16
1885 Words
KATHERINE
The door shattered.
Wood splintered, crashing inward with a deafening crack. Cold night air rushed inside, carrying with it the sound of boots pounding across the porch.
I couldn’t breathe. My body pressed flat against the counter, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.
Christophe didn’t move. He stood like stone, gun raised, aimed at the jagged opening. Calm. Deadly. The only sound from him was the slow, measured pull of his breath.
Then-
A man’s shadow filled the doorway.
Tall. Broad. Armed.
The moment he stepped through, Christophe fired.
The gunshot tore through the cabin like thunder. My ears rang, sharp and disorienting. The man crumpled, hitting the floor with a heavy thud, blood pooling fast across the wood.
I gasped, pressing a hand to my mouth. My stomach twisted. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t look away.
There wasn’t time.
Another shadow lunged through, firing back.
Christophe shoved me down to the floor, his body covering mine as bullets split through the air, tearing holes in the walls, the furniture, everything.
My hands clutched his shirt, trembling so hard I thought my bones might break.
His weight pressed into me, solid, protective, terrifying in how much I needed it.
He moved fast, rolling off me to fire again. His gun cracked, once, twice, and the second man stumbled, clutching his shoulder. Christophe didn’t stop.
He advanced, quick, merciless, finishing the job with a shot that dropped him cold.
The smell of gunpowder filled the cabin. Sharp. Bitter.
Silence followed.
Except for my breathing.
Shallow. Shaking.
Christophe stood over the bodies, his chest rising and falling, his gun still raised like he expected more.
I pushed myself up slowly, my legs weak, unsteady. My gaze caught on the blood smeared across the floorboards, too dark in the dim light. My stomach churned, my throat tight.
But then Christophe turned. His eyes found mine in the dark. And for the first time since the door broke open, fear left me.
Not because it was safe now God, it wasn’t. But because he was still standing.
Alive.
And that was all that mattered.
I swallowed hard, my voice raw. “Are there more?”
“Maybe.” His tone was clipped, sharp. He scanned the shadows beyond the door, body still tense, ready. “Two doesn’t feel like all they’d send.”
My chest tightened. The thought of more men, more guns, more blood made me want to crawl into a corner and never move again. But Christophe’s face, hard and steady, kept me rooted.
“What do we do?” My voice shook.
His eyes came back to me. He lowered the gun, just slightly, enough to close the distance between us. His free hand brushed my cheek, slow, grounding me.
“We survive.”
It was that simple. That was brutal.
And I knew he meant both of us, not just him.
My throat closed, emotion too sharp, too heavy. Before I could say anything, headlights flashed outside the trees. Bright. Sudden.
Another car.
Christophe’s hand dropped. He grabbed me, pulling me away from the broken door. “Back room. Now.”
I stumbled with him, my legs barely working, but he didn’t slow. He shoved open the small bedroom door, guiding me inside.
The room was dark, cramped, smelling faintly of dust and cedar. He pushed me toward the far wall, his body crowding mine again.
“Stay low,” he ordered, his voice low, steady even now. “Don’t move unless I tell you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes silenced me. This wasn’t a request. It was a command.
And the truth was, I didn’t want to move. Not without him.
He pressed the gun into my shaking hands. My eyes widened.
“I can’t-”
“You can.” His voice was sharp, cutting through my panic. His hand closed over mine, steadying it. “If anyone but me comes through that door, you shoot.”
I stared at him, my chest heaving. My fingers trembled against the cold metal.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, softer now. His thumb brushed my knuckles, quick, almost tender. “Do you trust me?”
My throat burned. The answer came before I could stop it. “Yes.”
His eyes darkened, like he didn’t believe it but wanted to.
Then he was gone.
The door shut, leaving me in the shadows.
I pressed my back against the wall, the gun heavy in my lap, my pulse screaming in my ears. Every sound outside the crunch of gravel, the slam of car doors, the muffled voices drove knives into my chest.
I wanted to run. Hide. But I couldn’t. Because he was out there.
And if he didn’t come back-
No. I couldn’t believe it.
The seconds dragged like hours. Muffled shouts erupted, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire. My body jolted with each sound, my hands gripping the gun tighter, though I prayed I wouldn’t need to use it.
A scream split the night. Male. Pained.
Then silence.
My breath came fast, shallow.
The door burst open.
I aimed the gun before I even thought.
“Katherine.”
His voice.
Relief crashed through me so hard my knees almost gave out.
Christophe stepped inside, his shirt streaked with blood that wasn’t his. His chest rose and fell, hard and fast. He kicked the door shut behind him, locking it.
“You’re bleeding-” The words broke out of me, sharp, panicked.
“Not mine.” His voice was rough. His eyes dragged over me, down to the gun still trembling in my hands. He took it gently, prying it from my grip.
I didn’t fight him. My body sagged, shaking, drained of everything but fear.
And then his arms were around me.
Tight. Fierce. Crushing the air from my lungs.
My face pressed into his chest, into the heat of him, the smell of gunpowder and sweat and blood. My body shook against his, but his hold didn’t waver.
“You did good,” he murmured, low, against my hair. “You stayed. You listened.”
I clutched his shirt, my throat breaking. “I thought I thought they’d-”
“I wouldn’t let them.” His words were hard. Fierce. But underneath, something softer, something I wasn’t ready to name.
I tilted my face up, searching his eyes in the dark. The look there stole my breath.
Not just danger. Not just possession. But something that made my heart stumble.
“Christophe…”
His hand cupped my jaw, tilting it up. His eyes burned into mine. “I told you. You’re mine to protect.”
Then his mouth was on mine, and this time, I didn’t fight it.
I couldn’t.
Because after the blood, after the fear, after staring death in the face he was the only thing I wanted.
His mouth crushed mine.
Not gentle. Not careful. Desperate. Fierce.
Like he needed this more than air. Like I was the only thing keeping him alive.
I didn’t think so. Couldn’t. My lips parted, and he was there, tongue sliding against mine, stealing the breath I didn’t have.
My hands clawed at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing the weight of him pressed into me, needing proof that he was real that he was here, alive, not lying in a pool of blood on the floor like the others.
His hand tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp. The sound broke between us, swallowed by his kiss.
My back hit the wall. Hard. The impact shook the room, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was him.
Christophe kissed like a man who’d lived through hell and had no patience left for heaven. Rough, claiming, unapologetic. Every move told me I was his.
Every press of his mouth demanded I stop pretending I wasn’t.
I should’ve pulled away.
I should’ve remembered who he was. What he was.
But when his hands slid down my sides, gripping my waist, hauling me against him, all I felt was heat. All I felt was the storm in my chest breaking open.
“Christophe-” I whispered his name against his lips, shaky, lost.
He groaned, low, guttural, like my voice cracked something inside him. His forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged.
“You have no idea,” he rasped, “how close I was to losing my mind out there. Thinking they might’ve gotten to you before I came back.”
My chest tightened. My throat ached. “You came back.”
His eyes burned into mine. “I always will.”
The words slammed into me, harder than the kiss. Because he meant them. I could see it. Feel it.
And that terrified me more than the gunshots.
My hand lifted, shaking, brushing over his jaw. The stubble there was rough under my palm, grounding me in the most dangerous way.
He leaned into the touch like he needed it, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.
“Katherine…” My name fell from his lips like a vow.
He kissed me again, slower this time. Deep. His hand slid up my ribcage, fingers grazing the curve of my breast, and I gasped into his mouth. Heat coiled low in my stomach, sharp and heavy.
I should’ve stopped him.
But I didn’t.
Because for once, the fear in my chest wasn’t louder than the want.
He tore his mouth from mine, his breathing harsh. His eyes searched me, wild, like he was asking without words if I’d shove him away.
I didn’t.
My fingers curled into his shirt. “Don’t stop.”
The sound he made half growl, half relief lit something dark and dangerous between us.
His hands gripped my thighs suddenly, lifting me. I gasped, arms flying around his shoulders as my legs wrapped around his waist.
He carried me with a strength that was both terrifying and intoxicating, slamming me back against the wall again.
I felt the hardness of him pressing into me, urgent, unyielding. A shiver ripped through me, part fear, part need.
“Say it,” he demanded against my ear, his voice raw, broken. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”
I froze. The words tangled in my throat. Because admitting it meant giving him more power than he already had.
But when his teeth scraped along my neck, when his mouth claimed that spot just beneath my ear, a whimper escaped me.
“Yes,” I gasped. “I want you.”
His body trembled against mine, as if the admission undid him. His lips dragged back to mine, and then there was nothing but heat, nothing but the way he devoured me like he’d been starving.
My hands fisted in his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me.
Every part of me screamed this was wrong.
But nothing had ever felt so right.
For a moment, there was no blood on the floor. No broken door. No men outside waiting to kill us.
There was only him.
And the terrifying, undeniable truth that I was his and maybe I always had been.
- Writer
