"Get your things. Now."
Sloane didn't have time to ask why. Kaelen’s hand was already clamped around her wrist, his grip like a steel cuff. He didn't just pull her; he practically yanked her off the stool, sending a tray of glass vials shattering across the stone floor. The sound was deafening in the small, cramped lab.
"Kaelen! What the hell—"
"They're here," he snapped. His voice wasn't the soft, questioning tone of the boy she’d awakened three days ago. It was cold. Commandingly so. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing hers, forcing her back against the heavy oak workbench. "The Empire. They’re ten minutes from the door. Maybe less."
Sloane felt her heart hammer against her ribs. "How do you know that? You can't possibly—"
"I can feel them," he interrupted, his eyes darkening, the pupils bleeding into the iris until they were almost entirely black. He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek, a sharp contrast to the predatory chill in his gaze. "They smell like burnt ozone and old blood. They're coming for you, Sloane. And they don't plan on taking you alive."
She tried to pull her wrist away, but he didn't budge. Instead, he shifted his weight, pinning her more firmly against the table. The power dynamic shifted in a heartbeat. She was the creator, the alchemist who had stitched his soul together from forbidden fragments, but in this narrow space, he was the predator and she was the prey.
"Let go of me. I need to grab my notes," she hissed, struggling against him.
"Forget the notes," Kaelen murmured. He didn't move. He just watched her, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto her eyes. "You’re too slow. You’re shaking. I can feel your pulse jumping under my thumb. You're terrified."
"I'm not terrified, I'm annoyed," she lied, though her voice betrayed her with a slight tremor. "Now let me go so I can save my life's work."
Kaelen let out a low, humming sound—almost a laugh, but devoid of humor. "Your work is me. I'm right here."
He suddenly pivoted, grabbing her waist and hoisting her up onto the workbench in one fluid motion. Sloane gasped, her legs dangling, her breath hitching as he crowded into her space, his hands gripping the edge of the table on either side of her. He was so close she could smell the metallic tang of magic and something else—something wild and ancient.
"You think you're in control because you made me," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "But look at us. Who's holding who?"
"Kaelen, this isn't the time for a power trip!" she snapped, trying to push him back, but her palms only landed on the hard, lean muscle of his chest. He didn't move an inch.
"It's exactly the time," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "If we stay here, you're a prisoner. If we leave now, you're mine. Choose."
Before she could argue, a heavy thud echoed from the front of the cottage. The door groaned. Someone had just kicked it.
Sloane bolted upright, nearly knocking Kaelen over. "They're here. They're actually here!"
"Stay behind me," Kaelen commanded. He didn't ask. He didn't suggest. He stepped in front of her, his shoulders broad, shielding her from the direction of the door. The air around him began to shimmer, a distortion of heat and pressure that made the hair on Sloane's arms stand up.
"We can't fight a whole squad of Inquisitors," Sloane whispered, her voice frantic. "We have to go through the cellar exit."
"I'm not letting you crawl through a sewer," Kaelen said. He turned back to her, his expression suddenly fierce. "I'll carry you."
"I can walk!"
"You're trembling so hard you'll trip over your own feet," he countered. In one swift movement, he swept her off the table and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
"Kaelen! Put me down! This is ridiculous!"
"Shut up and hold on," he grunted. He didn't wait for her consent. He bolted toward the back of the lab, his strides long and powerful. Sloane gripped the back of his tunic, her face pressed against the rough fabric, feeling the rhythmic thud of his heart against her thigh. It was steady. Terrifyingly steady.
As he kicked open the hidden hatch to the cellar, another crash sounded from the main room. The front door had been completely demolished.
"Sloane!" a voice boomed. It was a voice like grinding stones, cultured but cruel. "I know you're in there, you little rat. Give me the book and maybe I'll let you keep your tongue!"
Sloane shivered. Varis. The Imperial Inquisitor. The man who had hunted her across three borders.
Kaelen dropped her into the damp darkness of the cellar, but he didn't let go. He kept one hand firmly on her shoulder, pinning her against the cold stone wall as he peered back up through the hatch.
"He's here," Kaelen whispered. His voice had changed again. It was hungry. "I can smell his arrogance. It's disgusting."
"We have to move," Sloane urged, her voice a frantic hiss. "If we get to the woods, we can lose them in the mist."
Kaelen didn't look at her. He was staring at the ceiling, listening. "He's not looking for you anymore. He's looking for me."
"What? Why?"
"Because he knows what you tried to build," Kaelen said, finally looking down at her. His eyes were no longer human; they were voids of shimmering gold and black. He leaned closer, his chest pressing against hers, trapping her between his body and the wall. The tension between them snapped tight, a mixture of sheer terror and an unwanted, electric attraction. "He wants the weapon. He doesn't realize the weapon wants to tear his throat out."
Sloane swallowed hard, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. "You're not a weapon, Kaelen. You're..."
"I'm whatever you made me to be," he interrupted, his voice a low vibration that she felt in her own bones. He shifted his hand from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, his fingers curling slightly, not hurting, but claiming. "And right now, I'm the only thing keeping you from a cage."
He pulled her away from the wall and began to lead her through the narrow, muddy tunnel that led to the forest. Every time she stumbled, his grip tightened, hauling her back up with a possessiveness that bordered on aggression. He didn't treat her like a creator; he treated her like a prized possession he was stealing from a thief.
"Stop squeezing me so hard!" she complained, though she didn't actually pull away.
"Stop being fragile," he retorted, though his thumb brushed against her skin in a way that wasn't fragile at all. It was a slow, deliberate caress that sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
They burst through the brush and into the grey veil of the woods just as the first screams of her assistants echoed from the cottage. Sloane flinched, closing her eyes. She had tried to protect them. She had tried to keep this place hidden.
"Don't look back," Kaelen commanded, his voice hard. "Look at me."
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with an intensity that felt like it was stripping her bare. He wasn't looking at her as a master looks at a servant. He was looking at her with a hunger that made her stomach flip.
"You're mine now," he whispered, the words a promise and a threat all at once. "No more hiding. No more notes. Just us."
Meanwhile, back in the ruined lab, Varis stepped over the shattered glass. He didn't care about the screaming assistants or the overturned tables. He walked straight to the workbench where Sloane had been pinned.
He reached down and picked up a single, stray piece of parchment that had fluttered to the floor during the struggle. He scanned the handwritten notes—the calculations for the soul-vessel, the forbidden runes, the precise measurements of a god's fragment.
Varis didn't shout. He didn't curse. He simply leaned back and smiled, a thin, predatory expression that didn't reach his eyes.
"Oh, Sloane," he murmured, his finger tracing the ink. "You didn't just make a guard. You made a masterpiece. And I can't wait to break it."
He looked toward the open cellar hatch, his smile widening as he realized the prey had already delivered the prize right into his waiting hands.