The hideout was barely livable. An old steel warehouse nestled deep in the industrial sprawl outside New Carthage. Rotting walls. No plumbing. The roof leaked in the corners. But it was off-grid and wired with Talon's traps, and that made it perfect.
Perfect for fugitives. For monsters. For them.
Elira sat cross-legged on a rusted shipping crate, her thigh wrapped tight with gauze, blood still damp and sticky against her pants. She barely felt the sting anymore — rage dulled pain.
Azriel paced across the floor like a caged beast, coat tossed aside, boots echoing in the vast hollow of the building. His hands were stained with dried blood, knuckles raw. He hadn't spoken since they arrived. Not to her. Not to anyone.
Thalia was recovering in the adjacent room with Talon. Caelum had vanished hours ago to set up surveillance. That left Elira and Azriel alone, trapped in the heat of shared silence.
And it was a heat that scorched.
Elira broke first.
"You let him go," she said, voice tight.
Azriel didn't turn. "You're welcome."
"I wasn't asking for gratitude."
"Then don't talk like you expect my permission to bleed."
She stood abruptly, ignoring the way her leg protested. "That sniper wasn't aiming for Thalia. He was aiming for me."
Azriel turned then, eyes like onyx.
"I know."
The words hit her harder than the bullet.
"And you still let Caelum go without answers?"
"Because I'm not stupid enough to corner a viper when it still might be on our side."
Elira scoffed. "Right. But you're fine cornering me."
He stepped closer, boots crunching over broken glass. "You're not a viper, Vale. You're something worse."
"Go on," she said with a dangerous tilt of her chin, blood still smeared along her jaw. "Say it."
He was inches from her now.
"You're a fuse. One spark, and you burn everything down. Including yourself."
Her breath caught, but she didn't retreat. "Then maybe you should stop playing with matches."
His mouth curled. Not a smile. A threat.
"Maybe I like getting burned."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was thick with something darker than anger. More dangerous than lust. It crackled between them, the remnants of all the things they'd never said and the heat of things they weren't ready to admit.
Elira's gaze dropped to his chest, to the blood on his shirt, to the bruise blooming just above his hip. "You were hit," she muttered.
"So were you."
"I'm not the one pretending it doesn't hurt."
He reached for her then — not roughly, not gently. Just real. His hand curled around her injured leg, eyes watching her face.
She winced.
His grip didn't loosen. "Sit."
"Bossy," she muttered.
"Bleeding out isn't a kink, Vale."
"Wouldn't be surprised if it was yours."
"You think I'm that fucked up?"
She looked him over slowly. Deliberately.
"I know you are."
His hand slid up her thigh, stopping just before the edge of the gauze. Her breath hitched.
"Don't tempt me, Vale," he said lowly. "I'm trying to be good."
She laughed. Bitter. Sharp.
"You were never good. That's the point."
Their mouths were too close now. The air between them pulsed.
Azriel tilted his head. "You don't want good, do you?"
Elira's voice dropped to a whisper. "I want answers."
He let go of her leg.
She hated that she missed the contact.
"Then ask the right damn questions," he said, stepping back. "Stop testing me like I'm the enemy."
She stepped after him. "Aren't you?"
He spun. "Not yet."
That silence again. Thicker this time. Almost suffocating.
Azriel looked at her, something furious and hungry in his gaze. "I could've left you in that facility. Let them take you. Let you bleed out."
"But you didn't," she fired back. "Why?"
His voice cracked. "Because I don't want you dead."
"You want me contained," she snapped. "Controlled. Managed. You want me on a leash so you don't have to feel guilty for what your family did."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
He grabbed her wrist.
She didn't pull away.
"You think you know me?" he growled.
"I know you want to."
There it was.
Raw. Unspoken. Charged.
His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, slow, deliberate. Her pulse jumped beneath his touch. His other hand lifted, fingers ghosting over her jaw, the bruise near her temple.
"This shouldn't feel like this," he murmured.
She leaned in just enough for her breath to hit his mouth. "It does."
They stood like that — breath to breath, a whisper from breaking — suspended in something that wasn't quite lust, wasn't quite hate. It was survival laced with desire, two blades too close to not cut something open.
Azriel's fingers flexed against her jaw. "You think this is a game?"
"No," she said, lips brushing his. "But I'm not walking away."
His gaze dropped to her mouth. "Then don't."
She didn't.
Their noses nearly touched. Her pulse pounded against his wrist. His breath stirred the hair near her temple.
"I should take you against this wall," he said darkly.
She shivered.
"But you won't," she whispered.
"Won't I?"
"You'd rather drive me insane first."
His smile was jagged. "Maybe I like the way you look when you're barely holding on."
She moved closer — so close her chest brushed his. "Careful, Azriel. You might like it too much."
His hands twitched at his sides, but he didn't touch her.
Instead, he said, "Sleep, Elira."
"Go to hell."
He leaned down, mouth at her ear. "Been there. Built a throne."
And he walked away.
Leaving her breathless. Infuriated. And burning.
---
Hours passed. The warehouse remained quiet, except for the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional rattle of wind through broken panes.
Elira couldn't sleep. Not with the pain. Not with the memory of his hands.
She rose quietly, limping to the table where the ONYX files lay scattered. One file in particular was marked with her number again. C-027.
She opened it.
Inside was a grainy surveillance still. Her. From three nights ago. Taken from a drone she hadn't noticed.
A note was scrawled beneath it:
"Unstable. Recommend containment. Target volatile."
She slammed the file shut.
Azriel's voice came from the dark.
"Now you see what they think of you."
She turned sharply. He leaned in the doorway, shirtless, fresh scar down his side, expression unreadable.
"They think I'm a threat," she said.
"You are."
"So are you."
He walked forward. "The difference is, I was made to be."
"So was I."
They stood inches apart again. Not quite touching.
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
"We shouldn't do this," he said.
"But we will."
She reached for him.
He caught her wrist.
Then leaned in close, mouth brushing her ear.
"Not tonight, Vale."
Her breath shivered.
He stepped back again.
Controlled. Deadly.
But his eyes were fire.
"You need to learn something," he said. "I don't take what isn't given freely."
She tilted her head. "And if I want to give it?"
His smile was slow. Dangerous.
"Then you better mean it. Because once I start, I won't stop."
She stepped closer. Close enough to smell blood and steel and heat.
"Maybe I want to see what happens when you lose control."
He caught her chin. The touch lingered.
His voice was a murmur against her skin. "And maybe," he whispered, "I want to see what happens when you do."
The tension between them snapped taut. She could feel the heat of him, the restrained storm simmering in his veins.
But again — no surrender. No deeper touch beyond what was just barely allowed.
Azriel's mouth hovered near hers, their breath mingling. He stared into her eyes like he could see everything.
"Sleep, Elira," he said.
And then he was gone.
Leaving her heart racing, her skin burning, and her war with him far from over.
———
**To be continued...**