Chapter 5 The Price of Obsession

The rain poured down like the ocean had flung open its gates and issued a declaration of war against the city.

It was not a storm-it was judgment.

Lucien Wolfe stood at the edge of the roof of his private residence just beyond Manhattan, the wind whipping through his black coat as if tearing at his very being. The city lights sparkled beneath him, blurred by rain and regret.

He was thinking of her.

Amara.

The woman he couldn't live without.

The girl he should have let go.

And the pawn Elliot was using to take him down.

He lit a cigar, not because he needed it, but because it reminded him that he still had control of something-even if everything else seemed to be slipping away from him. He drew slowly as footsteps echoed behind him.

She was barefoot. Wrapped in one of his shirts. Skin flushed from the heat of the fireplace downstairs. Hair damp. Lips still swollen from how he'd kissed her on the floor less than twenty minutes ago.

"You're trying to disappear again," she said softly, stepping into the storm.

Lucien exhaled smoke into the wind. "Maybe."

"You're not that man, Lucien."

He swung around, and there it was-that pull between them that had no intention of releasing. Lightning flashed behind him as if the world were coloring his outline in sex and hazard.

"I am that very man," he said to her, his voice deep. "And you-you make me worse."

She moved toward him, holding off the rain. "Or better."

He had his arms around her waist, yanked her hard onto him, and kissed her like the world was ending and she was the only thing that was left. Because she was.

Their mouths collided with a ferocity that blotted out pain and pleasure. His hands slipped under the shirt she was wearing-his shirt-cups her ass, fingers wrap around her thigh, lifts her up. She wraps her legs around his waist without thinking.

"You came out here just to tantalize me?" he growled.

"I came out here because I'm tired of playing dumb about this being only sex."

Lucien's hesitation. His eyes melted to molten gold. "It's never just been sex."

"I want the truth, Lucien. I want to know what we're doing. Because I'm crawling into something that I'm crawling back out of, and if you're going to leave me hanging-"

"i'm already yours," he cut in, voice darkened and broken. "You think I sleep fantasizing someone would touch you? Breathe the same air as you? I've killed men for less."

She was shocked.

He pressed his forehead into hers, his breath ragged. "I don't love like other men, Amara. I don't play games. I ruin. I claim. I burn to the ground everything I desire for mine."

Then kill me," she panted. "But don't lie to me."

Again, he kissed her-harder, deeper-and stalked them back towards the open doors, towards the golden light of the bedroom behind.

He set her down on the bed like a storm breaking on the shore.

Then his hands were on her-tearing the shirt apart, baring her breasts to the cold air and the hot fever of his eyes.

"I want to see you fall apart," he said.

And then he went ahead and did just that.

His mouth closed over her nipple, tongue teasing, biting, sucking, as one hand pushed between her legs. She arched, gasping, his name breaking on her lips.

He didn't slow.

Didn't hesitate.

He devoured.

By the time he was inside her, she was begging.

And when he claimed her-slow, deep, relentless-it wasn't about letting go.

It was about possessing her.

Over and over and over.

---

Later, she lay on his chest, too tired to get up, but too angry to sleep.

"Tell me about Elliot," she whispered.

Lucien stiffened. "He was my best friend. Until he turned."

"Because of me?"

"Because he wanted you. And he hated that you only glanced at me."

She looked up at him. "He was in love with me?"

"He still is."

There was a silence between them.

Then she blurted out: "And what about you?

Lucien looked at her like she was the center of the universe. "I don't love you the way you want me to."

"But you do love?"

He didn't answer. He picked up her hand instead and placed something in her palm.

A ring.

Black onyx. Gold band. With a symbol carved on it that she didn't recognize.

"What is this?"

"A mark," he replied. "Of obsession. Of mine. It's not an engagement ring, Amara. It's a warning to the world."

She stared at it. "You're crazy."

"I know."

And yet... she didn't take it off.

---

Across the city, Elliot was watching the footage.

Yes-he'd planted a bug.

A camera inside the pendant she'd worn the night of the charity gala.

He watched them on the rooftop. Watched her crawl into Lucien's arms. Watched the ring slide onto her finger.

And then he laughed.

"Stupid girl," he muttered.

"She's not stupid," a voice said behind him.

He didn't turn. He didn't need to.

"Selene," he breathed, tasting her name like poison and wine.

She stepped out of the darkness in red leather, hair back, heels clicking. Beautiful. Lethal. Lucien's ex-lover. The one woman Elliot ever feared-and respected.

"She's a wild card," Selene said, swinging onto the edge of his desk. "Too soft to survive with Lucien. Too loyal to betray him."

"She's more than she appears," Elliot said, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"Are you?"

Elliot slowly swung around. "What do you want?"

"To remind you why we're doing this."

Elliot's jaw clenched. "He destroyed everything I'd worked for. My name. My future. My family. He needs to bleed."

Selene folded her legs. "Then use the girl. But don't fall in love with her again."

Too late.

---

At the estate, meanwhile, Amara faced Lucien's mirror, looking at the ring on her hand.

She had no idea what it meant yet.

But it seemed dangerous. Absolute. Like a vow made to the shadows.

And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she was the queen or the sacrifice.