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His brow arches. “I never thought about it that way. Maybe.” He clears his throat with intention. “I vowed when they split up, that when I found someone I loved”—his gaze flickers toward me—“I would be devoted. I’d never cheat on them.”

I wish I could process his words; instead, my eyes look at all the weapons on him. “It looks like you’re going off to war,” I reply.

His distaste for my response is shown in the way he stands tall with his legs spread wide, surveying me. “To love is to go to war, Rylan.” He says this with a sincerity I didn’t know he could possess.

His arms dangle at his sides, feigning ease. He’s a line of code, written to infiltrate and execute. I let him into my system, and he hacked me, burrowing so deep I’d have to rewrite myself to get him out. I’ve lost too much already. Now, survival means adapting to his presence, even if it means donning armor and watching him cut down our enemies.

“I will fight till my last breath for you.”

“I already told you I’m not worth dying for,” I whisper in pain.

The heat of his body invades me as he comes to stand toe to toe with me. “And I already told you,” His fingertips push my chin up. “I will show you why you are worthy of it. You’re a queen, Rylan, an heir to an empire, but you’re also my heart, and I’ll devote everything to keeping you beating, making you mine.”

“That’s not love, that’s obsession.”

Turning, I step out of his hold and go back to his bed. I hear him stalking me. Sitting down, I open the side table and pull out the frame he has tucked away. He stops just feet from me as if I have a gun pointed at his forehead. Flipping the frame over, I slide open the hinges and pull out the picture.

“What are you doing?”

“You said we had to leave. You can’t leave this behind,” I tell him. I reach down and open one of the many pockets on his military-style pants. I try to put it inside, but his hand grabs mine tightly.

“I want you to keep it.” He takes the photo from my hand, folds it in half, and pushes it inside my pocket.

“Why?”

“They live in my heart now, and since you stole it, only you can keep them safe.” He moves closer, wraps his arms around me, and kisses me so passionately that I forget what we were talking about. Soreness and confusion turn into desire.

He steps away and looks at me one more time. “How’s your ankle?”

I kick my leg out and roll it. “I can run if I have to,” I admit.

“Remember”—he grabs my hands, squeezing them firmly—“I will chase you. Always.” Our eyes clash. The severity of the moment presses down upon me, stealing all the air from my lungs.

He moves in, our hips nearly touching. I rise onto my toes, reaching for a kiss, but he retreats, cupping my face and gazing at me. He studies me, as if I’m a rare artifact just out of reach.

“I need you to know that I love you. I knew it the first time I saw you, and that’s why I did what I did, because I was terrified of it,” he confesses, in a sorrowful manner. “By the time I stopped fighting it, it was too late; everything was set in motion.”

“Did what? Stalked me?” I ask. Did he study me so he could know for sure?

My bones jump out of my skin when a car horn beeps.

Steffen hisses, closes his eyes, and drops his hands. “It’s time.” He grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers as he guides me out of the room. Each step he takes is slow. Measured. A sense of doom hangs over my head like a cloud. He’s not the dark, confident stalker. He’s changed, and I fear it has weakened us both.

“Do you regret it?” I ask, right before we reach the glass staircase. He turns back and looks at me, squeezing my hand. “Sleeping with me,” I clarify.

“I regret the circumstances in which we were forced to be. I could never regret falling in love with you.”

I want to ask him more, but the horn blares again. It must be Torben waiting for us.

“Let’s go before the enemy arrives,” I tell him as I take the next step.

His breath tickles my neck. He remains a single step behind me, yet still guides me to the front door. A soft breeze cools me, sweeping the tension from my shoulders. Outside, Torben stands next to a car, face stone cold.

Who honked the horn?

A second man stands by the SUV’s driver’s door, watching me with a twisted satisfaction. Despite his light features—pale skin and striking blonde hair—he casts a heavy shadow, as if an invisible cloak drapes over his broad shoulders, blocking out the light around us.

The knife strap bites into my ankle as I shrink back towards Steffen. His lips pull into a sardonic grin.