The storm hadn’t followed them inside, but its echo clung to the walls. Rain hammered against the safehouse windows, thunder rolling like an endless drumbeat above their heads.

Raven sat on the worn sofa, her hands still trembling despite the heat radiating from the fireplace Jaxon had lit. The flames should have comforted her. Instead, they mocked her. Fire wasn’t hers anymore. Not when Jason’s handwriting branded her with its claim.

Your fire belongs to me.

The words wouldn’t leave ...