Talon’s eyes narrowed as he crouched in the shadows, the familiar flicker of tension pooling in his gut. He had been stalking them for hours, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. Tonight would be different. Tonight, he would finally prove himself—finally best them in a way that would leave no room for doubt.

He could feel the weight of his anticipation, a steady thrum in his chest. The assassin ahead of him was always a step ahead, always twisting, dodging, making him look like the fool. But no more. Talon was the better killer.

With a predator’s grace, he slipped from his hiding place and moved like a wraith through the darkened streets, his body an extension of his blade. The time had come.

But the moment he reached for them, the world tilted.

A twist, a sharp motion—and suddenly, Talon found himself flat on his back, the air knocked from his lungs. For a moment, he could only stare up in stunned silence as the smirk of his rival hovered over him, their face alight with the brief, victorious joy of an assassin who had bested him again.

Before the sting of his pride could settle, they leaned forward, their lips brushing against his forehead. A soft touch that burned. It was the same every time. They knew how to push his buttons, to make him feel like a failure, a puppet on strings.

The wave of frustration surged through him, so fast, so consuming that he didn’t think before he reacted. His body surged forward, pinning them to the ground, his lips crashing against theirs with a force that was both furious and hungry. His kiss was rough, brutal—a savage claim, a desperate attempt to match the longing that clawed at his chest.

He hated them. He loved them. And as always, this was how their battles ended—tangled in one another, each kiss more of a war than the last.