Chapter 2 Two

Ezra Raine had a rule about keeping dangerous things close.

Don't.

It was simple. Clean. Effective.

And he was breaking it already.

He stood in the war room an obsidian-paneled chamber hidden beneath the penthouse, invisible to anything without blood access. Magical fire danced across a floating map of the city. Heat signatures. Energy spikes. Territory boundaries.

Everything under his control.

Except her.

He glanced at the surveillance rune flickering above the board. Lira was still upstairs, pacing like a caged panther, too calm for someone who'd nearly passed out in his arms hours ago. Her bond mark had burned hot, but not from pain activation.

She was a match.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

Ezra returned to the main floor and found her exactly where he expected by the balcony doors, barefoot again, sipping his scotch like it belonged to her.

"You break into my vault," he said, voice low, "nearly trigger a curse, and now you're drinking my fifteen-thousand-dollar bottle?"

She turned. "Would've picked the thirty-thousand-dollar one, but you locked that cabinet."

His jaw ticked. "That cabinet's sealed by blood binding."

She smirked. "Guess you should change the lock. Your magic bleeds easy."

He stepped closer, slowly, like approaching a live grenade.

"I should've had you erased the moment you stepped in."

"Then why didn't you?" she asked, tipping her glass.

Ezra stopped two feet from her. "Still deciding what part of you I'd miss."

Lira laughed low, throaty, too confident.

"You always flirt with intruders, or is this a me thing?"

"You think this is flirting?" he asked.

"I think you're mad that I'm not afraid of you."

Ezra's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not the one with the glowing mark stitched into my chest, sweetheart."

"No," she said. "You're just the guy who didn't see me coming."

They sat across from each other ten minutes later. He at the head of the long black glass dining table; she at the far end, legs kicked up like they weren't discussing fate and murder over espresso and silence.

Ezra slid a folder across the table.

"Your file," he said. "You want to know what I know about you?"

Lira didn't reach for it.

"Tell me."

"Former child soldier. Orphaned in a fire that wasn't an accident. Three identities before the age of sixteen. Trained by someone off-grid who didn't exist on paper. You're fluent in five languages, lethal in hand-to-hand, and allergic to authority."

"You forgot charming and deeply misunderstood," she said.

Ezra didn't smile. "You've stolen weapons from sorcerers, tech from demonic collectors, and once beat a vampire lord at his own game in Marrakesh."

"I cheated," she said, shrugging.

"Clearly. He exploded."

She smiled like it was a compliment.

He leaned back in his chair, still watching her. "What I don't know is why someone with your skill level risked walking into my world. You don't do random."

"Maybe I was curious."

Ezra's voice dropped. "You're not a curious type. You're a precision type. Which means you knew something."

"I knew there was a relic," she said. "And I knew you shouldn't have it."

"I don't 'have' it. I keep it out of the wrong hands."

"Yours included."

Ezra's hand twitched. He didn't like the way she said it. Like he was the danger here.

Like she wasn't the one who triggered a goddamn curse.

Later, he showed her the rooftop training floor.

Not to impress her.

To see what she could do.

The space was steel and glass, enchanted against scrying, surveillance, and small-scale explosions. Lira stepped into the ring and rolled her neck like she belonged there.

"You want me to fight you?" she asked.

Ezra stripped off his jacket. "I want to see what you are."

"Afraid I'll hurt you?"

He smirked. "I'm hoping."

They circled. No weapons. No magic. Just instinct.

She struck first fast, low, spinning heel aimed at his ribs. He caught it mid-air, twisted her off balance. She recovered instantly, swept his leg. He dodged.

Ezra grinned.

"I've had demons hit harder."

"Maybe you should fight naked," she shot back. "Might move faster without all the brooding."

They clashed again.

This time, she got inside his guard, elbow grazing his jaw. He countered with a grip to her wrist and spun her too close, too fast, her breath on his throat.

"Careful," she murmured. "Keep pulling me close like that and I might think you like me."

He shoved her off gently but firmly. "You're not my type."

"Cold, dangerous, and cursed?" she asked. "You're mine."

Ezra stared at her.

For once, he didn't have a comeback.

Afterward, they sat on the edge of the platform, both catching their breath. Neither said anything for a moment.

Then Lira broke the silence.

"You ever lose control?"

Ezra glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she said, tilting her head, "you live up here in your glass fortress, running this empire, covered in magic and money and secrets. But when was the last time something didn't go according to your plan?"

He didn't answer.

She smiled.

"That's what I thought."

He turned to her, voice low. "You think I don't bleed?"

"I think you've forgotten how."

Later, Ezra sat alone in the vault again.

The Relic still pulsed in its case. Quiet. Waiting.

Th

He watched her disappear down the hall.

And for the first time in years, Ezra Raine wasn't sure if he'd just won... or lost everything.