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Chapter 14 - Chapter Fourteen: Only Monsters Make It Out Alive

Mud splashed as they ran.

Isabella's lungs burned. Her side screamed from where shrapnel had kissed her ribs. But Adrian didn't let go. His hand was tight in hers—his grip a lifeline, not a luxury.

Behind them, the trees were on fire.

And somewhere in that inferno… Luciana was either dust or a ghost.

They didn't speak. Not until they reached the edge of a dried-out ravine, three miles from the summit. Adrian dropped to one knee, dragging her down beside him behind a collapsed stone barrier.

Isabella doubled over, gasping. "You said safehouse—off-grid—where?"

Adrian's chest heaved. "Close. About two clicks west. But we need to stop the bleeding first."

Only then did she notice the blood trailing down his arm—dark, heavy, pooling from beneath his jacket.

"Shit," she whispered. "You're hit."

"I'm fine."

"Don't you dare lie to me now."

Adrian looked at her—really looked at her. She was covered in ash, blood drying on her cheek, hair wild and tangled from the sprint. And yet she looked like the kind of chaos people would burn empires to possess.

His voice dropped. "Fine. I'm not fine. But neither are you."

He unzipped his jacket, shrugged out of it with a grunt. The bullet had grazed his shoulder—deep, but not fatal.

"Give me your knife," she ordered.

He hesitated.

She snapped, "Adrian."

He handed it over.

Her fingers were fast, efficient. She sliced open the sleeve of his black dress shirt, exposing the torn muscle and seared skin.

"You know what you're doing?" he asked.

"I know what pain looks like," she murmured. "And how to ignore mine."

The blade of the knife clinked against a lighter in her pocket. She didn't hesitate—just flicked it on, let the flame heat the tip of a rusted nail she pulled from the ground, and pressed it to his wound.

Adrian clenched his jaw so hard his teeth nearly cracked.

He didn't scream.

But she saw the tremble.

Once it was done, he sagged back against the wall, sweat beading on his forehead.

Then, suddenly—his hand caught her wrist.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He pulled her closer, voice low. "We might die tonight."

She didn't pull away.

"Say it," he whispered.

Isabella's breath hitched. "What?"

"That you want me. Not for protection. Not for power. Just me."

She should've ran. Should've slapped him for every moment he vanished, every lie he let her believe.

But instead—she kissed him again.

This time slower. Angrier. Hotter.

Clothes peeled away between gasps and branches. Her fingers scraped along the stubble of his jaw, his hands gripped her thighs like he was trying to memorize her, brand her into his skin before they turned to ash.

When he pushed inside her, she didn't cry out—she bit down on his shoulder.

He groaned into her mouth.

It was filthy. It was primal. It was punishment and promise wrapped into one breathless moment of surrender.

They finished tangled in each other, half-naked in the woods, shaking from more than just the cold.

Isabella rested her forehead against his. "This doesn't make us even."

"It doesn't have to," Adrian murmured. "It just makes us real."

Safehouse – An Hour Later

The cabin was hidden beneath an overgrown chapel ruin. Inside: concrete walls, encrypted routers, medical supplies, and three loaded handguns.

Adrian collapsed onto the small leather couch, bandaging his shoulder properly while Isabella explored.

She found a hidden drawer behind a false panel—inside it, a folder stamped with the old Council crest.

FILE: SUBJECT 3A

Name: Isabella Morello-Romano

Gene Status: Hybrid Prime

DNA Pairing: Terminated

Her blood turned to ice.

"Adrian," she called, holding the file.

He looked up, reading the label—then took it from her slowly.

Inside were documents detailing everything: her conception, her false lineage, the genetic enhancements designed to blend the strength of the Romano line with the control protocols of the Morellos.

One note stood out:

"Subject remains unaware of embedded kill switch—triggers under psychological strain."

Isabella stumbled back.

"No—what does that mean?"

Adrian looked sick. "It means… you're not just the heir. You're the weapon."

She shook her head, denial flooding her. "No. Julian said I was the future."

"Julian also died twice. What does that tell you?"

Her hands trembled. She backed into the wall, heart hammering. "I don't want this."

"You never had a choice."

But before either could say another word—

BANG.

The wall behind them exploded.

Flames erupted. Brick rained down.

Smoke. Screams. And from the dust—Dante stepped into the cabin, flanked by two Silver Hand operatives.

"Found you," he said calmly.

Adrian raised his gun.

Dante didn't flinch.

"You can shoot me," he said, "but it won't stop what's coming."

He nodded toward Isabella.

"She's been activated."

Adrian turned.

Isabella's pupils had blown wide—veins at her temples glowing faintly. Her breath came in rasps. Her hands… were shaking violently.

Dante smiled.

"She's not your lover anymore. She's ours now."

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