The warehouse doors slammed shut behind them, leaving behind the echo of shouted threats and fractured alliances. Night air clawed at Aria’s skin as she walked beside Damian, the iron scent of tension hanging between them like a storm waiting to split open.
Guards formed a perimeter. Engines idled. The convoy waited.
Damian’s hand hovered at her lower back—not touching, but close enough that she felt the heat of his palm through her blouse.
“Stay next to me,” he murmured.
“Am I ever allowed not to?” Aria whispered, her voice shaking despite her attempt at defiance.
His jaw flexed. “No.”
They stepped toward the armored car. Gravel crunched under their boots. Somewhere behind them, Syndicate bosses kept arguing, their voices muffled by thick steel walls.
Aria sensed it before she heard it—the wrongness in the air. The subtle shift. The prickle along the back of her neck.
Damian sensed it too. His hand moved from her back to her wrist in a single fluid motion—tight, urgent.
“Damian—”
“Get down.”
The world exploded into noise. CRACK.
A sniper shot sliced through the night, the sound sharp enough to tear the sky. Damian lunged, shoving Aria to the ground with brutal force. Her breath punched out of her lungs as her palms scraped asphalt.
Another shot echoed.
Aria blinked through panic—and saw blood.
Damian’s arm.
A deep graze tore across his bicep, dark fabric shredded and slick with crimson.
“Damian!” she cried, scrambling toward him.
“Stay down,” he hissed, shoving her behind a car tire. He crouched low, gun already drawn, eyes scanning the rooftops with wolf-like precision.
Jaxon shouted orders. Guards scattered like unleashed hounds, guns raised toward the shadows above.
Damian didn’t move from Aria’s side.
Another shot. Closer.
“South roof!” Jaxon yelled.
“Already saw him,” Damian growled, voice like a rusted blade.
Aria reached for his wounded arm. He jerked away at first—instinct, fury, fear—but the moment her fingers brushed his skin, his entire body shuddered.
“Damian, please—”
He grabbed her face then, his hands rough and shaking, eyes wild with fear he could no longer hide.
“Are you hurt? Did he touch you?” His voice cracked. “Aria—answer me.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
His breath left him like a man collapsing internally.
Jaxon fired a single shot into the dark. A body dropped from the rooftop.
“It’s done,” Jaxon called out.
But nothing was done.
Not for Damian.
Not for Aria.
Not anymore.
Damian dragged Aria toward the car with iron fingers wrapped around her wrist. He yanked open the door and practically lifted her inside.
Aria stared, chest heaving, watching blood drip from his arm.
“You’re hurt—”
“You almost died,” Damian snarled, slamming the door shut. He climbed in beside her, the convoy speeding off under escort.
Aria reached for him again, slower this time. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Her fingers brushed the torn sleeve of his suit. Blood smeared across her palm.
“You took that bullet for me,” she whispered.
“I take every bullet for you,” Damian bit out.
Aria’s heart twisted painfully.
“You can’t protect me from everything.”
Damian turned his head slowly, eyes burning into hers. “Watch me.”
He was terrifying.
He was shaking.
He was hers in ways he refused to admit.
She grabbed his hand—not gently, but with the raw desperation of someone who’d just realized how close she came to losing him.
“Damian… someone inside your circle betrayed you. They knew exactly where to aim.”
His fingers tightened around hers. Too tight. Almost painful.
“I know,” he said. “And I will find them.”
His voice was dead. Empty. Cold as the night.
***
Back at Wolfe Tower, chaos erupted as soon as Damian stepped out of the car.
Guards swarmed. Executives gasped at the blood staining his sleeve. Aria stumbled out after him, still trembling. Damian grabbed her waist, keeping her close.
“Sir, you need medical—”
“Later,” Damian snapped. “She goes first.”
Aria stiffened. “Damian, I’m not the one bleeding—”
“You’re the one they were aiming for,” he cut in harshly. “Get her upstairs. Now.”
He practically shoved her into the elevator. But as the doors closed, Aria caught the moment his composure slipped—the second his injured arm shook, his breath hitched, his mouth tightened in pain.
Her chest burned.
By the time they reached the penthouse medical ward, Damian was visibly pale. But he still pushed her toward the examination bed.
“Sit.”
“No,” Aria shot back, stepping toward him. “You first.”
His gaze snapped to hers, blistering and furious—and frightened.
“Aria—”
“You’re hurt,” she insisted. “Let me—”
“No.” He turned away. “I said sit.”
She reached out and touched his hand.
Damian froze.
Like every nerve in his body shut down at once.
Aria tightened her fingers around his.
“Damian… I thought you were dead.”
His throat worked. His eyes softened in a way that stole her breath.
“Aria,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t.”
She stepped closer. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m… worth worrying about.”
Aria swallowed hard. “You are.”
Damian’s entire chest rose on a slow, shaky inhale. He reached up, cupping her cheek with his uninjured hand. His thumb brushed beneath her eye as if memorizing her skin.
“You scare the hell out of me,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I kill for you now.” His voice trembled. “Do you understand what that means?”
Aria felt her heart break open in her chest.
“Damian,” she whispered, “you’re bleeding everywhere. Sit down.”
He didn’t. Not until she pushed him gently, guiding him onto the examination table. His eyes never left her. The room felt too small, too dark, too intimate.
She tore the ruined sleeve away from his arm. Damian winced, jaw tightening.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“I don’t feel pain when you touch me.” His voice was low, almost reverent. “Only when you look away.”
She froze.
Damian’s gaze dropped to her lips.
The air thickened.
“Damian…” she breathed.
He leaned in—slow, tortured, inches from devouring her—
Then the medic burst in.
Damian jerked away like shot. Aria stumbled back, face flushed.
“Treat her,” Damian ordered instantly, voice hoarse.
“She’s fina—”
“Treat. Her.”
Aria sat, letting the medic check her, even though he kept glancing at the blood on her hands.
When he finally left, Damian rose from the table, still pale, still furious, still fighting the war inside his own chest.
He reached her side again.
“From now on,” he whispered, “you stay beside me. Not behind. Not in front. Beside.”
Aria swallowed. “Why?”
Damian leaned in until his forehead nearly touched hers.
“Because that’s where you belong.”
The words burned through her like a brand.
And in that moment, Aria realized his fear wasn’t losing power, or respect, or territory.
His fear was losing her.