The intercom buzzed again, sharper this time, followed by a pounding knock that rattled the door. Dominic's entire body shifted—no longer the man torn between desire and fear, but the wolf, cold and unflinching.
"Stay here," he ordered, his voice like iron.
Adair's pulse jumped. "Dominic—"
He cut her a look that could break stone. "Stay. Here."
Before she could protest, he strode across the room, unholstered the gun from beneath the console table, and pulled the door open just a crack. The hallway outside was dim, but Adair caught the sound of muffled voices, sharp and urgent.
Then everything exploded.
A figure lunged forward, forcing the door wide. Dominic reacted instantly—one shot, clean and brutal, echoing through the penthouse. Adair gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth as the intruder collapsed in the doorway. But more shadows surged from the hall—too many, too fast.
"Get down!" Dominic barked, firing again. The room erupted into chaos—shouts, gunfire, the acrid sting of smoke powder filling the air.
Adair dove behind the sofa, heart pounding, every nerve alight. Fear clawed at her chest, but beneath it burned something sharper—rage. Rage at being helpless, at watching Dominic fight a war he refused to let her understand.
She peered over the edge just in time to see him—his movements precise, lethal, a predator among prey. But there were three of them now, circling, pressing him back toward the glass wall that overlooked the glittering city below.
One man lunged, blade flashing. Adair didn't think—she grabbed the heavy glass vase from the coffee table and hurled it with all her strength. It smashed into the attacker's shoulder, buying Dominic the split-second he needed.
His eyes cut to her, fierce and blazing. "Adair!" he snarled, half fury, half desperation.
But it was too late to take it back. She had stepped into his fire.
Dominic finished the fight in a blur—two more shots, two more bodies hitting the ground. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the ringing in Adair's ears and the harsh sound of Dominic's breathing.
He turned to her, his shirt streaked with blood—not all of it his. For a moment, his mask cracked, horror flickering across his face as he took her in.
"You weren't supposed to…" His voice broke off. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Damn it, Adair, you could've been killed."
She rose slowly from behind the sofa, her chest still heaving, but her eyes steady. "And what? Sit here while you die in front of me? I won't be your secret shadow anymore, Dominic. If I'm in this, I'm in all of it."
The words hung between them like sparks in dry grass.
And Dominic knew—there was no undoing this fire.