Chapter 4
1127 Words
Twilight drifted in and out of consciousness, her body weightless in someone’s arms—strong arms, warm despite the tension coiled beneath the skin. Voices echoed around her like murmurs underwater, names she couldn’t place, warnings she couldn’t fully hear.
“…she’s reacting…”
“…the mark—Slade, we don’t have time…”
“…get her upstairs, now!”
Darkness swallowed the rest.
⸻
She woke to warmth.
Not gentle warmth—possessive warmth. Heat that felt like a command.
Twilight’s eyes fluttered open to the soft glow of a fireplace, its flames dancing across dark stone walls and a room far too luxurious, far too intimate to belong to anyone but the master of this mansion.
His scent hit first—cedar, smoke, authority.
His room.
She sat up sharply, heart pounding as she took everything in: the black silk sheets, the carved wooden headboard, the massive window overlooking moonlit forests. This wasn’t just any room.
It was Slade Blackthorn’s.
Before she could gather herself, a shadow moved from the corner of the room.
He was sitting in an armchair — elbows on his knees, head bowed, hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it too many times. The firelight traced the angles of his jaw, the tension in his posture, the exhaustion etching itself into him.
He looked up the moment she stirred.
Their eyes locked.
Electric. Heavy. Fate pulling at frayed strings neither of them could see.
“You’re awake.” His voice was rough, lower than before, like he’d spent hours fighting battles she didn’t witness.
Twilight swallowed. “Why… why am I here?”
Slade stood slowly, as if measuring each step, each breath. His gaze swept over her—checking, assessing, worrying—before sharply looking away, like he didn’t want her to see that part.
“You collapsed,” he said. “Right after the Duvall messenger left. I brought you here because the staff wing isn’t secure.”
“Secure… from what?” she whispered.
From who, should have been the real question.
Slade’s jaw clenched, shadows tightening around his eyes. “The Duvalls are watching the mansion again.”
Her breath hitched. “Because of me?”
Silence.
A dangerous one.
She didn’t realize she was gripping the sheets until Slade crossed the room in two strides and gently closed his fingers over her wrist. Not forceful. Not commanding. Just steady—too steady for a man who terrified half the country.
“Twilight.” Her name in his voice was a shiver. “You are not the reason. They were coming either way.”
“You’re lying,” she said, but her voice betrayed the tremor.
His eyes softened. Barely, but enough to steal her breath.
“I don’t lie to the people under my protection.”
“That’s not an answer,” she shot back.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before he jerked it away, internal war flashing across his features.
“We’ll talk later,” he said. “You’re still weak. Lila will want to check your vitals.”
Right on cue, soft footsteps approached the doorway. Slade stiffened before the door creaked open and Lila Blackthorn peeked inside—Slade’s sister, delicate and curious, wrapped in a pale sweater far too big for her.
“Is she awake?” Lila whispered.
Twilight blinked at the girl, surprised at how gentle—how normal—she seemed in contrast to the mansion’s cold power.
Slade exhaled. “Yes.”
Lila slipped inside, eyes bright with relief. “Thank the Moon. Slade wouldn’t let anyone else near you. He nearly threw Adrian out a window.”
Twilight stared at him.
Slade’s face remained stony, but his ears… actually tinged red.
“Exaggeration,” he muttered.
“A little one,” Lila said, grin widening.
“Out,” Slade warned, pointing to the door.
“Fine, fine.” Lila turned to Twilight. “I’m glad you’re okay. I—we—were worried.”
Twilight found herself smiling back before she caught Slade watching them, gaze unreadable, something tight and guarded in his eyes.
When Lila left, pulling the door softly closed, the room fell into thick, unblinking silence. Slade dragged a hand through his hair, turning toward the fire.
“You scared her,” he murmured. “You scared… more than one person.”
Twilight frowned. “Why would my collapsing matter to you?”
He froze.
Completely.
As if she’d said something forbidden.
Then he turned, slow and deliberate, eyes like storm clouds ready to break.
“It shouldn’t,” he said. “But it does.”
Her pulse stuttered.
“Slade—”
“You don’t get to ask questions right now.” His voice thickened, dropping to a deeper register. “Not when I don’t have enough answers myself.”
He stepped closer.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Until he stood directly in front of her, close enough that her breath tangled with his.
His hand lifted.
For a second she thought he’d touch her cheek—he almost did—but he redirected at the last moment, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear instead.
Soft. Controlled. Terrifying.
“You will stay in this room tonight,” Slade said quietly. “Because I can’t protect you from anywhere else in this house.”
Her heart thudded. “From the Duvalls?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then—
“From everything.”
His voice wasn’t cold anymore.
It was afraid.
Before she could speak, a sharp bang echoed from downstairs. Heavy footsteps. Urgent voices.
Slade’s head snapped toward the door, eyes darkening to near black.
They were back.
He moved instantly, crossing the room and locking the door, then turning to her with a look she’d never seen on him: raw, unmasked panic.
“Twilight,” he said, voice low and fierce. “No matter what you hear—do not open this door. Do not leave. Understood?”
She swallowed hard. “Slade—”
“Promise me.”
Thunder filled his tone, the alpha beneath the billionaire cracking through.
“I… I promise.”
Something in him eased—but only for a heartbeat. He pulled a dagger from the inside of his jacket, strapped it to his thigh, and unlocked the balcony door.
“They shouldn’t know you’re in my room,” he murmured. “Which means if they’re here… they’re not here for you.”
He looked at her one last time—like he was memorizing her—before stepping out into the night.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Twilight was alone.
And for the first time since entering Slade Blackthorn’s world…
she realized she hadn’t even seen the real danger yet.
- Writer
