Her lips parted beneath mine, inviting my tongue to delve deeper, to explore, to conquer. The soft, wet friction of our mouths was maddening, each movement igniting a new blaze of desire. My hands roamed her body, desperate to claim every curve, every inch of her as my own. Her nails raked down my back, sharp and unyielding, sending a jolt of pain laced with pleasure straight to my cock.
This wasn’t just a kiss—it was a reckoning, a volatile explosion of passion that blurred the line between ecstasy and destruction. Every touch, every bite, every breath we shared was charged with the unshakable knowledge that we were playing with fire. And yet, neither of us could stop.
Her moans vibrated against my lips, fueling the primal need surging within me. I pressed her against the wall, my hands threading into her hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt her head back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. My lips trailed down her neck, tasting her skin, biting just enough to leave a mark—a declaration that she was mine and mine alone.
Our spirits collided like stars exploding in the night sky, a violent, beautiful chaos that defied reason. She was everything I shouldn’t want and couldn’t have, and yet I was incapable of letting her go.
As her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, my mind warred with itself. I’d loved and lost before—lovers consumed by the darkness I carried. But with her, there was something different, something dangerous. A fragile ember of hope flickered in the storm of my thoughts.
Could she survive me? Could we survive this?
And yet, as I deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of longing, fixation, and desperation into it, I knew it was already too late. I’d claimed her, sealed her fate. Whether it ended in salvation or tragedy, I couldn’t care. At that moment, nothing else mattered but the taste of her, the feel of her, and the dangerous, unrelenting hunger that bound us together in a tempest of unbridled desire.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
OLIVIA
The cobblestones of Skopje’s ancient streets, worn smooth by the weight of countless footsteps, echoed beneath the hooves of our weary horses. The air was alive with the reverberations of history, whispering tales of conquest and coexistence.
We had arrived at the heart of the Ottoman Balkans, where cultures intertwined as intricately as the vibrant kilims draped over the market stalls. The Vardar River meandered through the city like a silver thread, its waters sustaining the thriving commerce and life. Minarets stretched skyward alongside the domes of Orthodox churches, symbols of a delicate balance between tradition and change.
“Stay vigilant,” Roman murmured beside me, his voice low but firm. His sharp gaze swept over the bustling crowd, his wariness a shield honed by years of battle. Ever the silent protector, Malik nodded, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword hidden beneath the folds of his cloak.
We moved carefully through the city, threading past the crowded bazaars and narrow alleys. Leaving Skopje behind without incident, we pressed onward, the weight of our journey pressing heavily on our shoulders.
Beyond the city, Bosnia’s lush hills stretched endlessly, offering beauty but no respite. The road demanded sweat and perseverance, each mile forward hard-earned. And now Serbia’s sprawling terrain lay before us, a land of promise and peril. The end of the month loomed closer, each passing day a reminder of the urgency of our mission.
“Anatolia is still far,” Malik said one evening as we set up camp on the outskirts of a Serbian village. His voice carried the weariness of the road but also a quiet determination. “But if Reyna is correct, Pasha Hassan will have the answers we seek.”
I nodded, the enormity of our task pressing against my chest. The scriptures we sought were more than words—they were keys to a fate none of us could fully grasp. Each of us carried the burden in our way, our reasons for seeking them as varied as the stars overhead.
The gods had granted us a rare reprieve. Luna, wrapped snugly in a woolen blanket, slept soundly in my arms, her tiny form serene and still. Since leaving behind the bustling remnants of Skopje, her cries had been few, and her appetite was robust. With her boundless curiosity, Rosie embraced the journey with a resilience that filled me with quiet pride. And Reyna—bless her stubborn soul—was slowly emerging from her cocoon of grief. Though still present, the shadow of Osman’s loss seemed to lift in fleeting moments. I caught her exchanging glances with Malik, their eyes meeting with an understanding that hinted at something unspoken. The tension that had once thrummed like a taut bowstring between them was easing, replaced by a tentative camaraderie.
With each passing night, Roman and I were consumed by an overwhelming passion that carried us through the next day’s journey. We couldn’t resist stealing moments to bathe each other in adoration and affection at every rest stop. The warmth of his touch and the taste of his lips lingered on my skin long after we parted, leaving me breathless and yearning for more. Our love was a blazing fire that sustained us in this wild, unpredictable world.
“Everything is going smoothly,” I murmured, a silent prayer that it might continue that way.
The next day, the carriage rocked gently beneath me, its steady rhythm a lullaby that promised rest and respite. As I leaned back against the worn cushions, my thoughts wandered to Mathias and my mother, conspicuously absent from this leg of the journey. It was too much to hope we’d never see them again, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she? For now, it was just the six of us—Roman and me, Malik, Reyna, Rosie, and Luna—bound together by purpose and necessity.
“Almost too smooth,” I mused, watching Luna’s chest rise and fall steadily.
Without warning, the carriage jolted to a sudden stop. The abrupt motion roused Luna from her peaceful slumber, her tiny features scrunching in protest as she wriggled in my arms. She grew so quickly at nearly five months old, her wide eyes bright with curiosity as she looked around. I hushed her gently, rocking her back to sleep. The soft light from the window fell across her delicate face, highlighting every perfect detail—her button nose, rosebud lips, and impossibly tiny fingers curled into fists. Even with the interruption, she settled back into the safety of my arms as if she knew she was protected.
“Stay inside, Olivia,” Roman’s voice cut through the peace.
His silhouette filled the narrow space between the carriage door and the curtain before he stepped away. The knot of unease in my stomach tightened. I clutched Luna closer, her warmth comforting against the prickling uncertainty that crept over me.
“Could be anything,” I whispered to Rosie, who was staring at me with wide, expectant eyes. “A fallen tree blocking the road? Or maybe a cart needing a bit of help.”
But even as the words left my lips, I felt the tension in the air, an unspoken warning. Something wasn’t right. I took a steadying breath, my gaze flickering to the curtain. Every instinct screamed for me to stay put, but curiosity clawed at me, relentless. Ignoring Roman’s orders, I edged closer to the window and pulled the heavy curtain back just a sliver. The sight beyond sent a cold shiver coursing down my spine.
An army of shadows surrounded us—hundreds of black-hooded men on horseback, their turbans as dark as ink against the encroaching night. The faint gleam of moonlight on their mail coifs cast an eerie shimmer, the interlocking metal rings glinting like distant, restless stars.
The only visible part of their faces were their eyes, as sharp and unyielding as shards of obsidian, staring out from behind layers of steel and cloth.
Malik sat atop his sleek black horse, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. Surrounding him were several fierce warriors, their curved swords drawn and pointed directly at him. They formed an impenetrable barrier, a living wall of cold steel and deadly intent.
Fear coiled tight in my stomach, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to the scene outside the window. The sunlight glinted off the warriors’ weapons, each gleam a reminder of the danger we faced. My chest tightened, and terror and disbelief washed over me.
