Chapter Nine.

Belladonna flipped the flimsy advertisement over, scanning for hidden instructions. Nothing. Just the same vague message—no details, no directions. Only a single cryptic line:

Head underground. Find Cormac Voss.

Great. That wasn't suspicious at all.

She had never heard of Nightfang before today. A struggling guild, most likely—desperate for members but still annoyingly secretive. If they really wanted recruits, they should've made it easier.

Suspicious… but I'll find this Cormac first.

So she went looking.

The entrance to the underground was buried deep in the city's back alleys, concealed beneath layers of filth and forgotten passageways. A place where the unwanted thrived—mercenaries, black-market dealers, and the kind of people you didn't make eye contact with unless you wanted to leave with fewer organs than you arrived with.

Belladonna moved fast, her steps quiet but purposeful. She didn't belong here. But she walked like she did. Confidence was half the battle in places like this.

She asked around for Cormac Voss, careful not to sound too eager. But all she got were cryptic smirks, half-hearted shrugs, and one or two outright laughs.

Either he was a ghost, or no one wanted to talk about him.

Her patience thinned. She exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath,

"How the hell am I supposed to find him?"

Belladonna looked at the advertisement over once more, and read again.

"Head underground. Find Cormac Voss."

Belladonna continued walking as, her hand rested near the dagger at her belt. She stopped by a vendor selling strange trinkets, tilting her head as she inquired, "Cormac Voss?"

The vendor's mouth twitched, almost amused. "Never heard of 'im."

Liar.

She moved to the next person, a broad-shouldered man sharpening a blade. "I'm looking for someone."

"Aren't we all?" he drawled, barely glancing up.

Belladonna exhaled sharply. "Cormac Voss."

His grip on the whetstone faltered for just a second before he resumed. "Try further in."

So he did exist.

She made her way deeper into the underground, weaving through the throngs of rough-looking men and women.

This place, called the Pit, was buried deep underground. She past corridors thick with smoke and the scent of sweat and blood. The roar of the crowd hit her first—a frenzy of voices cheering, cursing, betting. She pushed her way through, eyes scanning the ring where two fighters clashed in a brutal dance of fists and bone.

One man stood victorious.

Belladonna froze.

Scarlet hair, wild and untamed, stuck to his sweat-slicked forehead. His amber eyes burned like embers beneath thick lashes, his chest rising and falling from exertion. Muscles taut, wrapped in battle-worn leather and blood-stained armor. A living inferno. A walking war machine.

Raze.

Raziel "Raze" Ignis, The Crimson Tyrant. Wrath incarnate.

A ruthless underground fighter now, breaking bones for sport.

The weight of realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Ah, shit." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Her fingers clenched around the paper in her hand as Raze lifted his gaze, locking onto hers.

His expression flickered—recognition, amusement, something darker beneath the surface.

She exhaled sharply.

Isn't he one of the husbands given to me? Wait. Why is he here?

His golden eyes locked onto her, and something primal surged within him.

The adrenaline of combat hadn't drained from his body yet, and now it found a new target. Her.

She noticed.

The instant he took a step forward, she took one back. When he started running, she turned and bolted.

"BELLADONNA!" His deep voice cut through the noise, sharp with recognition.

Oh, hell no. Can't I catch a break!

"Oh, you're not getting away from me." Raze growled, his voice rough with exertion and something darker.

What followed was chaos.

She weaved through the crowded streets, dodging bystanders and leaping over obstacles with an agility that impressed even him. But Raze? He was relentless. Bodies parted as he tore through them like a beast unchained. His breath was ragged, but his focus never wavered.

"Raze, stop chasing me!" she shrieked over her shoulder, laughing between gasps.

"You stop running, and I'll stop chasing!" he shouted back, nearly catching the hem of her cloak.

She skidded around a corner, hoping to lose him, but she should have known better. He crashed into a fruit stand, sending apples flying, but didn't slow down. The vendor cursed, but Raze didn't hear a damn word. His world had shrunk down to her.

Just when she thought she had a lead, a pair of strong arms snatched her from behind.

A gasp ripped from her throat as she was yanked backward, her back colliding with the solid heat of his chest. His arms were unyielding, caging her in.

"Why are you running from me?" His breath was hot against her ear, his voice low and dangerous.

She panted, feeling the strength of his hold. "Because you're chasing me!"

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. "That's a terrible excuse."

The energy between them shifted. The chase had left her breathless, but now it was something else stealing her air. His scent—sweat, smoke, and something uniquely him—wrapped around her senses.

He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell too damn good," he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin.

Her body shivered involuntarily. "Raze…"

"Shh," he hushed, his voice raw. His fingers dug into her waist, pulling her tighter against him. His heat was intoxicating, and her body responded before her mind could protest.

Then came the bite.

His canines scraped along her skin before he sank them in—not to draw blood, but to mark.

A strangled gasp left her lips, her knees nearly buckling.

"Raze," she whispered, but it wasn't a protest.

He turned her in his arms, eyes burning with need. His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head up, his lips a breath away from hers. His other hand roamed, pressing, claiming.

Belladonna's breath hitched, her pulse pounding against the cage of her ribs. Raze's grip on her tightened, his golden eyes dark with something unreadable—possession, desire, something primal that sent a shiver down her spine.

But she wasn't some prize to be claimed.

With a sharp inhale, she wrenched her wrist free and shoved against his chest. He barely budged, a smirk curving his lips as if he expected the struggle, as if he liked it.

"Let go, Raze," she warned, voice steady despite the fire coiling in her belly.

His fingers trailed lower, skimming the small of her back. "Why would I do that?" His voice was all gravel and heat. "You ran. I caught you. That means you're mine now."

Belladonna's eyes narrowed. "Like hell I am."

In one swift motion, she stomped down hard on his foot and twisted free. He hissed in pain but barely flinched, already reaching for her again. She didn't give him the chance. Her hand shot to the dagger at her belt, the cold steel glinting between them.

Raze stopped. His eyes flicked to the blade pressed just under his chin, then back to hers. Instead of anger, amusement flickered across his face.

"You always did have a sharp bite, Belladonna." He exhaled, low and rumbling. "Fine. I'll stop chasing."

She didn't lower the blade. "And?"

"And…" His smirk deepened. "I'll give you a head start."

Damn him.

Belladonna stepped back warily, keeping the dagger raised as she melted into the shadows of the underground market. She wouldn't run. Not again.

But she needed to find Cormac Voss. And if Raze was here, then things were more dangerous than she thought.

She disappeared into the crowd, pulse still racing.

Behind her, Raze watched her go, licking the taste of her from his lips.

"Oh, Belladonna…" he murmured to himself, eyes burning.

"I'll catch you again soon."