DEREK MORRISON CAME BACK FOR REVENGE

Today was supposed to be the final day the day Derek would finally leave this mountain behind after fifteen long years of isolation, fifteen years since that blood-soaked night when his entire family was slaughtered in their beds and he woke the next morning half-dead in Master Zachariah's arms, pulled from the ashes of everything he had ever known.

He still did not understand how he survived that massacre, how his small body had been buried beneath the corpses of his parents and cousins and aunts and uncles, how Master Zachariah had found him at all in that burning estate when every other living soul had been butchered where they stood. The old man never explained it fully, just said that fate had a way of keeping certain people alive when the world wanted them dead, and that Derek had been one of those people whether he liked it or not.

So Derek stayed. He learned. He trained. He studied every herb and root and tincture Master Zachariah put in front of him until his hands moved faster than his thoughts, until he could grind medicine in his sleep and know the difference between poison and cure by smell alone.

And now, fifteen years later, he was standing in the herb storage room arranging the last bundles of dried fennel and wolfsbane when the door swung open behind him without warning and four women walked in like they owned the place.

Sophia entered first, her long dark hair tied back with a silk ribbon that probably cost more than most families made in a month, her family name carrying weight in every military circle from here to the southern border where her father commanded an entire legion as one of the Five Gods of War. Behind her came Madison, whose father was not just Master Zachariah's oldest friend but also the man who controlled half the trade routes running through the eastern ports, which meant Madison had grown up in luxury most people could not even imagine.

 Then there was Brooklyn, a prodigy from the Harlow family line, a bloodline so famous for their healing arts and potion-making that queens and emperors paid fortunes just to get their remedies shipped across oceans, and Brooklyn herself could heal wounds in seconds with nothing but her hands and a few whispered words. And finally there was Savannah, the youngest of the four but perhaps the most dangerous, a War Goddess in her own right who had earned her title in actual combat at nineteen years old and wore the scars to prove it.

All four of them had been studying under Master Zachariah for the past two years, and since the old man had disappeared into the southern provinces on some mysterious errand six months ago, Derek had been the one left behind to teach them whatever he could manage, which turned out to be more than he expected because they were sharp and focused and learned faster than most men twice their age.

But they also had another hobby. Seducing him.

It had started small lingering glances during lessons, hands brushing against his when they reached for the same mortar, voices dropping into softer tones when they asked him questions they already knew the answers to. Then it escalated.

 Sophia began wearing gowns that hung just a little too loose at the shoulders. Madison started finding excuses to lean over his workspace so her body pressed close against his arm. Brooklyn would bite her lower lip whenever he corrected her technique, her eyes locked on his mouth like she was memorizing the shape of every word. And Savannah, who was usually the most direct person Derek had ever met, had taken to sparring with him shirtless under the excuse that her training robes restricted her movement too much.

He had ignored all of it. Politely. Firmly. Consistently.

But today, it seemed, they had run out of patience.

Sophia stepped forward first, and Derek noticed immediately that something was different about the way she was dressed her silk robe hung open at the front, the sash barely tied, the fabric slipping off one pale shoulder to reveal the curve of her collarbone and the swell of her chest beneath, and when she walked the robe shifted with every step, showing more skin than it covered. Her hips swayed in a way that was absolutely deliberate, her fingers trailing along the edge of the wooden table where Derek had been working, and when she stopped in front of him she let the robe slip just a little bit more, the neckline dipping low enough that he could see the valley between her breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach, the way her breathing made everything move in a slow rhythm that was impossible not to notice.

Madison came up beside her, and she was wearing even less—a thin white slip that clung to her body like a second skin, so sheer that Derek could see the dark outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric, could see the shape of her thighs and the curve of her hips and the way the hem barely reached mid-thigh, leaving her long legs completely bare. She leaned against the table, arching her back just slightly so her chest pushed forward, her hair falling over one shoulder in soft waves, her lips parted as she looked up at him through dark lashes.

Brooklyn moved to his other side, and she had undone the top half of her dress entirely, the fabric hanging loose around her waist, her breasts completely bare except for the long curtain of her hair that barely covered them, and when she shifted her weight the hair moved with her, revealing flashes of soft pale skin and pink nipples that hardened in the cool air of the storage room. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the movement deliberate and slow, drawing his eyes to the exposed curve of her neck, the dip of her shoulder, the way her entire upper body was on full display without a single trace of shame or hesitation.

Savannah stood directly in front of him, and unlike the others she had not bothered with any pretense of modesty at all she was wearing nothing but a pair of thin undergarments that rode low on her hips, her entire torso bare, her breasts firm and round and completely exposed, her stomach flat and toned with the faint lines of muscle visible beneath the skin, her arms crossed just beneath her chest in a way that pushed everything upward and made it impossible to look anywhere else. Her eyes were fierce and unblinking, her jaw set, and there was a challenge in her expression that said she knew exactly what she was doing and she was not going to apologize for it.

Derek stared at them, at the four half-naked women surrounding him on all sides, their bodies on full display, their skin glowing in the dim light filtering through the small window above, and for a long moment he said absolutely nothing.

Then he exhaled slowly and shook his head.

"Pull your clothes back on."

Sophia's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You heard me. Pull your clothes back on. All of you."

"Derek—"

"Now."