She smiles, setting her book aside. “That sounds like something Luka would do. You’ve been working nonstop.”
“It’s part of the job.” I shrug, though my shoulders ache and my mind’s been running battle routes since dawn.
“Why do you look so worried?” she asks, her tone careful but full of concern. She’s too perceptive for her own good.
I hold her gaze for a moment before deciding against lying. “I’m going to Texas.”
Her face tightens. “For what?”
“We got intel that your father’s men are hiding somewhere there.” I exhale. “We’re going to check it out.”
She shoots to her feet so fast the book falls to the floor. “You’re walking into a war?”
“Elara,” I say, forcing my voice steady, “you promised to trust me to handle this. This is me handling it—my way.”
She laughs, brittle and sharp. “Your way gets people killed.”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But it also ends things.”
“So you’re just going to leave me here alone?”
“Don’t worry,” I say softly. “You’ll be well protected.”
She gasps and strikes my chest. “You think this is about me? It’s about you! I can’t bear the thought of you walking into a war—”
Her voice cracks. For a moment, the anger in her eyes gives way to something raw, terrified.
And that’s when it hits me—she’s not angry because she feels abandoned. She’s angry because she’s scared. For me. Not her safety, not the house, not the guards—me.
Before she can say another word, I catch her face in my hands and kiss her.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. An unspoken plea, a promise, a curse. She gasps against my mouth, but she doesn’t pull away. Her fingers clutch the front of my shirt like she’s anchoring herself there, afraid that if she lets go, I’ll disappear.
When I finally pull back, her breath trembles against my lips. “Roman—”
“I’m fighting for you,” I tell her quietly, my thumb brushing her cheek. “Every single thing I do…it’s for you. And I will come back to you, Elara.”
Before she can respond, there’s a knock on the door.
“Roman,” Luka’s voice cuts through. “We have to leave.”
The sound snaps the fragile calm between us. I press one last kiss to her lips—slow, lingering, memorizing her taste likeit’s the last thing I’ll ever have of her—then pull away before I change my mind.
She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me, eyes wide and wet, as if trying to brand my face into memory.
All the way down the hall, I battle myself with every step. My mind tells me to move, but my heart screams to turn back. God, it’s so hard to leave her.
By the time I reach the foyer, Dimitri’s buzzing with anticipation.
“I hate to get blood on my coat,” he says with that maddening grin, “but I’m kind of excited about this fight.”
We start toward the front door, but something makes me glance back—like a pull in my chest I can’t ignore.
And there she is.
Elara stands on the step, the soft hallway light catching her hair, her eyes sad and shining. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Her silence says everything.
Something inside me snaps. I can’t walk away like this.
