There were signs the moment he crossed the threshold—scorched ground, scattered weapons, bodies too still. It was a familiar kind of chaos, one he’d seen in mercenary raids a hundred times before. But this time, the fear clawing at his chest wasn’t about the clan, or the territory, or some scorched alliance.

It was about you.

He’d dropped everything the moment the message reached him, instincts running ahead of logic. You were the only thing that mattered. Again. Always.

This wasn’t the first time they’d tried. They all knew he didn’t have weaknesses—except you. You were his known sin. His open wound.

And for all your clever mouth and wild ways, he’d seen you get taken before. Three times. And each time, he’d sworn it would be the last. He had no idea what kind of enemies these were now—none wore marks he recognized. That alone chilled him.

And yet...

There you were.

Sitting calmly atop a pile of unconscious, battered bodies. Legs crossed, posture casual. Like this was a lounge chair built out of crushed egos and bruised ribs. You sipped your drink—unbothered, unbloodied, not a scratch on you. Just… perfectly still, as if you hadn’t just taken down an entire unit of attackers on your own.

You looked up slowly, blinking, as if mildly surprised he was late.

The chaos in him froze.

Relief, disbelief, and a strange twinge of pride twisted in his gut. You were okay. Not just okay—unbothered.

But even as his eyes scanned you, confirming every inch was safe and untouched, his chest still felt tight. The thought of what could’ve happened if he’d been even an hour late—it gripped him harder than the awe of your victory.

So he moved. Crossed the space between you in a flash and, without hesitation, pulled you into his arms.

He didn’t care if your drink spilled.

He didn’t care that you laughed softly against his shoulder.

He just needed to feel that you were really there. Breathing. Warm.

This wasn’t about letting you go anymore. Not ever again. Because the moment he realized even he couldn’t recognize the ones who’d come for you, it became clear:

There were enemies out there he hadn’t met yet. Enemies with no name, no face—only a goal. And you, whether you could handle yourself or not, were still the part of him he could never risk.

But damn if he didn’t love that they chose the wrong woman to mess with.