I launch forward, following my brother’s path. I move with precision through the maze, each step measured yet swift. Unlike Cyrus, I don’t make unnecessary noise. My pursuit is silent, calculated—the perfect complement to his raw force.
Between the two of us, Keira Valentino doesn’t stand a chance. The thought sends an unexpected surge of anticipation through my body as I follow Cyrus deeper into the industrial labyrinth.
6
CYRUS
Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out Ace’s voice in the comm. Nothing matters but the flash of purple ahead, the glimpse of bare skin, the scent of fear and sweat and something uniquely her. My muscles burn with every stride, but the pain only feeds the fire raging through me.
She’s close. So fucking close.
I round the corner, and there she is—Keira Valentino—breathing hard, her back to me as she hesitates at an intersection of corridors. The purple fabric clings to her body, showing every curve, every line I want to claim.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a wild animal trying to break free. A growl builds in my throat, escaping before I can stop it.
She turns, her eyes meeting mine through my mask, and time stops. Those violet-blue eyes widen with recognition, with fear, with something else—something that makes the monster inside me howl with satisfaction.
“Found you,” I breathe.
For one perfect second, she’s frozen, a deer sensing the wolf. Then instinct kicks in, and she bolts down the left corridor, bare feet slapping concrete.
I laugh, the sound echoing off the walls like shattered glass. “Run, little dancer. It won’t matter.” My voice bounces through the maze, surrounding her. “There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”
The chase is fucking glorious. Every step she takes, every panicked breath I hear, sends electricity down my spine. This is what I was made for.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Keira.”
I’m gaining on her with each stride, the distance between us shrinking. I can almost taste her now, can almost feel her under my hands.
“I’m going to break you,” I call, my voice a promise, a threat, a prayer. “I’m going to take you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left that isn’t mine.”
The thought alone nearly brings me to my knees. I’ve never wanted anything—anyone—with such blinding intensity. It’s consuming me, burning away every shred of control Ace has ever instilled in me.
I don’t care. Let it burn.
Her back slams against the concrete wall as I pin her there with my body. Her chest heaves against mine, her scent filling my lungs with every breath. Sweat and fear and arousal—a fucking intoxicating cocktail that makes my blood sing.
“Got you,” I growl, pressing my hips against hers, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. The thin purple fabric is nothing between us, and I see her eyes widen as she realizes how hard I am.
My hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the delicate line of her throat.
“Mine,” I breathe, yanking my mask down before sinking my teeth into the soft junction of her neck and shoulder, hard enough to mark but not break skin. She gasps, her body arching into mine despite her fear.
Her hands push against my chest, but there’s no real strength behind it—just the token resistance her pride demands. “Let me go,” she whispers, but her body betrays her. Her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks flushed.
“Never.” I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing her protest in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and possession.
“Enough, Cyrus.”
Ace’s voice cuts through the haze of lust. He stands a few feet away, his posture controlled where mine is chaotic, but I see the same hunger burning in his eyes behind the mask.
“She’s ours now, brother.” His voice is steady, measured, everything mine isn’t. “Both of ours.”
Keira stiffens in my grip, her eyes darting between us. “Both? What the hell are you talking about?” Her voice trembles but holds a thread of defiance. “You’re brothers, right? Why would you share... prey?”
I laugh against her skin, not loosening my grip. “We share everything, little dancer.”
“Always have,” Ace adds, stepping closer, the predatory grace in his movement matching my own. “Always will.”