The night tore open with another crack of gunfire. This time it was closer—too close. The storm outside masked some of the noise, but Elena’s body stiffened as if her soul recognized the sound before her mind did.

Adrian was already moving, his tall frame cutting through the shadows with predator’s precision. He crossed to the cabinet near the fireplace and pulled out a black pistol, the motion smooth, practiced. The sight of it sent a chill through her veins.

“They’ve found me,” he said, voice cold, controlled. “No—” his gaze cut to her, blazing, “they’ve found us.”

Her breath hitched. “Damien?”

Adrian loaded the weapon, the click sharp in the silence. “Who else?”

Another volley of shots echoed outside, followed by the roar of engines. Elena’s stomach knotted. The manor, which had felt like a gilded cage, suddenly became a fortress under siege.

“Stay here,” Adrian ordered, moving to the door.

“No,” she blurted, panic breaking through. She rose from her seat, her voice trembling. “You can’t just leave me. Not like this.”

He turned, and for a moment she saw not the ruthless alpha, but the man beneath—the one who had bled for her, burned for her, chained her because he couldn’t bear to lose her. His jaw clenched. “I won’t let them touch you, Elena. But if you follow me out there, I can’t protect you.”

Her eyes stung. “And what if you don’t come back?”

The silence that followed was heavier than the thunder outside. Adrian strode back to her, cupped her face with his bloodied hand, and pressed his lips hard against her forehead. It wasn’t tender—it was a claim, a vow written in fire and violence.

“I’ll come back,” he swore. “Because I have something Damien can never have.”

Her heart raced. “Me?”

His gaze softened for a fraction of a second. “Mine.”

And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him, his footsteps echoing down the hall like the march of war.

Elena stood frozen, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. The manor shook with the clash outside—shouts, gunfire, the shatter of glass. Shadows flickered against the walls as if the house itself was bleeding.

She pressed a hand to her chest, torn between terror and the unholy pull that tethered her to him. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to escape while chaos reigned. Yet her feet didn’t move.

Because she realized the truth in that moment: she wasn’t afraid of Damien’s men.

She was afraid of what would happen to her if Adrian didn’t return.

Outside, the gates splintered with a deafening crash, and the storm swallowed the night whole.