Chapter 25

• The underground auction in Prague had been designed for one purpose: to remind every soul inside that power belonged only to those ruthless enough to take it.
• The cathedral’s grand hall, opulent with towering stained-glass and dripping chandeliers, felt more like a sanctuary for monsters than saints. Beneath the gothic arches, whispers of old money and new blood mingled in the air with the rich scent of perfume, gun oil, and danger.
• Kieran’s breath came slow, measured, as he and Isandro moved like shadows through the room. Every step was deliberate. Every glance calculated. His heart beat not only with anticipation but with the icy burn of hatred that had lived inside him for years.
• Madeline Voss stood across the room, radiant in the coldest way possible her midnight gown clung to her statuesque frame, her silver hair swept into elegant coils, a diamond choker gleaming at her throat like a chain.
• It was the first time Kieran had seen her in the flesh.
• And it would be the last.
• “Steady,” Isandro murmured in his ear, his breath warm against Kieran’s neck. His hand ghosted near Kieran’s lower back a reminder: You’re not alone.
• Kieran gave the faintest nod. But his eyes never left Madeline.
• She raised her champagne glass with unsettling grace, her pale eyes gleaming as she scanned the room. And then she saw them.
• A flicker of something. Recognition? Amusement? Calculation? Kieran couldn’t tell. All he knew was that she smiled.
• “I’ve heard,” she said, her voice carrying without strain, “that there are wolves among us tonight.”
• The room chuckled uneasy laughter. The auctioneer paused, visibly rattled.
• Madeline’s gaze sharpened like a blade. “Let’s not waste time, shall we?”
• The next item was paraded onto the stage: an ancient ceremonial dagger, encrusted with blood-red rubies.
• But Kieran’s focus had narrowed to a single point: the pistol tucked beneath his jacket. The weight of it felt almost comforting.
• “On my mark,” whispered Isandro.
• Kieran's lips barely moved. “I won’t hesitate.”
• Neither would she.
• The first shot shattered the crystal flute in Madeline Voss’s hand.
• The sound sliced through the low hum of the auction like a blade through silk, and for one surreal heartbeat, the entire room froze.
• Then chaos erupted.
• Screams pierced the heavy air as bodies surged in all directions. Chairs overturned, glasses shattered, and the auctioneer ducked beneath the velvet covered dais as gunfire echoed through the cathedral’s cavernous halls.
• Kieran didn’t flinch.
• His pistol was already raised, trained unerringly on Madeline Voss as she stood, composed as a queen even as her bloodied palm dripped red jewels onto the marble floor.
• Isandro was at his side in an instant, weapon drawn, scanning for secondary threats. “Move!” he barked, grabbing Kieran’s arm as bullets tore through the walls.
• But Kieran’s gaze was locked.
• Voss’s pale eyes narrowed. She didn’t cower. Didn’t flee. Instead, she lifted her bleeding hand and gave a slow, deliberate clap. The sound was almost drowned by the panic, but it sent an undeniable message:
• You’re too late.
• “Get down!” Isandro hissed, pulling Kieran behind an overturned table as two of Madeline’s guards opened fire. Wood splintered above their heads, and Kieran’s breath caught in his throat as adrenaline surged.
• The plan was in motion Rousseau’s operatives were breaching the secondary entrances. But Voss had planned for this.
• “Exit left,” Isandro shouted, voice sharp over the cacophony. “We can’t take her here!”
• Kieran’s chest heaved, fury boiling under his skin. “She’s right there”
• “Not now!” Isandro snapped, his hand gripping Kieran’s wrist tight enough to bruise. “We’ll lose everything if we die here.”
• Another shot. Close. Too close.
• Kieran cursed under his breath but nodded sharply. They moved as one fluid, disciplined. Isandro’s hand never left him as they ducked and weaved through panicked guests, the crack of gunfire shattering what remained of the illusion of civility.
• They reached the side corridor an opulent hallway with stained-glass windows overlooking the dark Prague skyline. Their breath came ragged, hearts pounding in unison.
• But they weren’t alone.
• A lone figure stepped into their path—a woman in tactical black, face half covered by a silver wolf mask.
• “Kieran,” the woman greeted, her voice distorted by the mask. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
• Kieran’s stomach dropped. “Who the hell”
• Isandro didn’t wait for introductions. He fired.
• The woman twisted with inhuman speed, the bullet grazing her shoulder instead of taking her down. She lunged, sending Kieran crashing against the marble wall as his gun clattered to the ground.
• Isandro roared, tackling her sideways. The two collided with bone-jarring force, fists flying in a brutal blur.
• Kieran scrambled upright, grabbed his weapon and hesitated.
• Her eyes.
• For a split second, through the shattered glass of her mask, Kieran saw her eyes.
• Blue.
• Recognition hit him like a punch to the gut. “No!” he breathed.
• “Isandro, stop!” he shouted hoarsely. “She’s...she’s not!”
• But the woman had already disengaged. She tossed a smoke canister at their feet, and the corridor filled with choking gray fog.
• Kieran’s world blurred. He felt Isandro’s fingers clutch his wrist again, pulling him forward through the haze.
• They ran.
• They didn’t stop until they burst into the freezing Prague night, lungs burning, sirens wailing in the distance.
• The echoes of gunfire still rang in Kieran’s ears.
• Madeline had escaped.
• And somewhere in the smoke and ruin, a familiar pair of blue eyes haunted his memory.
• The cold outside hit Kieran like a wall of ice in his lungs, wind clawing at his skin. But it couldn’t touch the fire raging inside him.
• He stumbled to a halt near the edge of the old stone bridge, his breath billowing in ragged clouds. His fingers still trembled around the grip of his pistol, knuckles white.
• Isandro came up behind him, chest heaving, dark eyes scanning the night for any sign of pursuit. Only when he was sure they were clear did he reach out cautiously laying a hand on Kieran’s shoulder.
• “Breathe,” Isandro murmured. His voice was low, steady, meant to anchor.
• But Kieran’s heart wouldn’t slow.
• “I saw her,” Kieran rasped, voice raw. “That woman… I know her.”
• Isandro’s brow furrowed. “One of Voss’s people?”
• Kieran shook his head, rubbing a shaking hand through his hair. “No. It’s not possible. She’s supposed to be”
• He cut himself off. The words tasted wrong. Unreal.
• Dead.
• The memory flashed sharp behind his eyes: blue eyes. The exact shade he hadn’t seen since....
• “Kieran.” Isandro’s voice was firmer now. Grounded. “Look at me.”
• Kieran met his gaze reluctantly.
• “You need to tell me,” Isandro said softly. “No more secrets between us.”
• Something broke in Kieran then. He exhaled shakily, the weight of the years of buried ghosts and silent grief crashing over him in one violent wave.
• “She was my sister.”
• The words barely left his lips before his knees nearly buckled. Isandro caught him without hesitation, steadying him against the stone wall.
• “Her name was Celeste,” Kieran whispered, voice cracked. “And she died. Years ago. Or I thought she did.”
• The tremor in his voice carried more weight than any bullet.
• Isandro’s hands tightened on his arms. “Then what you saw ?”
• “I don’t know,” Kieran rasped. His vision blurred, not from smoke this time but from the burn behind his eyes. “But if she’s alive… if Voss has her.”
• The thought tore something open deep inside him.
• Isandro’s thumb brushed lightly against Kieran’s wrist, grounding him, offering silent strength. “We’ll find her,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes. You’re not in this alone.”
• The sincerity in his voice undid something fragile in Kieran. The distance the defenses cracked.
• He didn’t fight it when Isandro leaned in, forehead resting against his. The shared breath, the weight of their bruised bodies pressed together in the freezing dark, was the only warmth Kieran could feel.
• The danger wasn’t over.
• But for one fragile heartbeat, neither of them moved.
• The air between them vibrated with tension electric, fragile, and unspeakably raw.
• Kieran’s heart pounded, not from the adrenaline of the gunfight, but from the nearness of Isandro his steady breath, the heat of his hands still gripping his arms, the way his dark eyes didn’t waver.
• Not for the first time, Kieran felt unmoored. Lost not in fear, but in something far more dangerous.
• “Say something,” Kieran whispered, his voice hoarse. His pulse thundered in his ears.
• Isandro’s thumb traced, almost unconsciously, over the inside of Kieran’s wrist a simple touch, but it seared through every layer of steel Kieran had built around himself.
• “Isandro.”
• “I’m here,” Isandro murmured, voice low, graveled but soft. “I’m not going anywhere.”
• Kieran’s breath caught. For a moment, he thought…hoped that was all. That the weight of the night, the violence, the confusion would be enough to hold them frozen.
• But when Isandro’s hand lifted hesitant, then decisive and cupped Kieran’s jaw, the last of Kieran’s resistance fractured.
• It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
• It wasn’t supposed to happen at all.
• But when Isandro’s lips brushed his tentative, testing Kieran didn’t pull away.
• He leaned in.
• The kiss was soft at first, but it carried the weight of everything unspoken between them: the danger, the betrayal, the unrelenting pull that neither had dared name. It deepened with startling urgency as Kieran’s fingers fisted in the lapels of Isandro’s coat, dragging him closer, breath mingling in the freezing air.
• Isandro groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Kieran’s lips, sending heat spiraling through his blood.
• It was a collisionrough, desperate of lips, teeth, breath. Kieran’s heart slammed against his ribs, the fire between them burning hotter than any of the chaos they’d left behind.
• When they finally broke apart, both men were breathless, eyes locked, neither daring to speak first.
• Kieran swallowed hard. “That—”
• Isandro’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “was overdue,” he finished for him, voice rough with something dangerous and soft all at once.
• Kieran’s breath hitched, his hands still tangled in Isandro’s coat. “We’re supposed to hate each other.”
• Isandro tilted his head, dark eyes gleaming. “Do you?”
• Kieran didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The truth twisted sharp in his chest. The heat in his blood, the way his body still ached to close the distance again it wasn’t hatred. It hadn’t been for a long time.
• They stood there for another long moment, the frozen air wrapping around them, their breath visible in silver-white clouds. The distant sirens were fading now. The city was already swallowing the violence they'd left behind.
• But something fundamental between them had shifted and there was no going back.
• Isandro’s hand lingered at Kieran’s jaw for one more heartbeat, thumb brushing softly beneath his lower lip.
• Then he exhaled, stepping back.
• “Come on,” he murmured, voice steadier now. “We need to disappear before Voss regroups.”
• Kieran nodded, swallowing hard. But as they moved side by side through the cold shadows of the city, his fingers brushed Isandro’s just once and didn’t pull away.
• For the first time, Kieran wasn’t running alone.