The doorknob turned with agonizing slowness, the mechanism clicking softly in the quiet.
The door swung open, and a dark shape filled the doorway. I could barely make out more than a silhouette—broad-shouldered and tall, backlit by the dim hallway light. He stepped inside, movements cautious but unhurried.
I brought the lamp down with everything I possessed, every ounce of fear and rage channeled into a single strike.
The impact jarred through my arms, a solid, sickening thunk of metal connecting with skull. The figure grunted—a sound of surprise rather than pain.
"You bastard!" The words tore from my throat as I raised the lamp again, my muscles screaming, ready to bring it down a second time. I would not be like one of those stupid horror movie heroines who brought the monster down only to be slaughtered seconds later because they left it alive. I would keep hitting this fucker until I knew he was dead.
"Harper?" The voice cut through my fury—surprised, almost amused, and definitely not Declan.
I froze with the lamp suspended above my head. "Xabat?"
The lamp hit the floor with a thud, and my hands shook violently as I fumbled for the light switch. The overhead light flooded the room, the sudden brightness making me squint and blink. But the male that stood before me, one hand pressed to his head where I'd struck him, wasn't Xabat. It was a creature of roughly the same size and build, but instead of Xabat's rich sage skin, this thing looked like a hairless cat—pale, wrinkled flesh stretched over alien features that made my stomach turn.
I hissed through my teeth and grabbed the lamp again, my arms trembling with the effort.
"Harper, wait." He held out a hand in a placating gesture, but what kept me from bashing his head in again was the sound of Xabat's voice coming from the grotesque cat creature's mouth. He reached into his pocket, and a second later, the air around him shimmered and rippled, distorting his form until Xabat—my Xabat—stood there. Whole and real and impossibly alive.
A sound tore from my throat, something raw that wavered between a sob and a squeal. The lamp slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor again. I lunged for him, my body moving on pure instinct, propelled by a desperate need that overrode every rational thought.
He caught me as I crashed into his chest, his arms coming around me with a strength that made my knees buckle with relief. My hands were everywhere at once. My trembling fingersflew to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, pressing against his shoulders, splaying across his chest where I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. I needed to touch him, to confirm through every sense that he was real and solid and here, that this wasn't some cruel hallucination born of desperation and grief.
"You're alive," I gasped, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush as I pressed my face into the warmth of his chest breathing in the scent of him—sea and spice and everything wonderful. "You're alive. But how? I saw—they shot you in the head. I saw you fall. I saw the blood, I saw...."
His hand came up to cup the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair as he held me close. "I'm fine, Harper. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"But the blood?" My voice cracked, splintering on the memory of that terrible moment. "There was so much blood. It was everywhere. I thought—I was so sure you were...."
"I have a very hard head," he said. I heard the smile threading through his voice, warm and alive and so impossibly him.
I let out a shaky laugh that was half sob, my fingers tracing over his face as if I could memorize every angle and plane through touch alone. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I know. I'm sorry." His thumb brushed away the tears streaming down my cheek. "But I'm here now."
"You came for me," I whispered, the words barely audible past the tightness in my throat.
"Of course I did." His eyes—those beautiful, impossible purple eyes—locked onto mine with an intensity that stole what little breath I had left. "You're mine, Harper. Did you really think I wouldn't come for you?"
Then his mouth descended to mine, and the world narrowed to the sensation of his lips—warm, demanding, alive. Ikissed him back with a ferocity that surprised even me, pouring every ounce of fear, desperation, and overwhelming relief into the press of our lips. My fingers tangled in his hair, clutching him as if he might disappear if my grip loosened even slightly. His arm banded around my waist and hauled me impossibly closer until there wasn't a breath of space between our bodies. I melted into him, into the solid heat of his chest, into the reality of him breathing and whole and here.
This. This was what I'd thought I'd lost forever. The realization crashed over me with the force of a tidal wave.
I loved him.
When Xabat finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard, our chests heaving in tandem. He rested his forehead against mine, the gesture so tender it made my eyes sting with fresh tears. His thumb continued its gentle path along my cheekbone, tracing the curve with a reverence that made my heart clench.
"We have to go," he said, and I could hear the relief threading through his voice. "My friends are here. We're getting you out of this place."
"There are others trapped like me." The image of Ana's haunted eyes flashed through my mind.
"We know," Xabat said, his gaze growing dark, shadows pooling in those purple depths. "There are at least a dozen humans we believe are being held captive." He pressed his lips against my forehead. "Do not worry, my mate, we will not leave them to suffer."
A crash echoed from somewhere outside the mansion, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass followed by a chorus of angry shouts. My body tensed, but Xabat's hand found mine, his fingers lacing through my own with a steadiness and warmth that anchored me.
"My comrades," he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. "We need to move now."
He led me to the door, his body positioned protectively in front of me as he checked the hallway. I heard the thunder of running footsteps echoing through distant corridors, more shouting that rose and fell in urgent waves, and something that sounded distinctly like breaking glass. Xabat moved with deliberate caution despite the urgency thrumming through the air, keeping me pressed close to his side as we slipped through the shadows.
