Page 101 of Veil of Secrets

“Nico,” she says, voice low, almost a growl. “Don’t tease.”

I grin against her skin, kissing lower, slow, letting the tension build. “Patience,” I murmur, but I don’t make her wait long. My lips find her, gentle at first, then firmer, tasting her, feeling her tense and shudder. Her moans grow louder, hips moving against me, and I keep going, steady, until she’s gasping, fingers tangled in my hair, pulling hard.

She pushes up, rolling me onto my back, cape falling over us like a shield. Her hands brace on my chest, nails biting skin, and she kisses me, hard, tongue pushing against mine. I groan, hands gripping her hips, feeling her heat as she straddles me. She moves slow, teasing, brushing against me but not yet giving in. My pulse hammers, need sharp and heavy.

“You’re killing me,” I say, voice rough, hands tightening on her.

Her grin’s wicked. “Good.”

She leans down, kissing my jaw, then my neck, teeth scraping just enough to sting. Her hands roam my chest, fingers tracing scars, nails dragging lower, making me tense. I pull her closer, kissing her hard, one hand sliding to her back, pressing her against me. She shifts, guiding me, and I enter her slow, feeling her tighten around me, her breath catching.

The cot creaks as I move, deep and steady, watching her face—eyes half-closed, lips parted, moans spilling out. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in, and I pick up the pace, harder, feeling her match me, hips rising to meet each thrust. The heat’s intense, raw, building fast.

“Fuck, Elara,” I groan, shifting to sit up, pulling her onto my lap.

She wraps her legs around me, cape tangling between us, and moves with me, slow at first, then faster, setting the rhythm. I grip her hips, guiding but letting her lead, feeling her pulse around me. Her moans turn to gasps, loud, unrestrained, and I kiss her neck, teeth grazing, tasting her sweat.

She pushes me back, hands braced on my chest. She moves hard, relentless, hips grinding against me, and I thrust up, meeting her, feeling the edge closing in. Her breaths are sharp, body tensing, and I know she’s close. I slide a hand between us, fingers finding her, moving in rhythm, and she cries out, shuddering, nails raking my skin as she hits her peak.

I’m right behind her, thrusting deep, the heat overwhelming. I groan, low, gripping her tight as I finish, body shaking against hers.

We collapse together, breathing hard, her forehead against my chest, cape draped over us. My hands stay on her, fingers tracing her spine, feeling her pulse slow.

I kiss her, slow, tasting her heat. “Elara,” I say, voice low.

She grins, soft but sharp. “Hunter.”

The lantern flickers, casting shadows across her face. The blood on the floor’s still there, but it’s distant now. This—us—is what matters.

“We need to move,” she says, voice steady, sitting up.

“Yeah.” I pull her close one more time, lips grazing her shoulder. “But not yet.”

She nods, leaning into me. “One more minute.”

I hold her, feeling the weight of her trust, the heat of her skin. The world’s waiting upstairs—blood, blades, Marco. But down here, we’re choosing this.

We’re not running. Not hiding. We’re choosing this—blood, heat, and all.

Chapter 19 – Elara

The steel door slides shut behind us, sealing us into Marco's private hell. The vault feels smaller than I expected—tight, oppressive, walls of polished steel that catch the faint flicker of neon seeping through a cracked security window. Above, muted jazz music hums, a distant mockery of normalcy. Here, beneath the glitz, it’s cold, sterile, and tinged with the faint metallic taste of blood.

Nico stands close to my side, steady and tense. He scans the room with that quiet intensity I've come to rely on. There’s no hesitation in his posture. We’re here for one reason, and neither of us will leave until it's done.

Marco stands by the massive central safe, relaxed in a way that only someone certain of victory would dare. He's not alone. A single guard stands just to the side, weapon drawn and pointed lazily at the ground. Marco's pistol dangles loosely in his hand as he smiles at me, slow and greasy.

“Elara Ricci,” Marco greets, his voice thick with amusement, dragging out my name as if savoring the sound. “You really came. I was hoping you would.”

His tone drips with arrogance. I despise every syllable.

I let my gaze flicker from him to the guard, then back. My scar tingles—not with fear, but anticipation. My heart pounds hard and steady in my chest. Tonight, we’re ending this.

“Wouldn't want to disappoint you,” I reply coldly, stepping forward a single, deliberate pace. The guard raises his weapon slightly, uncertain. Marco waves him off with lazy confidence.

He chuckles softly, amused by my boldness. “This isn't like your stage, sweetheart. No spotlight. No audience. Just you, me, and this vault. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Nico moves subtly to my side, silently daring Marco to keep talking. Marco's gaze shifts briefly to him, then back to me, disdain curving his mouth.

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