Page 31 of Forged in Fire
Chapter 10
Riven
The woman weighs nothing. Dead weight in my arms, but her heat burns through my jacket like I’m carrying live coals. Copper hair spills over my forearm, silk threads catching on sweat-dampened skin. Each strand feels electric against my fingers when I shift my grip.
My cabin materializes from the darkness ahead. Windows black. Gravel grinding under boots. Off-grid. Secure. So hidden beneath the pines that satellites would see nothing but canopy.
Perfect for what I’ve done.
Dragon fire simmers under my skin. Has been since I touched her. Since those shadows of hers wrapped around me like they knew me. Like they were welcoming me home.
Fuck.
The key sticks—metal contracted in the cold. I work it with steady pressure until the lock gives. Inside smells like gun oil and dead ash from the hearth. Home sweet home.
I lower her onto the couch. Step back. Assess.
Chest rising, falling. Steady. Color good. Clean pressure point strike—no bruising around the delicate column of her throat. No trauma visible.
Professional work.
Unprofessional circumstances.
This is a fucking mess.
My hands shake as I activate the perimeter. Motion sensors. Thermal dampeners. Comms jammer. The routine should steady me. Instead, my heart rate is shooting through the roof.
Dragon-forged restraints wait in my equipment case. Materials designed to hold supernatural strength without cutting circulation. I’ve used them on targets before.
She wasn’t a target.
She was never supposed to be there.
The metal feels molten in my hands. Each lock mechanism clicks shut with finality that echoes in my bones. Her skin is fever-warm under my fingers. Soft. Oddly human, despite the fact that she clearly is not.
I step back, studying the restraints. Effective. Secure.
Completely fucked.
What the hell have I done?
My hands shake again. I clench them into fists, willing the tremor to stop. Professional assassins don’t get the shakes. Don’t kidnap civilians. Don’t abandon missions because of a pretty face and mysterious power.
Don’t feel their dragon fire surge every time they’re near someone.
I need order. Routine. Something to anchor me while my world goes mad.
I run through another security check, logging each step. Each task completed mechanically, muscle memory from a thousand operations.
It doesn’t help.
My pulse is still pounding. Fire still simmers under my skin like molten metal waiting to break free. Every breath tastes like adrenaline and electricity, like the aftermath of lightning strikes.
Like her.
Do something, Riven.
Anything… Anything except stand here like a fool, staring at her.
