ONLY IN THE DARK

NEXT TIME CAME SOONER

Aurora didn’t see Saint for two days.

She told herself she didn’t notice, but the way her eyes kept tracking the corners of every hallway gave her away.

On the third night, she found him.

Or maybe he found her.

He was waiting in the shadow at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall like the darkness belonged to him.

“You’re late,” he said, as if she’d been the one making him wait.

“I wasn’t coming,” she lied.

His mouth twitched. “You were.”

Before she could argue, he stepped forward. The air shifted. That familiar trace of smoke threaded through her senses, the scent curling into her thoughts until they felt tangled and dangerous.

She backed up, slow, until her spine met the wall again. He didn’t stop.

“Last time you didn’t tell me to walk away,” he murmured. “You think I forgot?”

Her breath came shallow, her voice a whisper. “Maybe I hoped you didn’t.”

That earned her a quiet, low sound from his throat something between amusement and hunger.

Then his mouth was on hers.

Not cautious this time. Not testing.

This was claiming.

Her fingers found his shirt, clutching the fabric as if it could steady her against the rush of heat spreading through her veins. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing the edges of her jaw, then sliding down slowly, deliberately, memorizing her.

He kissed her like there were things he couldn’t say out loud, and she answered with everything she wasn’t supposed to feel.

The world blurred. She didn’t care.

When his lips broke from hers, they didn’t go far just shifted to her neck, trailing heat over skin already too aware of him. She felt the words before she heard them, his voice low and rough against her pulse.

“You’re trouble,” Saint said. “And I’m already too far in.”

Her laugh was breathless, shaky. “Guess we’re both in trouble then.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes searching hers like he wanted to memorize this exact second. And then, as if the decision had been made long before tonight, he closed the last inch between them.

The rest of the world could burn.

The sound of footsteps somewhere down the hall forced them apart, but neither of them moved far. His hand stayed on her waist, hers still curled in his shirt, like breaking contact would undo something they couldn’t put back.

Saint’s gaze lingered on her face, tracing it as if committing every angle to memory. “This isn’t the place,” he said, low and certain, “but soon.”

And she knew when “soon” came, there wouldn’t be walls thick enough, or rules strict enough, to keep it contained.