Alina wasn’t prepared for what waited when she opened the door.
Nicholas stood there like a storm in a tailored black coat, rain dripping from his hair, his eyes wild with something feral. The city flickered behind him, but his gaze—his hunger—pulled all the oxygen from the air.
He stepped inside without a word, locking the door behind him.
Then silence.
Not a single wasted breath.
She took one step back—and he followed.
Another—and he stalked closer.
“You said you’d fight with me,” he rasped. “So don’t run now.”
Her back hit the wall.
His hands pinned her wrists above her head, his body flush against hers, the cold from his coat seeping into her robe. Her pulse slammed beneath her skin.
“I don’t want to run,” she whispered.
“Good.” His voice dipped. “Because I’m done pretending
