Lilian's POV
The fortress reeked of blood, a metallic tang that clung to the air, a phantom taste on my tongue. Even after the bodies had been dragged away like discarded puppets, even after the torches had been relit, casting dancing shadows that mocked the carnage, even after the corridors had been scrubbed until the stone screamed, the scent of violence lingered. It was sharp and coppery, woven into the very fabric of the place, a grim reminder of the battle we'd barely survived.
I sat on the edge of my narrow bed, still dressed in my travel-stained leathers. My trusty blade lay across my thighs, its familiar weight a small comfort. I was waiting. I was listening. Every creak of the ancient stone, every rustle of wind against the battlements, sent a jolt of adrenaline through me.
The dagger Cash had given me – *his* dagger – pressed a comforting weight against my side beneath my tunic. The smooth, cool steel was a constant reminder of him. I shouldn't have accepted it. Should have thrown it back in his stupid, infuriating, beautiful face. But gods help me, I couldn't. Because some reckless, broken part of me had *wanted* it. Wanted *him*. And that part was growing louder, bolder, every time he looked at me like I was something precious instead of something broken, something worth saving instead of something to be feared.
I hated it. I hated him. I hated how badly I wanted to believe him, to trust the sincerity in those ice-blue eyes.
A knock rattled the heavy wooden door, sharp and demanding, echoing in the sudden silence. My hand tightened on my blade.
I rose slowly, the steel cool against my palm, and cracked the door open, peering into the dimly lit corridor. Two warriors stood outside, massive figures clad in gleaming armor, their expressions stiff and unreadable behind their visors. They looked like statues carved from granite, unyielding and implacable.
"We've been assigned to you, Luna," one said, his voice muffled by his helmet, bowing his head slightly in a gesture that felt more like a threat than a sign of respect.
Luna. The word hit me like a slap, a brand seared onto my soul. It was a title, a promise, a cage.
I forced a smile, all teeth and no warmth, a predator's grin. "Assigned by who?"
"King Cash," the warrior replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Of course. Because clearly, I was some fragile thing now, something to be handled with kid gloves, something incapable of protecting myself. Something to be guarded. Protected. Caged.
I stepped back, letting the door open wider, inviting them in with false hospitality. "Tell your king," I said, my voice ice-cold, laced with a venom I hoped they tasted, "that if he wants to leash me, he will have to try much harder."
The warriors hesitated, exchanging a glance. Good. They may be smarter than they looked. Or maybe they were just waiting for me to make a wrong move.
I shoved past them into the hall, blade in hand, my boots ringing against the stone floor, the sound echoing my defiance. I knew where to find Cash. The war council. The place he didn't want me, the place he thought was too dangerous for me.
The place I was going to anyway.
When I stormed through the massive oak doors, the hinges groaning in protest, the great hall was alive with tension. Conversations stopped the murmur of voices dying in my wake. Dozens of eyes swung toward me, filled with curiosity, disapproval, and outright hostility.
Cash stood at the head of the long, scarred table, deep in conversation with Jonas – his second-in-command, a hulking warrior with a face like granite – and a few others, their faces grim in the flickering torchlight.
He looked up the second I entered, his gaze locking onto mine across the crowded room. And damn him, his whole body shifted, his posture changing from that of a king strategizing war to a wolf scenting prey. He moved toward me instinctively, like a wolf moves toward something vital, something he couldn't afford to lose.
The warriors flanking the doors tensed, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords, but Cash held up a hand, silencing them with a single gesture.
"Let her through," he said, his voice low and steady, a command that brooked no argument.
I stalked down the center aisle, ignoring the stares, the mutters, the disbelief. I could feel them judging me – the rogue, the outsider, the unworthy mate. Let them. Let them choke on their prejudices.
I stopped a few feet from Cash, lifting my chin, meeting his intense gaze without flinching. "I'm part of this now," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, my voice ringing with defiance. "You don't get to fight this war without me."
A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil. "You were attacked," he said, his voice too low for anyone else to hear, laced with a possessiveness that both thrilled and infuriated me. "You should be resting."
"I'm not your porcelain doll," I snapped back, heat flooding my veins, my grip tightening on my blade. "I'm not something you can lock away and protect like a treasure in a tower."
He stepped closer, towering over me, his shadow engulfing me, the fury in his eyes barely leashed, a storm threatening to break. "You could have died."
"And I fought," I said, breathless with anger, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to control it. "I survived. Like I always do."
"You shouldn't have to survive," he ground out, his voice rough with a raw emotion that caught me off guard. "Not anymore."
My heart twisted painfully in my chest, a sharp, unexpected ache. Soft words. Dangerous words. Words I didn't know how to believe in, words that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed walls around my heart.
I shoved the emotion down, burying it deep, and bared my teeth in a smile that was all challenge and no surrender. "Tough luck, King. You picked a survivor."
The room was dead silent, everyone pretending not to eavesdrop, their ears straining to catch every word.
Cash stared at me, his gaze intense. Something primal, furious, and proud flickered in his eyes, a complex mix of emotions that I couldn't quite decipher.
Then – slowly – he nodded, reluctantly acknowledging my strength, stubbornness, and refusal to be controlled.
"Fine," he said roughly, his voice full of suppressed energy. "You want in? You're in."
He turned back to the table, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, commanding attention. "This is Lilian," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled warriors, daring them to object. "My mate. My equal. You will treat her as such."
Shock rippled through the room, a visible wave of disbelief and resentment. Someone – an older warrior near the back, his face etched with disapproval – snorted under his breath, a blatant sign of disrespect.
Before I could move, before I could react to the insult, Cash did.
He crossed the space in a blur of motion, grabbed the man by the collar of his tunic, and slammed him back against the cold stone wall. Hard. The force of the impact echoed through the hall, rattling the table and sending a tremor through the floor.
"You disrespect her," Cash said, his voice low and deadly, a barely controlled snarl. You disrespect me, too."
The warrior choked out an apology, his eyes wide with fear, his face paling beneath his beard.
Cash released him without ceremony, shoving him back against the wall before turning back to me as if nothing had happened, his expression impassive.
I stared at him, stunned; my breath caught in my throat. Not because he'd defended me. I was used to fighting my own battles. But because he'd *meant* it. No games. No politics. Just truth, raw and unfiltered.
For one terrifying second, I wanted to believe in it. Believe in him. Believe that I could finally let someone else fight for me.
Instead, I squared my shoulders, pushing the dangerous thought away, and stalked to the table, planting my hands on the scarred wood, claiming my space. "Let's get to work," I said, my voice firm, brooking no argument.
And just like that – I had a seat at the table. Even if I had to rip it from under someone to keep it.
Hours later, after maps were spread, plans were laid, and arguments flared and faded like dying embers, I found myself alone with Cash in the map room, the silence thick with unspoken words.
The others had filtered out slowly, one by one, leaving us circling like wary predators, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows across the room, dancing on the walls, making the lines of his body seem sharper and more dangerous. I hated how beautiful he was, how the firelight caught in his hair, turning it to spun gold. I hated how my body ached just being near him, how my senses sharpened, every nerve ending alive and tingling.
He leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with those ice-blue eyes. His gaze was intense and unwavering, like a wolf assessing its prey. He was waiting.
I paced, restless, the tension in the room coiling around me like a serpent. "You shouldn't have done that," I muttered, avoiding his gaze and focusing on the intricate details of the maps across the table.
"Done what?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild, a low rumble that vibrated through me.
"Claimed me. Publicly."
"You are mine," he said simply, his voice leaving no room for debate. "Whether you want to be or not."
I whirled on him, fury spiking, my hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at my side. "I'm not a prize," I snapped, my voice laced with venom. "Not a pawn in your political games."
He pushed off the table, stalking toward me with slow, deliberate steps, his movements fluid and predatory. "No," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "You're not."
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. His presence was overwhelming. "You're a storm," he said, his voice rough with emotion. A wildfire."
He reached out slow, carefully, as if approaching a wild animal, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush against my skin, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
I stiffened every muscle tense but didn't pull away, drawn to him despite my better judgment.
"You're the strongest damn thing I've ever seen," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "And it terrifies me how much I want you."
My heart slammed against my ribs, threatening to break free. I opened my mouth – to snarl, to scream, to deny the truth that was burning within me –
He didn't kiss me. He didn't touch me again. He just looked at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that threatened to consume me.
And that was worse. So much worse. Because I could feel myself cracking open, the carefully constructed walls around my heart crumbling under the force of his gaze. I could feel myself wanting him back, wanting to surrender to the longing that had haunted me for so long.
Not my strength. It's not my fire. But the loneliness. The endless, aching loneliness that had been my only companion for so long.
I hated it. I hated him. I hated
I grabbed his shirt, bunching the fabric in my fists, and yanked him down, pulling him closer with desperate strength.
For half a second, he froze, his eyes widening in surprise. And then his mouth crashed into mine – brutal, hungry, desperate. Not careful. Not gentle. Raw. Real.
He tasted like smoke and blood and home, a dangerous combination that threatened to shatter my resolve. He kissed like a man starved, like a man drowning, like a man who had found something he never thought he deserved.
And I kissed him back like I was falling and didn't care where I landed, lost in the storm of our passion.
We broke apart gasping, our foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling with the effort not to tear each other apart, the air thick with unspoken needs.
Cash's hands fisted in my jacket, his voice ragged against my mouth, his breath hot against my skin. "You're mine," he whispered again, softer now, broken. "Not because I claim you. Because you're the only thing I would bleed for in this world."
I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill, the vulnerability that he had somehow unearthed within me, just for a second. Just to breathe him in. Just to believe it.
Then I shoved him back hard enough to make him stumble, creating distance between us, a desperate attempt to regain control.
He let me. He always let me.
I wiped my mouth roughly, ignoring how my hands shook and the tremor running through my entire body. "Don't think for a second this means I'm staying," I said, my voice hoarse, trying to sound more defiant than I felt.
His answering smile was pure wolf, a flash of teeth and a glint of predatory satisfaction in his eyes. "You'll stay," he said, his voice full of dangerous certainty, a promise and a threat all rolled into one. "Because no matter how hard you fight it – your soul already knows."