A Deal with the Devil

Elena knew she should walk away. She had spent years perfecting the art of disappearing—changing names, switching cities, staying off the grid. But Damian Blackwell had just shattered the illusion of her safety with a single sentence.

He knew.

And that made him a threat.

Or worse… an opportunity.

She sat back down, slowly, carefully, as if taking a seat at the devil's table. "Let's say I believe you," she murmured, her voice controlled. "Let's say you're not hunting me. Then tell me, Damian—who are you hunting?"

Damian studied her, his piercing blue eyes unreadable. "A man who should be dead."

A sharp, involuntary chill ran through her.

She knew exactly who he was talking about.

"Then we have a problem," she said, masking the storm brewing inside her. "Because if he's still alive, Damian…" She leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.

"…he won't stop until one of us is dead."

Damian didn't flinch. If anything, something dark and knowing flickered behind his gaze. "Then I guess we're on the same side."

Elena let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "You don't want to be on my side, trust me."

Damian smirked. "Sweetheart, I don't think you understand. I don't have a choice."

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the air thick with something electric. Then, finally, Elena reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a small folded piece of paper. She slid it across the bar.

"This is where I last saw him," she said. "If he's back… we'll need to move fast."

Damian picked up the paper, glancing at the address before tucking it into his pocket. Then, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her skin.

"You and I," he murmured, "we're going to burn for this."

Elena's lips curled into the faintest of smiles.

"Then let's make it worth it."