Thirty minutes later, they were rapidly approaching their destination. Zachary could feel it before he could see it in the subtle shift in the vehicle's motion, the way the engine's hum changed pitch, the slight deceleration that told him they were leaving the open road behind. The trees were thinning now, the dense forest giving way to manicured lawns and trimmed hedges. The person he was being dragged to clearly had money. And they had built whatever compound Marcus was talking about here, hidden in the middle of nowhere, and they had gone to great lengths to keep it secret.Zachary raised himself up from his reclined position, his muscles protesting after being still for so long. The leather seat creaked beneath him as he pushed himself upright, his eyes scanning the view ahead. The black pickup in front of him was still there, still towing him, but the road had widened into a proper driveway now, smooth asphalt instead of gravel, flanked by stone walls topped with ornate iron

The woman's eyes flew wide, startled and wild, like a deer caught in the glare of oncoming headlights.She gasped sharply.“huhhk!” It was a wet, strangled sound that bubbled up from somewhere deep in her throat, and her hands flew to her stomach, fingers scrabbling at the dagger's hilt with a desperation that seemed almost comical given how quickly she had been reaching for the same weapon moments ago. Zachary did not let go. He held the blade steady, watching her face, watching the color drain from her cheeks in slow, inexorable waves, watching the realization settle into her gaze like sediment sinking through murky water.Thump. Thump. Thump!His heart was loud in his ears.'One of these almost killed me,' he thought, the memory surfacing unbidden, sharp and unwelcome, though he pushed it aside before it could take root. “Now she fucking knows how it feels.'Snarling, he drove his forehead into hers a second time, the impact solid and wet, bone against bone, and the vibration o

SMACK.Their forearms collided, and the impact vibrated through Zachary's bones, up through his shoulder and down through his spine. Marcus was strong, stronger than his lean frame suggested, and his stance was rooted in a way that made him seem immovable. At the same time, he raised his left arm, using his forearm to block the trajectory of Zachary's other hand, the hand still holding the remaining kunai to prevent the heir from using it on him.It was smart as well as maddening to Zachary.He clearly wasn't underestimating his proficiency with a blade.With a grunt, Marcus's leg came up, his knee driving toward Zachary's thigh with enough force to bruise bone. Zachary dodged, trying to get closer to him so could do more damage.But Marcus saw his intentions and went in for a sharp kick.His kick was meant to create distance, to force Zachary to back off, to give Marcus room to breathe. But that kick was also an invitation to getting stabbed in the leg, and Marcus knew it, so he ab

Zachary spread his arms wide, the motion pulling at the dried blood on his knuckles, and swept his gaze across the courtyard. The broken angel. The cracked stone. And the water still dripping from the fountain's edge. He let all of it sink into his voice."You call this without force?" His words bounced off the mansion walls and came back at him, sharp and accusing. "You literally kidnapped me off the highway. Boxed me in with two trucks. Towed my car like a broken piece of luggage. And now you want to what? Talk?"Marcus's expression did not change. He remained standing on the fountain's surface, his eerie eyes fixed on Zachary with an intensity that seemed to press against the air between them. The water beneath his feet rippled in slow, concentric circles, but he did not sink, did not waver, did not give any indication that he was anything other than completely, utterly in control.Zachary scoffed and settled into his fighting stance. It was the very same one Marcus had mocked a

Zachary woke to the feeling of silk against his cheek.The sensation was so unexpected, so utterly at odds with everything he had experienced since the convoy had boxed him in on the highway, that for a long moment he simply lay there, eyes closed and breathing shallowly, trying to make sense of where he was and how he had gotten there. The surface beneath him was soft but firm, the kind of cushioning that suggested expensive furniture, and the air smelled faintly of old wood and beeswax and something floral he could not quite identify.He opened his eyes.The ceiling above him was made of plaster, ornate and white, with intricate moldings that curled into shapes he did not recognize. A chandelier hung from its center, crystal and brass, its lights dimmed to a soft, amber glow that cast the room in shades of gold and shadow. The walls were papered in a pattern of dark leaves and pale flowers, faded in a way that suggested age but not neglect, and the windows were tall and narrow, a