Chapter 71: Love, Fear, and the Fire Between Us

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The door to their chamber slammed shut behind them, and for a moment, neither spoke. The room still smelled faintly of blood and broken glass. The curtains swayed from the broken window, the night air chilling the space between them.

Verbena stood near the bed, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her heart was still pounding, adrenaline refusing to let go. Theodore stood by the door, his back pressed against it, eyes closed for a long moment, as if trying to steady himself.

Then — he moved.

In three long strides, he was in front of her, cupping her face in his hands. His grip was firm, almost too tight, but Verbena didn't flinch. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, his forehead pressing against hers.

"You could have died," he whispered hoarsely. "Right in front of me."

"And so could you," she whispered back, her hands grabbing his wrists. "But we didn't."

Theodore's hands slid down to her shoulders, then her waist, pulling her flush against him. "I can't lose you," he said, voice raw. "I just realized… I can't."

Verbena's breath caught. This wasn't the cool, arrogant Duke of Hellgrave — this was Theodore, the man whose heart was stitched together with scars. A man who feared losing something precious after finally allowing himself to want it.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised, fingers tangling in his hair. "You'll have to fight off a whole army before anyone takes me from your side."

Theodore's lips crushed against hers, desperate and searching. There was no elegance to it, no restraint. Just fear and need tangled into one. Verbena kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between their bodies.

He backed her into the bedpost, lifting her slightly so her toes barely touched the ground. His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, then down her throat where her pulse raced. "You're mine," he whispered against her skin, each word leaving a burn hotter than the last.

"And you're mine," she answered breathlessly. "So stop acting like only you get to be terrified."

His laughter was low, dark, but real. "Terrified is an understatement."

Without warning, he lifted her and carried her to the bed, setting her down as if she were made of fragile glass — even though just hours ago, she had thrown a dagger like a seasoned assassin.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, breathless from both the kiss and the fight they had survived. "I'm not some delicate flower."

"No," he agreed, crawling over her. "You're a rose with thorns sharp enough to draw blood." His thumb traced the corner of her lips. "And I've never wanted anyone more."

Their clothes became obstacles — his coat hitting the floor, her dress unfastened with urgency. Yet, even in the heat, there was something tender. His lips moved slower now, tracing the faint scratch on her arm. She shivered, not from cold, but from the sheer intensity of his touch.

"Don't scare me like that again," he murmured against her skin.

"Then don't push me away when danger comes," she countered, her fingers tracing the ridges of muscle along his back. "I'm not just your wife, Theo. I'm your partner."

He kissed her again, softer this time, but no less hungry. "Partner," he echoed. "In everything."

That night, they made love like they were sealing a pact — bodies entwined, hearts laid bare, a storm of emotion crashing between them. It wasn't just passion; it was defiance against death itself. Every kiss was a promise: We survived. We fight together. We live.

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Later, long past midnight, Theodore lay awake, Verbena's head resting on his chest. His fingers traced absent patterns on her bare shoulder, but his mind was sharp. Someone had ordered her death — and that someone would pay. Blood for blood.

Verbena stirred beside him, as if sensing his thoughts. "We'll find them," she murmured sleepily. "Together."

Theodore's lips brushed her temple. "Together."

Outside their window, the shattered glass glimmered in the moonlight, but inside the room, the Duke and Duchess of Hellgrave had never been stronger.

To be continued.

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