The cabin was small and quiet, lit only by the low glow of the dying fire. Rain pattered steadily on the roof, but inside the air felt thick and heavy with everything they weren't saying.
Elara couldn't sleep.
She lay on the rough blanket, staring at the wooden ceiling, but her mind kept replaying the cave. Lucien's mouth on her neck. His tongue on her breast, hands on her breasts. The way he had sucked and licked until she was whimpering. The heat of his body between her thighs. The filthy words he had whispered — "my little whore" — in that low, ragged voice that still made her ache.
She turned onto her side, facing him. Lucien lay on his back a few feet away, one arm behind his head, eyes closed. His breathing was even, but she knew he wasn't fully asleep.
The silence stretched until she couldn't take it anymore.
"You say I'm nothing to you," she said quietly, voice trembling with frustration and leftover desire. "But you saved me from that knife twice. You jumped off a cliff with me. You pulled me out of the river. And last night… you stopped yourself even i wouldn't mind. Why?"
Lucien stayed silent for a long time. The fire crackled softly. Rain drummed on the roof.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, rougher than usual.
"I lost someone important once," he said. "Because of this world. Because I let them get too close. I won't let history repeat itself. Not even with a fake wife."
Elara's chest tightened. It was the most honest thing he had ever told her. She sat up slowly, blanket slipping down to her waist.
"Then why do you keep protecting me like this?" she whispered. "Why pull me close one minute and push me away the next?"
Lucien opened his eyes. Those gray eyes locked on hers, intense and burning even in the dim light. He sat up in one smooth motion, then reached for her.
His hand closed around her wrist and tugged her forward. Elara gasped as he pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. Her knees sank into the blanket on either side of his hips. She could feel the hard heat of him through his trousers, already half-hard beneath her.
"Because you're becoming inconvenient," he murmured, voice deep and dangerous. His hands settled on her waist, fingers digging in just enough to hold her there. "You make me want things I shouldn't."
He leaned in and kissed her neck, slow and deliberate. His lips were hot, tongue tracing the sensitive skin before he sucked hard enough to leave a mark. Elara moaned softly, head tilting back. One of his hands slid up under her shirt, palming her breast, thumb brushing over her already tight nipple.
"You feel that?" he whispered against her throat, voice rough and sexy. "Your body responds to me so easily. Even when your mouth fights me."
Elara's hips rocked against him involuntarily. She could feel how wet she was already, the ache building between her legs. Her hands went to his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle.
Lucien's other hand slipped lower, cupping her through her panties. He rubbed slow circles over her clit with his thumb, making her gasp and grind down harder.
"So wet for me already," he said, voice low and filthy. "My little wife gets soaked just from a few touches, aren't you a little whore."
He kissed her deeply then, tongue sliding against hers, dominating the kiss. Elara whimpered into his mouth, hips moving faster against his hand. He pushed her panties aside and slid two thick fingers through her slick folds, teasing her entrance before pressing inside her slowly.
Elara moaned loudly, breaking the kiss to bury her face in his neck. His fingers curled inside her, hitting that perfect spot while his thumb kept rubbing her clit. The pleasure built fast and sharp.
Then he stopped.
He pulled his fingers out and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. His voice was ragged but controlled when he spoke.
"When I take you," he whispered, "it won't be because we're running for our lives. It won't be in some dirty cabin with assassins outside. It will be because you beg me for it. Because I know you're ready to take all of me."
Elara was trembling, body aching with need. She wanted to protest, to demand he finish what he started, but the words wouldn't come.
Lucien's hands stayed on her hips, holding her still against his hardness. "Understand?"
Before she could answer, they both heard it.
Footsteps.
Soft. Careful. Right outside the cabin.
Lucien's body tensed instantly. His hand covered her mouth gently but firmly, gray eyes sharp and alert now.
"Quiet," he breathed against her ear, voice low and dangerous. "They're here."
The rain continued outside.
But inside the cabin, the tension had just become deadly.
The footsteps outside the cabin grew louder.
Lucien's hand was still over Elara's mouth, his body tense beneath her. His gray eyes were sharp now, all traces of the earlier heat gone. He moved fast and silent, sliding her off his lap and pushing her behind him toward the corner of the room.
"Stay down," he whispered, voice ice-cold.
The door burst open with a violent kick.
Three men rushed in, dressed in dark clothes, faces partially covered. They moved like professionals — no hesitation, no noise except the creak of the old wood floor.
Lucien was already moving.
He didn't shout. He didn't warn. He attacked like a beast.
The first assassin swung a knife. Lucien dodged with terrifying efficiency, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted hard. A sickening crack echoed through the cabin. The knife clattered to the floor. Lucien drove his elbow into the man's throat, dropping him instantly.
The second assassin fired a silenced shot. The bullet grazed Lucien's shoulder, but he didn't even flinch. He closed the distance in two steps, slammed the man's head against the wall, then drove a brutal knee into his stomach. The assassin crumpled.
Elara watched from the corner, heart hammering. This was the side of Lucien everyone feared — cold, efficient, brutal. No wasted movement. No mercy. His face stayed perfectly calm even as blood trickled from the graze on his shoulder.
The third assassin lunged at him with a longer blade. Lucien caught the man's arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him face-first into the table. The wood cracked under the force.
"Viktor sends his regards," the assassin snarled through bloody teeth. "He said the middle son will fall alone… just like your mother did."
Lucien's eyes flashed with pure ice. He pressed the man's face harder into the broken table. "Tell my brother I'll see him in hell."
A fourth shadow appeared at the window — another assassin aiming straight at Lucien's back.
Elara didn't think. She grabbed the heavy iron poker from beside the fireplace and swung it with everything she had. It connected with the man's arm, knocking the gun away. The assassin turned on her, furious.
Lucien moved like lightning. He grabbed the man from behind and snapped his neck with one brutal twist.
But the distraction cost him.
The first assassin — the one he thought was down — lunged from the floor with a hidden blade and slashed across Elara's side.
Pain exploded along her ribs. She gasped, stumbling back as warm blood soaked her shirt.
Lucien's face didn't change, but something deadly flashed in his eyes. He finished the last man with ruthless precision, then crossed the room in two strides.
He caught Elara before she could fall, lowering her gently to the floor. His hands were steady as he tore open her shirt to see the wound. It was a long, shallow cut along her side, bleeding freely but not deep enough to kill.
"Idiot," he muttered, voice cold but laced with rare gentleness. He pressed a clean strip of cloth from one of the blankets firmly against the cut. "Why would you do that? You could have died."
Elara winced, but she met his eyes. "You were going to get shot in the back. I wasn't going to watch."
Lucien's jaw tightened. Anger at himself and at her burned in his gaze. He kept pressure on the wound, his touch careful despite the cold fury in his voice. "You are not supposed to protect me. That is not your job."
He worked quickly, cleaning the cut as best he could with the limited supplies and binding it tightly with another strip of cloth. His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary on her skin, a small slip of concern he quickly masked.
"They're not random rivals," he said quietly as he helped her sit up. "Someone inside the family wants me dead. Not just Viktor."
Elara's stomach dropped. The words from the assassin echoed in her head.
Lucien stood, pulling her up with him. He was still weak from the fever, but the danger seemed to sharpen him. "We can't stay here. They'll send more."
He grabbed the few supplies they could carry and guided her toward the back door. His arm stayed around her waist, supporting her as they slipped out into the rainy night.
They escaped into the darkness, moving as fast as her injury and his lingering weakness allowed.
But now they both knew the truth.
The threat wasn't just outside the family.
It was coming from within.
And the forest was no longer the only thing hunting them.