I need suppressing fire on my position. Multiple hostiles, entrenched."
"Copy. Engaging now."
The gunfire that followed was deafening—Viktor's team laying down cover while Kael returned fire with mechanical precision. Each shot was deliberate, aimed, nothing wasted. And each shot, she realized with growing horror, found a target.
He's not missing. Not once. Every bullet is ending a life.
Within moments that felt like hours, the shooting stopped. Silence fell, broken only by Kael's controlled breathing and the distant crackle of flames.
"Clear," Viktor's voice confirmed through the comm. "Exit route confirmed secure."
Kael holstered his weapon and retrieved her, pulling her back into his arms like she weighed nothing. His face showed no emotion—no satisfaction in the kills, no remorse for the violence, just cold efficiency now that the immediate threat was handled.
They were almost to the exit when she heard it—a voice calling from somewhere in the smoke-filled warehouse.
"Thorne!"
Lucien. That was definitely Lucien's voice, raw with fury and something that might have been desperation.
Kael stopped, his entire body going rigid with renewed rage.
"Keep going," Viktor's voice urged through the comm. "Don't engage. We need to extract now."
But Kael wasn't moving. Was just standing there, holding her, staring into the smoke where Lucien's voice had come from.
"You can't kill us all!" Lucien's voice continued, closer now. "You can burn my operations, destroy my people, but you can't stop what's coming. There are others who know about her now. Others who'll see her as the weapon she is."
Weapon. He's making sure others know I'm Kael's weakness.
"Ignore him," Elara whispered. "Please, just get us out of here."
Kael's arms tightened around her, and for a moment she thought he might actually listen. Might actually choose her safety over his need for revenge.
Then he turned toward where Viktor waited at the exit and spoke in a voice that held no emotion whatsoever: "Get her to the car. Secure extraction."
"Sir—"
"Now, Viktor. That's an order."
No. He's not—he can't be—
"Kael, don't—"
But he was already transferring her to Viktor's arms, his movements gentle despite the violence clearly building in him.
"Take her home," he said, and it wasn't a request. "I'll be right behind you."
He's lying. He's going to stay and hunt Lucien. And I can't stop him.
"Kael, please—"
He cupped her face with hands still shaking slightly, leaning close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. Could see the absolute resolve that meant nothing she said would change his mind.
His lips brushed against her hair, the touch impossibly gentle given the violence radiating from every line of his body. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost tender—which somehow made the words more terrifying than if he'd shouted them.
"If they touched you, I'll burn this city to the ground."