14.
1952 Words
KATHERINE
The night pressed in thick, alive with sounds I didn’t want to hear. My back was against the tree, Christophe’s body caging mine like a shield, his hand still clamped lightly over my mouth.
“Stay quiet,” he breathed against my ear, and it was both an order and a warning.
I nodded once, the fear in my chest a wild drumbeat. But it wasn’t just fear. It was something sharper, hotter, a twisted mix of adrenaline, and the weight of his closeness.
His scent wrapped around me, smoke and danger, and something darker that I couldn’t escape.
The voices were clearer now. Two, maybe three men, their Italian thick and clipped. I couldn’t make out every word, but I caught enough.
“Check over there…”
“Someone saw movement…”
“Don’t miss this time.”
They were hunting. And I knew exactly who.
Christophe shifted, moving us just enough into the deeper shadows. His hand dropped from my mouth, only to catch my wrist instead, firm, grounding.
My skin burned under his grip, and I couldn’t tell if it was comfort or another kind of trap.
I dared a whisper. “They’re looking for you.”
His eyes cut to mine in the dim light, sharp and unreadable. “For us.”
The word lodged in my chest. Us. As if we were bound together in this. As if there was no separating me from the war I never asked to be part of.
Branches cracked closer. My breath hitched.
Christophe let go of me just long enough to draw his gun, the faint metallic sound far too loud in the quiet night. He moved like he was born for this fluid, controlled, lethal.
And then he leaned down, so close his lips brushed my temple.
“If they find us, Katherine,” he whispered, low and rough, “you run. Do you hear me?”
I shook my head before I could stop myself. “No.”
His jaw flexed, irritation flashing across his face. “Don’t argue with me now-”
“I’m not leaving you,” I cut in, my voice trembling but steady enough.
For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Shock. Anger. And something else he didn’t want me to see.
His hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me closer until our foreheads nearly touched. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”
“Maybe not,” I whispered, “but I mean it.”
Silence stretched, thick and electric. And then, almost too quiet to hear, he murmured, “You’ll be the death of me.”
Before I could answer, movement exploded in the trees.
The first man stepped into view, his flashlight slicing through the dark. Christophe didn’t hesitate. A shot rang out, sharp and final. The man dropped.
I flinched, pressing against the tree, my heart in my throat.
The others shouted, crashing closer. Christophe grabbed my hand and yanked me with him, pulling us deeper into the woods.
My legs stumbled to keep up, the ground uneven beneath my feet, but his grip was iron, unrelenting.
Gunfire cracked behind us, bullets slicing through the air. My scream caught in my throat as bark splintered off a tree inches from my head.
“Keep moving!” Christophe barked.
I did, lungs burning, fear clawing at every breath. But beneath it all, a different fire spread through me. Not just fear. Not just adrenaline.
The way his hand gripped mine like he would never let go, the way his body shielded mine with every move, it ignited something I couldn’t name.
We broke through a clearing, the moon spilling pale light over us. Christophe shoved me behind him, gun raised, scanning the trees with lethal precision.
I clutched at his arm. “There’s too many-”
He turned on me, eyes blazing. “You think I’d let them touch you?”
The words landed heavy, hotter than the fear. My chest tightened, torn between the danger outside and the danger standing right in front of me.
The men shouted again, closer. Christophe’s jaw hardened. He pulled me flush against him, his mouth crashing down on mine.
The kiss was brutal, wild, like he was stealing the air from my lungs. My fingers clutched at his shirt, torn between resisting and clinging to him.
The world around us blurred into nothing, no gunfire, no threats, just the fire of his mouth on mine.
When he finally tore away, his breath was ragged. His thumb brushed rough over my cheek. “You’re mine. No matter what happens tonight. Remember that.”
Before I could answer, he shoved me down behind a fallen log just as gunfire erupted again.
I crouched low, shaking, but my eyes never left him. Christophe moved like a shadow, every shot precise, every step calculated.
He was violent and beautiful, darkness and fire, and I hated him for how badly I wanted him even now, surrounded by blood and death.
One man fell. Then another.
But the third kept coming.
The sound of struggle filled the clearing grunts, fists, and the sharp crack of bone. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, my heart pounding with every blow.
And then silence.
I peeked over the log, my stomach in knots. Christophe stood over the last man, blood streaking his knuckles, chest rising and falling hard.
His eyes found mine instantly.
Something in them burned hotter than the violence he’d just unleashed.
And in that moment, as the night held its breath around us, I knew one thing with terrifying clarity.
The men trying to kill us weren’t the only ones I needed to fear.
The real danger was already mine.
The clearing was quiet again, too quiet, the kind of silence that carried weight.
Christophe stood in the middle of it, his chest heaving, blood glinting dark on his hands in the moonlight.
He looked untouchable, like some merciless god dropped into the earth, and every instinct in me screamed that I should run from him.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
His eyes locked on me, and for a second, it felt like I was the only thing that existed for him. The dead men at his feet, the blood dripping from his knuckles. they were just background noise compared to the way he was looking at me.
Slowly, he walked toward me. Not rushed. It's not frantic. Every step was measured, controlled, and terrifying in its certainty. My back pressed into the log behind me, my lungs refusing to work right.
When he reached me, he crouched down, his hand sliding along my jaw. His thumb dragged across my cheek, smearing a streak of someone else’s blood there.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice low, dangerous.
I shook my head, barely able to form words. “No… I’m fine.”
“Good.” His gaze dipped to my mouth, lingering there in a way that made heat curl in my stomach. “Because I don’t think I could handle seeing your blood tonight.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers clutching at the log beneath me. I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t know how to breathe under the weight of him.
His hand slid from my face to the back of my neck, gripping me, steadying me. “You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“Of course I’m shaking,” I whispered. “You just killed them-”
“I saved you,” he cut in, sharp. “Don’t twist it.”
My chest rose and fell hard. “That doesn’t make it less brutal.”
His lips curved, not into a smile exactly, but something darker. “You think I’m brutal?”
“You are.”
He leaned closer, his mouth inches from mine, his voice a rasp. “And yet, you’re still here. Still looking at me like I’m the only one who can touch you.”
I hated that he was right.
Before I could respond, he kissed me again. This time slower, deeper, dragging every last bit of fight from me.
My hands rose to his chest without my permission, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He tasted of iron and smoke and something that burned all the way down.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine.
“You can call me whatever names you want, Katherine. Monster. Killer. Brutal. But don’t you dare lie to yourself about this.” His hand pressed against my chest, right over my heart. “You want me. Even if it destroys you.”
A shiver ran through me, violent and undeniable.
The snap of a branch in the distance made me jolt. Christophe’s head lifted instantly, sharp and alert again.
“More are coming,” he muttered.
Panic flared in my chest. “How many?”
“Enough.” He stood, pulling me up with him in one rough tug. “We need to move.”
I stumbled into his side as he guided us back toward the shadows of the trees.
My legs still trembled, but his hand on my waist held me steady, steering me like I belonged to him.
The deeper we went into the woods, the darker it got. Branches snagged my hair, scraped my skin, but Christophe never slowed.
He moved like he knew every path, every turn, dragging me into his world where fear was air and danger was constant.
Finally, we reached a small, half-hidden cabin tucked between thick trees. My chest heaved as he pushed open the door with one hand, pulling me inside.
The air smelled of dust and old wood, but it felt like a fortress compared to the chaos outside. He shut the door, locked it, and then finally released me.
I sank onto the edge of the table, my legs too weak to hold me. My hands trembled in my lap, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything. The gunshots, the blood, the way his mouth had crushed mine in the middle of it all.
Christophe crouched in front of me again, his hand catching my chin, tilting my face toward the light of a lantern on the wall. His gaze swept over me, checking, searching.
“You’re not hurt,” he said again, more like a statement than a question.
“No,” I whispered. “But you are.” My eyes dropped to his bloodied knuckles, the cut across his cheek.
He followed my gaze, then smirked faintly. “This?” He flexed his hand like it was nothing. “I’ve had worse.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”
His expression shifted, just slightly. Softer. Almost human. “It only matters if it matters to you.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “It does.”
Something flickered in his eyes, sharp and unreadable. Then, slowly, he leaned closer, his hand sliding up my thigh this time, anchoring me.
His touch burned through the fabric of my jeans.
“Careful, Katherine,” he murmured. “You start caring about me, and it’ll ruin you.”
My breath caught. “Maybe I’m already ruined.”
His mouth curved, dark and hungry. “Then you’re mine.”
And before I could protest, before I could think, his lips were on mine again, claiming, demanding.
The kiss was desperate, tangled with everything that had just happened. The fear, the violence, the need.
I melted into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer even when every warning in my head screamed to push him away.
Because the truth was, I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to.
- Writer
