The night exploded around her.
Bullets cracked through the rain, splintering wood, tearing through the silence that had once felt like safety.
Isabella's hands clamped over her ears, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Every instinct screamed hide, but her heart screamed Damian.
She couldn't see him.
Only flashes the muzzle fire lighting his silhouette as he moves through the storm like a phantom, precise, lethal.
"Damian!" she cried out before she could stop herself.
A curse tore from his throat. "Stay down, Isabella!"
Another shot.
A grunt.
Then silence.
The world went still.
Only the rain whispered, sliding down the broken glass like tears.
"Damian?" Her voice trembled, smaller now, as she crawled forward. "Damian!"
The front door hung open, swinging slightly in the wind. She pushed herself up, ignoring the way her knees shook, and stepped outside.
The forest loomed dark and wet, thunder rolling like distant drums. Her bare feet sank into mud as she stumbled forward, scanning the trees until she saw him.
Half-hidden behind the old truck, crouched low, blood running down his arm.
"Damian!" She rushed to him, dropping to her knees in the mud.
"Damn it," he hissed, trying to shove her away. "I told you to stay inside!"
"You're bleeding," she whispered, her hands trembling as she pressed against his arm.
The blood was hot and slick against her palms. "You've been shot!"
"It's nothing," he growled, teeth gritted. "A graze."
But the way his jaw clenched, the tightness in his breathing, she knew it wasn't nothing.
Lightning flashed, illuminating his face pale, fierce, but faltering now.
"Help me get you inside," she said, voice trembling but firm. "Now."
For a moment, he looked like he might refuse.
Then his knees buckled, and she caught him barely, her arms wrapping around him as his weight sagged against her.
"Damn you, Damian," she breathed, half in anger, half in fear. "You think you're made of stone."
He gave a weak, humorless laugh as she dragged him back toward the cabin. "Stone doesn't bleed, bella."
They stumbled inside, the fire still burning low. She lowered him onto the rug near the hearth, her hands shaking as she tore through the drawer for the first aid kit.
Her mind spun and she remembered the lessons her father had drilled into her, the emergency training she'd hated back then. Now, every word of it echoed in her ears.
"Stay awake," she said, pressing gauze against his arm. "Don't you dare pass out."
His eyes fluttered open hazy, dark, burning through the pain. "You're bossy when you're scared."
Her glare flickered through her tears. "And you're impossible when you're dying."
He chuckled again, the sound breaking into a groan. "Not dying. Not yet."
"Good," she snapped, tightening the bandage. "Because I'm not letting you."
She worked in silence, focused, breathing hard. When it was finally wrapped, she sat back, chest heaving.
His blood was smeared across her hands, across her dress, and somehow it didn't disgust her it terrified her how much she cared.
Damian looked up at her, his voice low. "You saved me."
"You'd do the same," she murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.
His lips curved faintly. "That's the problem. You make me want to."
The words sank into her, slow and dangerous.
She met his gaze, firelight flickering between them. "Why do you keep doing this? Pushing me away one second, pulling me closer the next."
He shifted, wincing as he sat up, his eyes locking with hers fierce, unguarded. "Because every time I get close to you, I forget what I am."
Her breath caught. "And what are you?"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that brushed against her lips. "The man your father warned you about."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The room felt too small, too hot.
Her pulse tangled with his as his uninjured hand lifted just a fraction brushing her cheek, smearing a streak of his blood across her skin.
"You should hate me," he said.
"I tried," she whispered.
And in that fragile, dangerous heartbeat between thunder and silence the air changed.
He leaned in, close enough that the world disappeared.
The space between them pulsed with heat.
Damian's hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb smearing a faint streak of red across her skin, his blood on her innocence. Isabella's breath caught.
She should've pulled away. Every warning screamed that he was dangerous, that his touch burned too deep.
But she didn't move.
She couldn't.
Her world had already begun to spin around him.
"Damian…" she whispered, his name trembling on her lips like a confession.
He didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on her mouth the same way a starving man might look at salvation.
Then, slowly, he leaned in, his breath brushing her lips.
The fire crackled, the rain howled against the windows, and the whole world seemed to hold its breath.
When his lips finally touched hers, it wasn't gentle.
It was a desperate collision of anger, fear, and something too raw to name.
Her fingers tangled in his shirt as if she could anchor herself there, in the madness of it.
His hand slid into her hair, holding her still, deepening the kiss until her heart forgot how to beat in rhythm. Every ounce of control he'd ever had shattered between them.
When he finally broke the kiss, his voice was rough, ragged. "You make me lose my mind, Isabella."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. "Then maybe you never had one."
A dark smirk flickered across his face. "You're brave tonight."
"I'm terrified," she admitted softly. "But I'm not running."
Something flickered in his eyes pain, maybe. Regret. He cupped her face with his uninjured hand, tracing her jaw with a tenderness she hadn't known he was capable of.
"You shouldn't have followed me outside," he said quietly. "They weren't supposed to find us here."
"Who?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
His silence told her more than words could. His expression hardened, the softness evaporating like smoke.
He pushed himself up with a wince, scanning the darkened windows.
"Someone gave them our location," he said finally. "Someone close."
The realization struck her like a blade.
"You mean… someone inside your own house?"
He didn't look at her. "It wouldn't be the first betrayal I've seen."
The weight of that truth settled over them, heavy and cold.
She stood beside him, her hand hovering uncertainly at his arm. "Then we can't stay here."
He turned toward her, his face half-lit by the dying fire. "You're learning fast, bella."
"Fear is a good teacher," she murmured.
His lips quirked not quite a smile. "No. It's a cruel one."
He moved toward the window, the storm outside still raging. "Pack whatever you can carry. We move before dawn."
"Where will we go?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. When he finally did, his tone was distant, haunted.
"Somewhere no one can find you."
Isabella's pulse stuttered. "You mean… us?"
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "You're safer with me. That's all that matters now."
The silence between them wasn't peaceful; it hummed with too many things unsaid.
She should've been afraid of him, of the blood still dripping from his bandage, of the shadows that clung to his every word.
But as he turned back toward her soaked, bruised, and still standing between her and the world all she could think was that the devil bled for her tonight.
And something inside her shifted.
A dangerous truth she couldn't ignore anymore.
He wasn't just her captor.
He was the only man who'd ever fought to keep her alive.