“Lyla!”
The wind howled as I raced through the opening and into the downpour. Rain lashed across my face, soaking through my pants in seconds. At this elevation, the wind was punishing—violent and unrelenting.
She was already halfway to the trellis.
“Don’t you fucking dare—”
She jumped for it, catching one of the iron rungs just above the rosevine-covered lattice. The structure, covered in brutal thorns and dead vines, swayed precariously under her weight.
I lunged.
My arms clamped around her waist. She screamed and twisted, clawing at me and kicking her legs ferociously as I yanked her down. Her elbow cracked against my chin. Pain exploded across my jaw.
“Stop!” I barked, gripping her tighter. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
But she kept thrashing around like a wildcat. One of her feet slipped, landing hard on my thigh.
Goddamn, she was strong. So fucking fierce.
“Let go of me!” she shrieked.
Her eyes were wide in desperation, her wet hair a tangled mess across her face. Her body writhed in my arms like she’d rather die than let me keep her.
Then she slipped free.
“Shit!”
She bolted again—this time toward the far end of the terrace. I followed, rain streaming down my chest and back. My heart hammered, and my bare feet went sliding across slick stone. She hit the edge of the wall at a dead run, placed her hands onto the parapet, and hoisted herself up like a gymnast mounting a beam.
I stopped cold.
Rain pelted her. She was soaked through—nipples hard, the curves of her breasts outlined in perfect detail beneath the thin cotton shirt that clung to her. Her sleep shorts were soaked and hugged her hips. Her bare legs trembled as she adjusted her balance on the narrow ledge.
Wind tore through her hair, sending damp strands whipping in every direction.
She turned toward me slowly—eyes wide and wild, chest heaving.
And for one savage second, I forgot everything but my hunger for her.
She wasn’t just beautiful.
She was a fucking Valkyrie. A goddess. A queen.
I wanted to drop to my knees right then and there. Bow before her. Swear my loyalty to whatever realm she came from.
My little lamb had become a force of nature.
And I would die trying to save her.
Thunder cracked overhead.
She flinched but didn’t move.
“Lyla…” I said her name in a calm voice barely louder than the rain, trying not to spook her as I stepped closer. “Get down.”
For a few seconds, she stared at me defiantly, and then she turned her body toward the trellis—toward the dividing wall, the only possible path to the neighboring terrace.
She started to inch along the ledge. One foot. Then the other. Arms out. Her feet were slick on the stone as the wind battered against her, threatening her balance.
