Zara hadn't felt fear like this in a long time. Not since Damien's underground prison. Not since the night she discovered the truth about her lineage. But this—this was different. This was personal.
The world outside the jet had been a blur. One moment, she and Lucien were stepping into a car waiting on the tarmac in Prague. The next, she was waking up in a cold, dark room, the stale scent of damp concrete filling her lungs.
Her limbs were heavy, her vision blurred. The last thing she remembered was sipping the bottled water handed to her by the driver. A bitter aftertaste. Something wrong. Then darkness.
She tried to move, but her body felt like it was on fire. Her skin tingled, oversensitive, too warm. Panic flared in her chest as she realized what was happening.
They had drugged her. Not just sedatives. Something else. Something far more sinister.
She tried to focus, to fight the fog clouding her mind, but her body betrayed her, a growing heat pulsing through her veins. Her wrists were bound loosely to the chair, more for show than security. Whoever had taken her wanted her conscious.
The door creaked open.
"Zara Raine," a voice drawled. Cold. Mocking.
She looked up, her vision sharpening in pulses. A tall man stepped into the room, silhouetted by the hallway's dim light. He wore black tactical gear, but his face was bare. Scarred. Cruel.
"You were always the flame," he continued, stepping closer. "The fire that burned too bright. Sebastian wants to see how well you survive the cold."
Zara's pulse spiked. Sebastian. This was his doing. Somehow, he was alive—pulling the strings again, orchestrating pain from the shadows.
"What do you want?" she croaked, voice hoarse.
The man crouched in front of her, eyes gleaming. "To break you. To remind Lucien Vale that he doesn't control everything."
He leaned in, inhaling her scent. "And maybe enjoy myself a little before that."
Zara twisted in the chair, hatred boiling inside her. The drug coursing through her system made it difficult to focus, but her mind screamed to stay awake, to endure. She bit the inside of her cheek, the coppery taste of blood grounding her.
"Lucien will kill you," she hissed.
The man only smiled. "Let him come."
Lucien Vale had never known madness until now.
The moment he realized Zara was missing, something inside him snapped. The calm, calculated exterior shattered, replaced by a fury so profound it left even his closest men shaken.
The message had been left in the car—a single rose petal, blackened at the edges, and a note with one line:
Come alone if you want to see her again.
They thought they could take her from him and walk away.
They didn't understand.
Zara wasn't just his wife. She was his world. His sanity. His f*cking soul.
Lucien went dark. He didn't alert his board. He didn't call the authorities. He assembled a team of trusted ghosts—men and women who owed him blood favors, trained in war and vengeance.
It took them hours to trace the signal back to a remote site near the Slovakian border. An old bunker from the Cold War, reinforced and hidden beneath dense forest.
Lucien didn't flinch. He loaded his weapon. Strapped on his Kevlar. And gave the order.
"Kill everyone but her."
Inside the bunker, Zara's fight was slipping.
The drug was designed to override logic, to disorient and confuse. Her skin felt like it was burning, her pulse erratic, the line between fear and desire warping.
The man had returned, this time with a camera.
"Let's make Lucien a little gift, shall we?"
He reached for her blouse.
And then— a sound.
Gunfire.
The man turned, startled.
Another shot.
And then the door exploded inward.
Lucien moved like a storm. A blur of black and steel. His gun fired once, twice. The man dropped, blood pooling beneath him.
Zara sagged in the chair, sobbing, barely able to process what she was seeing.
Lucien rushed to her side, dropping to his knees, his hands trembling as he cut her restraints.
"Zara... baby, I'm here. I'm here."
She collapsed into his arms, her body still fighting the effects of the drug, but her mind locking onto the sound of his heartbeat.
Safe.
Alive.
Lucien cradled her, whispering over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Outside the bunker, Lucien stood over the corpses of those who had touched her. His face was blank, but his eyes were dead.
One of the surviving captors whimpered, crawling backward.
Lucien grabbed him by the collar. "Who gave the order?"
The man choked. "Sebastian. Sebastian Vale."
Lucien let go, letting the body drop.
"Then Sebastian dies next."
He turned back to the helicopter, Zara already wrapped in a blanket, safe.
But not whole.
Not yet.