Our war was put on hold by a greater enemy, and the ceasefire was more dangerous than the battle.
The command in his voice was absolute, a seismic shift from the cold strategist to the primal protector. “You will not leave my side. Do you understand?” In the ruins of her studio, with the taste of his desperate kiss on her lips, Elara could only nod. The fight had gone out of her, replaced by a chilling understanding. Julian Thorne wasn’t just a name; he was a tangible threat, and she was the weapon he intended to use against Lysander.
He didn’t take her back to the sterile studio he provided. He took her to the heart of his domain: his penthouse. It wasn't a home; it was a fortress masquerading as a work of architectural art. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying, arrogant view of
