Alaric didn't knock. The door slammed hard enough to make the walls tremble. His knuckles were white around the crumpled note, edges digging into his palm. The enhancement tonics churned in his blood, a fever clawing from the base of his spine to his skull. Seraphina had left him like this, and that was the point. He could taste her absence like iron.
Evelyne's gaze tracked every taut line of his body: the clenched jaw, the hard set of his shoulders, the pulse hammering in his throat. Not lust. Need. Wounded. Volatile. Perfect.
"You're early," she murmured, velvet over steel.
"She left." His voice was stripped to heat and threat. "Fix it."
Her robe slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She didn't step forward, she knew he'd come to her.
He did, fast, crushing his mouth to hers. The kiss was a collision, teeth, breath, the scrape of stubble. She tasted bitterness on his tongue. Not hers. Seraphina's. Even now.
"Bed," he ordered, tearing at his shirt until a seam popped.
She eased onto the pillows, tilting her head to bare her throat. Let him think he was hunting. "Like this?"
"Don't talk."
The first thrust slammed the headboard into the wall. His eyes weren't on her face, he was looking through her, past her, chasing the ghost of someone else. Sweat rose sharp with the acrid edge of tonics.
"You needed this," Evelyne breathed, curling around him with calculated precision. "She should've given it to you before she left."
A flicker, the rhythm stuttered.
"She walked out knowing you'd be like this," Evelyne pressed, lips grazing his temple. "Cold bed. Empty room. What kind of wife…"
He flipped her, forcing a gasp from her lungs. "Shut up."
But she'd seen it, the way his gaze sharpened like a blade remembering its edge.
She locked her legs around his waist, heels biting his back. "You planned something for her," she whispered between faux-moan breaths. "And she left you with a note."
His mouth crushed hers, metallic tang blooming between them. He didn't notice. His mind was elsewhere, picturing Seraphina's lips, Seraphina's skin.
When he came, it was violent, but his eyes stayed fixed on a vision only he could see.
"Better?" she asked, nails tracing his ribs.
"No."
She smiled. "Then let me remind you what's real." She rolled him under her, slow grind, watching his eyes glaze, not from pleasure, but from thoughts he couldn't kill.
"You're still thinking about her," Evelyne murmured into his ear. "Even now. Inside me."
His grip bruised her hips. He didn't deny it.
She pushed him through another round. And another. Sweat, breath, but never the name she wanted from his lips.
By the end, he lay sprawled, chest heaving. She bent close, voice a silk-thread snare.
"You give her everything," she whispered. "And she leaves you aching."
His jaw tightened. The fracture was widening. Soon it would split clean through.
-----
Caelan's blade cut through demon flesh, wind magic making each strike deadlier. Sharp air currents followed his sword, biting deeper than steel alone.
Three days of this.
Waves of demons. Not random raids anymore.
Seraphina's safe at the estate. The thought flickered before another demon lunged. Has to be.
His soldiers held the high ground, magic and tactics combined. Wind walls deflected claws and spit; earth magic drove spikes through demon feet; fire magic turned arrows into burning death.
"Third wave from the east!" his lieutenant shouted, hurling stone spears with earth magic. Calm despite the blood and chaos.
Caelan read the field like a map. Wind carried sounds, scents. His soldiers moved in sync, fire burning clustered foes, earth trapping them in walls.
Losses low. Demon bodies high.
Good. Keep it that way.
A focused wind blast hurled three demons over the cliff. Stone walls blocked escape; streams of fire finished the rest.
The plan worked, until the demon general appeared.
Shit.
The air thickened with malice. Lesser demons formed ranks.
A rip in space. Defenses bypassed. Height and barriers useless.
"Fall back!" Caelan commanded. Demon leadership turned victory into survival.
Seven feet of armored calculation. Eyes burning with cold intelligence.
"Duke Vorenthal," it rasped. "Your magic impressed my scouts. Let's see how good you really are."
No time to think. Caelan struck, wind hammers, air shields against claws. The demon moved too fast, but wind warned him.
Left! He ducked. Claws sliced air.
Gusts knocked it sideways; his blade flashed through the slipstream.
Can't lose. Too many counting on me.
The opening came, compressed air through armor gaps. Blood from within.
It fell, surprised. "Good lesson," it choked. "But here's mine."
Claws traced glowing runes. Magic aimed at life itself.
Dark energy ripped through armor, weapons, shields. Pure kill-shot.
Caelan's wind shields shattered. Control slipped.
Everything's failing.
The attack speared his core, not his body.
If I die, at least I take the bastard with me.
Wind burned in his lungs; still he refused to fall before something that would wear his skin as a trophy.
He hit the ground. Might die, even in victory.
"Medic! The Duke is down!" distant.
Everything blurred.
"Seraphina…"
------
Seraphina settled into the carriage's soft seat, drawing a sealed letter from her inner pocket. The wheels' steady rhythm masked her voice.
"My lady looks pleased with our timing," Yona said from across the carriage.
"Timing is everything in warfare." She studied the seal before tucking it away again.
A brow lift from Yona.
"Nothing that will trouble Alaric yet," Seraphina said, smiling like a predator.
She opened a leather portfolio, estate maps marked with trade routes, supply caches, guard rotations. Not memorial work. Leverage.
"What if he follows us?"
"He won't." Steel in her voice. "His pride won't let him look desperate. That's our window."
A bump. The portfolio shifted, spilling documents stamped with seals a duchess shouldn't have.
Yona gathered them, eyes catching glimpses of troop movements, supply chains, letters that could topple governments.
"How long have you been at this?"
"Planning his destruction?" Her smile was glass shards. "Since the day he thought he owned me."
The fire-scars warmed. Awakening her bloodline meant survival; using it to gut his world was pleasure.
"The sanctuaries aren't just for awakening," she murmured, tracing a mark. "They hide things worth wars."
Another document, Yona's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, her lips curving in a slow, dangerous smile.
"When he finally sees what I've built," Seraphina said, quiet menace in her tone, "every ally he thinks he has will already be mine."
The carriage rolled toward her family's estate, and an endgame that would make his worst nightmares look kind.
Thunder rumbled behind them.
The storm was only beginning.