The pre-dawn light of Saturday morning was nothing more than a faint, bruising streak of violet outside the high arched windows when the fragile peace of the suite was violently torn to pieces.
Only hours prior, the room had been a sanctuary of sweat, tangled velvet sheets, and the heavy, intoxicating musk of a fated claim. Avery lay tangled in the heavy covers, her bare shoulder pressed against the hard, warm plane of Jake’s chest. His thick arm was draped possessively over her waist, his rhythmic, deep breathing the only sound in the quiet space. For a few stolen hours, they had slept the deep, unbothered sleep of survivors.
Then, the heavy oak door didn't just open—it splinters off its primary latch.
"Up! Against the wall! Now!"
The harsh, metallic bark of high-caliber tactical weap
