Marcus blocked.
Lila stepped back, clear of the strike zone.
Marcus drove his fist into Fenwick’s jaw.
The man dropped to his knees.
Marcus grabbed him by the collar and slammed him flat onto the stone.
Blood streaked Fenwick’s mouth as he snarled. “This isn’t over—”
“It is,” Marcus said, voice low and lethal. “You do not touch what I protect.”
He bound Fenwick’s hands with the rope Lila had noticed earlier, the same rope his men had tossed aside. A symmetry she would appreciate later.
When the final knot pulled tight, Marcus rose and turned to her.
Only then did he truly breathe.
“Lila.”
Her name came out rough. Rougher than fear. Rougher than fury. Rougher than anything he had felt since his heart had broken years ago.
She closed the distance at once.
His hand went to her cheek.
Her bound wrists brushed his chest. He caught them gently, studying the raw, reddening skin.
“I’m cutting these,” he said, already reaching for the fallen dagger.
“You’ll cut yourself,” she whispered.
A broken half-smile touched his mouth. “You can scold me later.”
The blade slid cleanly through the rope. Her hands came free. She inhaled sharply, not from pain, but from release.
Marcus touched the inside of her wrist, careful and reverent.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she said steadily. “He underestimated me.”
Marcus’s throat worked. “That was his final mistake.”
Footsteps pounded overhead. Shouts. Doors slamming. The building waking to violence beneath it.
Lila looked up at him. “We need to leave.”
“We will.” He cupped her cheek again. “Are you steady?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Boots thundered on the stairs. Lantern light spilled into the cellar, sharp and unforgiving.
Richard arrived first, coat askew, eyes already sweeping the room. Relief crossed his face when he saw Lila standing.
