Kairus' POV :
The city never truly slept.
Not in our world.
Especially not when there was blood to be spilled.
Gunfire cracked through the air like fireworks meant to celebrate death. The docks burned with a haze of smoke and firelight, screams swallowed by the sea wind.
I crouched behind a metal crate, my gloved fingers tightening around the HK416. Mikhail gave me a signal from the right, and I moved like a shadow—no noise, no breath wasted.
We were outnumbered.
Didn't matter.
They had men.
I had vengeance.
I swung out, my rifle spitting death in precise rhythm. One bullet through the temple. Another clipped a man's shoulder. The third embedded deep into a throat, turning threats into corpses with little ceremony.
Chaos spread around me. Men shouted , blood soaked the docks, and I didn't stop until the last man fell, a gurgle in his throat and fear in his eyes.
I walked toward him.
My boots echoed on wet concrete.
The man tried to crawl.
Coward.
I knelt beside him. The barrel of my pistol met his jaw.
"Who sent you?" I asked, low and cold.
He spat blood. "Belov. He said…you were distracted."
I smiled.
Then pulled the trigger.
His skull cracked back, and I stood slowly, stretching out my fingers, feeling something sticky across my palm.
It was wet. Thick. Smelled like copper and smoke.
But it looked…
Neutral.
Colorless.
I wiped it carelessly down my black jacket, the mess smudging across my skin like ash.
Just residue. Nothing more.
"Mikhail," I called. "Burn the rest. Leave no trace."
He gave a short nod. "And you?"
"I'm going home."
Because suddenly… I needed to see her.
And I didn't know why that made my hands shake more than the recoil ever did.
—
Raven's POV :
The mansion was too quiet.
Too white. Too pristine. Like a dream you didn't trust.
I wandered the halls barefoot, the wedding ring on my finger heavy like a shackle made of frost and thorns. Every inch of this place whispered of power and silence. Cameras blinked in corners. The walls gleamed like untouched ivory.
But I couldn't sleep.
Something tugged at me.
Something inside my chest—twisting, coiling.
A sound near the main hall made me pause. Footsteps. Firm, familiar.
And then I saw him.
Kairus.
Dark coat, wild hair, jaw clenched like a man who'd wrestled death.
But what stopped me—
What froze me—
Was the smear of red along his right hand.
Bright. Fresh. Vivid.
Blood.
It was streaked down his knuckles, almost artistic the way it splattered against the white marble wall as he leaned to remove his boots.
He didn't even flinch.
Didn't even see it.
My breath caught.
"What the hell is that?" I asked, voice sharp, stepping closer.
He looked up, calm. Blank.
"What is what?"
I pointed to his hand, heart pounding.
"That. The blood. On your hand."
He looked down.
Paused.
Brows furrowed.
He tilted his head, slowly rubbing his fingers together, as if just now feeling the texture of it.
"Oh," he said casually. "Didn't notice. Must've been from earlier."
Didn't notice?
I stared.
His eyes didn't register it. Not fully.
That red—it was unmistakable to me. But to him?
Why didn't he react?
Why did he treat it like—
Like it was invisible?
Something cold pooled in my stomach.
I didn't ask more. Not yet.
I just watched him walk past, blood-streaked and emotionless, into the darker wing of the mansion like he hadn't just come from a battlefield.
And the first thread of fear tangled itself around my ribs.
Because for the first time…
I realized I didn't just not know the man I married.
I couldn't even guess what haunted his eyes.
Or what he could—or couldn't—see.
I shut my bedroom door behind me, but the silence was louder in here. I pressed my back against it, my chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven.
That blood—
The way he looked at it like it was nothing.
The way he didn't look at it.
He hadn't flinched.
What is what?
His voice still echoed in my head. Flat. Disconnected.
Either he was a monster… or something was wrong.
And I hated myself for the part of me that wanted to know which.
I tossed off the robe and slipped into one of the silk nightgowns I found hanging neatly in the closet. Thin straps. Slit high at the side. Too expensive to feel safe in. My feet padded softly over the cool marble floors as I moved through the hallway again, following a quiet pull in my gut I couldn't shake off.
Curiosity?
Survival?
I didn't know. I just knew I was walking toward the west wing.
Toward his room.
The door was open just a little.
The lights inside were off. Shadows stretched across the room like night. The only glow came from the glass wall on one side, moonlight spilling across black furniture and muted marble.
It looked like him.
Sharp. Controlled. Lethal.
I stepped inside.
And before I could blink—
A hand wrapped around my wrist.
The door slammed shut behind me.
My back hit the wall with a soft thud.
A tall shadow pinned me there.
His palm slid across the small of my back, the other braced beside my head.
Warm breath hit my throat.
Then—
A low whisper, thick with danger and something darker than lust:
"Chto ty delayesh' zdes', babochka? "
"What are you doing here, butterfly? "
His voice was molten steel, edged in Russian and dipped in a possessiveness that made my skin burn.
"You didn't answer when I knocked," I lied.
"You didn't knock." His hand slid down the wall, grazing my hip where the nightgown slit high. "You crept in here like a curious little thing. Looking for something, babochka?"
"I—" I swallowed. "I saw the blood. On your hand. You didn't even care."
His nose brushed against my neck. I tensed.
"You're still thinking about that?" His voice dropped lower, almost amused. "Thought you were too busy playing runaway bride in silk."
I pushed at his chest. "You're insane."
"And you came into the wolf's den anyway," he said, fingers slowly trailing the bare skin of my thigh.
My breath hitched.
"You're not scared of me, are you?"
I met his eyes.
"No," I lied again.
He leaned in.
His mouth hovered near mine.
So close I could feel the heat of it, the tension pulling tight like thread about to snap.
"Then why's your pulse racing?" he murmured, thumb brushing over my jaw, tilting my head.
"I'm not one of your toys, Kairus," I hissed.
He smirked. "You're right."
His hand grazed the side of my throat again, fingers trailing just above where the wedding ring now glowed on my finger like a warning.
"You're mine."
His lips didn't touch mine. But the space between us pulsed like fire.
And before I could breathe again—
He stepped back.
"Go to sleep, babochka," he said, voice colder. "Before I make your curiosity a punishment."
Then he turned away, back into the shadows of the room, leaving me pinned to the wall…
Still burning.
Still wondering—
What the hell did I just walk up in?