Chains of Obsidian

The blindfold came off with a sharp tug, and Vesper Nightshade blinked against the sudden assault of light. Her wrists ached where zip ties cut into her skin, arms bound behind her to a straight-backed chair. The room slowly came into focus—all dark wood and masculine elegance, with floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a panorama of snow-capped mountains. "Welcome to my home, Ms. Nightshade." The voice was cultured silk over sharpened steel. Vesper's gaze snapped to the man standing before the windows, his back to her. Even from behind, Caspian Blackthorne commanded attention—broad shoulders tapering to lean hips, dark hair brushing the collar of his charcoal suit. "I prefer 'Agent Nightshade,'" she said, pleased her voice came out steady despite her racing heart. "Though I suppose formalities are rather pointless when you've drugged and kidnapped a federal operative." He turned then, and Vesper's breath caught. She'd seen surveillance photos, of course, but they hadn't captured the predatory grace of his movements or the unsettling intensity of his storm-gray eyes. At thirty-five, Caspian Blackthorne was devastating—all sharp cheekbones and cruel beauty. "Federal operative." He tested the words like wine on his tongue. "Is that what they're calling industrial spies these days?" "I'm not—" "Please." He held up one elegant hand. "Let's dispense with the lies. You've been tracking my operations for months. Rather sloppy work, I must say. Did you really think I wouldn't notice you at the Geneva auction?" Heat crept up Vesper's neck. She had been so careful, wearing the blonde wig and colored contacts, playing the bored trophy wife to perfection. But those gray eyes had found her across the crowded ballroom, holding her gaze for one electric moment before she'd fled. "What do you want?" she asked. Caspian moved closer, each step measured and deliberate. He stopped just out of reach, studying her with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. "Information, naturally. Who sent you? CIA? Interpol? Or perhaps one of my competitors hoping to steal trade secrets?" "Go to hell." His smile was a knife's edge. "Already there, darling. The question is whether you'll be joining me." Vesper tested her bonds again, calculating angles and distances. The room was on an upper floor—she'd counted four flights of stairs while being carried up, though the drugs had made everything hazy. Two exits visible: the door they'd entered through and French doors leading to what appeared to be a balcony. "You're wondering about escape routes," Caspian observed. "There are none. We're fifty miles from the nearest town, surrounded by wilderness and winter. Even if you could get past my security, you'd freeze to death before reaching civilization." "Then I suppose we're at an impasse." "Not quite." He circled behind her chair, and Vesper fought the urge to crane her neck to follow his movements. "You have information I want. I have... well, I have you. I'm certain we can come to an arrangement." His breath ghosted across her ear, and Vesper suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with cold. This close, she could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive that made her think of whiskey and smoke. "I won't tell you anything," she said. "We'll see." The words were a promise and a threat. Caspian moved back into her line of sight, shrugging out of his suit jacket with casual elegance. Beneath, a black dress shirt clung to a torso that spoke of careful conditioning. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle. "Are you going to torture me?" Vesper asked, proud of how bored she sounded. "Torture?" He seemed genuinely amused. "How pedestrian. No, Ms. Nightshade. I have far more sophisticated methods of persuasion." He crouched before her, bringing them to eye level. This close, she could see flecks of silver in his gray eyes, the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow. His hand came up, and Vesper braced for a blow that never came. Instead, his fingers ghosted along her jaw, the touch so light it might have been imagined. "Tell me who sent you," he murmured, thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. "Make this easy on both of us." Vesper's pulse thundered in her ears. She knew she should bite him, should spit in his perfect face. Instead, she found herself leaning into his touch, drawn by some magnetic pull she couldn't name. "No," she whispered. Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or respect. His hand dropped away, leaving her skin cold in its absence. "Very well." He stood, moving to a cabinet against the far wall. "We'll do this the hard way." Vesper tensed, but he merely withdrew a knife—slender and wickedly sharp. Her heart hammered as he approached, but he moved behind her again. The blade whispered through the air, and suddenly her arms were free, zip ties clattering to the floor. "What are you doing?" she asked, rubbing feeling back into her wrists. "Civilized people don't dine in restraints." He gestured to a door she hadn't noticed before. "You'll find clothing in the adjoining suite. Dinner is at eight. Don't be late." "And if I refuse?" His smile was all predator. "Then you'll go hungry. I understand the human body can survive three weeks without food. Shall we test it?" Vesper stood slowly, muscles protesting after hours of immobility. She was still wearing the black cocktail dress from Geneva, now wrinkled and torn at the hem. Her feet were bare, shoes lost somewhere in the struggle. "This is insane," she said. "You can't just keep me here." "Can't I?" He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "You came into my world uninvited, Ms. Nightshade. Now you'll play by my rules. Dinner at eight. Wear the red." The door closed behind him with a soft click. Vesper heard the unmistakable sound of a lock engaging and swore under her breath. She was trapped in the lair of one of the world's most dangerous men, with no backup and no extraction plan. So why did her traitorous body burn everywhere he'd touched her? * * * The suite Caspian had mentioned was luxury incarnate—all cream silk and soft lighting, with a bathroom larger than her entire apartment back in D.C. Vesper found the closet he'd indicated, filled with designer gowns in her exact size. The sight sent a chill down her spine. How long had he been watching her? Planning this? The red dress was exquisite—a creation of silk and sin that clung to every curve before falling in a dramatic sweep to the floor. The neckline plunged dangerously low, held in place by delicate chains of gold that wrapped around her throat like a collar. Vesper stared at herself in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman looking back. With her raven hair tumbling loose around her shoulders and her green eyes bright with anger and something else, she looked like a goddess of war. Or a very expensive captive. A knock came at precisely eight o'clock. Vesper briefly considered barricading herself in the bathroom, but hunger won out. She'd been unconscious for God knew how long, and her body needed fuel if she was going to escape. A stone-faced guard escorted her through corridors lined with priceless art. The fortress—for that's what it was, despite its luxury—was a maze of stairs and hallways. Vesper memorized every turn, every window, every potential weapon. The dining room took her breath away. A table set for two dominated the space, crystal and silver gleaming in the light of a dozen candles. Beyond the windows, stars emerged in the darkening sky, the mountains black shadows against purple twilight. Caspian stood by the windows, wearing a fresh black suit that emphasized his lean power. He turned at her entrance, and his eyes darkened as they swept over her. "Stunning," he said simply. "Though I suspect you'd look exquisite in anything. Or nothing." Heat flooded Vesper's cheeks. "Is this your standard approach? Kidnap women and dress them up like dolls?" "Only the interesting ones." He pulled out her chair with old-world courtesy. "Sit. You must be famished." She was, but she'd be damned if she'd admit it. Still, when the first course arrived—some sort of delicate soup that tasted like heaven—she couldn't suppress a small sound of pleasure. "My chef trained at Le Bernardin," Caspian said, watching her with those unsettling eyes. "I believe in surrounding myself with excellence." "Is that what this is about? Collecting beautiful things?" "Perhaps." He sipped his wine, considering. "You are rather collectible. Intelligence operative with a doctorate in biochemistry, speaks seven languages, expert in three forms of martial arts. Though your file didn't mention how you look in red." "You have a file on me?" "I have a file on everyone who interests me. Yours has been particularly... enlightening." Vesper set down her spoon carefully. "Then you know I won't break. Whatever you're planning, it won't work." "Break?" He laughed, a rich sound that did uncomfortable things to her insides. "My dear Vesper—may I call you Vesper?—I have no intention of breaking you. That would be like smashing a Stradivarius. Such a waste." "Then what do you want?" He leaned back in his chair, predator at rest. "Many things. World peace. A reliable supplier for weapons-grade plutonium. You in my bed, crying out my name." Vesper's wine glass slipped, merlot splashing across the pristine tablecloth like blood. "Excuse me?" "You asked what I wanted." His smile was wicked. "I'm simply being honest. Though I'd settle for starting with your handler's name." "Go to—" "Hell, yes, we've established that." He signaled the server, who appeared to clear the first course. "Tell me, what did they promise you? Money? Advancement? Or did they simply appeal to your overdeveloped sense of justice?" "Some of us actually believe in making the world a better place." "How noble. And how's that working out for you?" He gestured to their surroundings. "Captured by the evil arms dealer, held prisoner in his mountain fortress. I believe this is the part where you should be declaring you'd rather die than surrender." "Would you kill me?" The question hung between them like a blade. Caspian studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "No," he said finally. "Death is permanent. I prefer games with higher stakes." "What stakes could be higher than life and death?" His eyes held hers, dark with promise. "The kind where you might actually want to stay." The main course arrived before Vesper could respond—seared duck with some sort of berry reduction that melted on her tongue. They ate in charged silence, the air between them electric with tension. Every time Caspian's fingers brushed hers reaching for the salt, every casual touch as he refilled her wine glass, sent sparks racing along her nerve endings. This was insane. He was the enemy, a criminal whose weapons had destabilized entire regions. She'd spent two years tracking his operations, documenting his crimes. She should be planning his downfall, not wondering what those elegant hands would feel like on her skin. "You're thinking very loudly," he observed. "Let me guess—reminding yourself that I'm the villain in this story?" "Aren't you?" "That depends entirely on your perspective." He traced the rim of his wine glass, and Vesper found herself mesmerized by the movement. "To my clients, I'm a valuable business partner. To my employees, a generous employer. To you... well, that remains to be seen." "To me, you're a kidnapper and arms dealer." "Such ugly words. I prefer 'aggressive negotiator' and 'military logistics specialist.'" Despite herself, Vesper felt her lips twitch. "Is that what you tell yourself?" "I tell myself many things." His voice dropped, velvet and dark. "Lately, most of them involve you." "How long have you been watching me?" "Since Prague." At her sharp intake of breath, he smiled. "You wore blue that night. Sapphire, to match your cover identity as a Swiss banker's wife. You were... luminous." Prague had been six months ago. Six months of him watching, waiting, planning. The thought should terrify her. Instead, a traitorous heat coiled low in her belly. "Why wait so long?" "I wanted to see what you'd do. How close you'd come." His eyes glittered in the candlelight. "You're very good, you know. If I hadn't been specifically looking for surveillance, I might have missed you." "But you didn't." "No. I saw you in Geneva. In Moscow. In that charming café in Vienna where you thought you were being so clever with your disguises." He leaned forward, voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "Did you know you have a tell? When you're nervous, you tap your right ring finger against your thumb. You're doing it now." Vesper froze, realizing he was right. She flattened her hand against the table, furious at herself. "Observant," she said tightly. "I make it my business to be. Especially when it comes to beautiful women trying to destroy me." "I wasn't trying to destroy you. Just... document your activities." "For what purpose, if not my downfall?" He stood, moving around the table with that predatory grace. "Come. Let's continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable." "I'm fine here." "That wasn't a request." The steel in his voice reminded her exactly who she was dealing with. Vesper stood, chin lifted in defiance. Caspian's hand settled at the small of her back, the heat of his palm burning through silk as he guided her from the dining room. They ended up in what could only be his study—all dark leather and aged whiskey, bookshelves climbing to a coffered ceiling. A fire crackled in a massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls. "Cognac?" he offered, already pouring two glasses. "Trying to get me drunk?" "Simply being a good host." He handed her a glass, fingers brushing hers. "Besides, you'd be amazed what people reveal when their inhibitions are lowered." "In vino veritas?" "Something like that." He settled into a leather chair, gesturing for her to take the one across from him. "Tell me about yourself, Vesper Nightshade. The real woman, not the file." "Why would I do that?" "Because despite your current circumstances, you're curious about me too." His eyes held hers, seeing too much. "You could have tried to run a dozen times tonight. Could have attacked me with any number of improvised weapons. Instead, you put on the dress I chose and joined me for dinner." "Maybe I was hungry." "Maybe." He sipped his cognac, considering. "Or maybe you're as intrigued by this game as I am." "This isn't a game. You're holding me prisoner." "Am I?" He gestured to the door. "It's unlocked. You're free to return to your room whenever you wish." Vesper stared at him. "And go where? You said yourself we're fifty miles from anywhere." "True. But that's not why you're still sitting here." She should leave. Should walk out that door and find a way to signal her handlers. Instead, she found herself sinking deeper into the butter-soft leather, cognac warming her from the inside out. "What do you want from me?" she asked again, hating how small her voice sounded. "Everything." The word hung between them, heavy with promise. "But I'll settle for starting with the truth. Why were you really following me?" "You know why. You're an international arms dealer. It's my job to—" "Lies." He was suddenly in front of her, having moved with that uncanny silence. His hands braced on either arm of her chair, caging her in. "Your pulse jumps when you lie. Right here." His finger traced the hollow of her throat, where her pulse indeed hammered against her skin. "Try again." "Don't touch me." But the words came out breathless, unconvincing. "Make me stop." His hand slid higher, fingers tangling in her hair. "One word, and I'll never touch you again. Say it." Vesper opened her mouth, but the word wouldn't come. She should be fighting, should be using any of a dozen moves to break his hold. Instead, she sat frozen, caught in the snare of his gray eyes. "Interesting," he murmured. "The fearless agent has a weakness after all." "I'm not weak." "No." His thumb traced her cheekbone with surprising gentleness. "You're magnificent. Which is why this is going to be so much fun." Before she could ask what he meant, his mouth was on hers. The kiss was nothing like Vesper expected—no brutal claiming, no punishing force. Instead, Caspian kissed her with devastating skill, all controlled heat and dark promise. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, requesting rather than demanding, and she found herself opening for him with a soft gasp. He tasted like cognac and danger, like every bad decision she'd ever wanted to make. One hand remained tangled in her hair while the other traced the exposed line of her throat, finding sensitive spots she didn't know existed. When he nipped at her lower lip, she made a sound that might have been a whimper. "There you are," he murmured against her mouth. "The real Vesper, not the agent. I've been waiting to meet her." The words were like cold water. Vesper shoved at his chest, and he stepped back immediately, putting space between them. They stared at each other, both breathing hard. "That was—" She stopped, not sure what to say. Inappropriate? Unexpected? The best kiss of her life? "A beginning." He returned to his chair as if nothing had happened, though she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped his glass. "Tell me, Vesper. When was the last time you did something simply because you wanted to?" "I don't—" "Answer the question." She thought about it, really thought about it. When had she last made a choice that wasn't about the job, the mission, the greater good? When had she last just... wanted? "I can't remember," she admitted quietly. Something shifted in his expression, a flash of what might have been understanding. "I thought as much. We're more alike than you think, you and I. Both of us trapped by the roles we play." "You chose your role. No one forced you to sell weapons to warlords." "Didn't they?" His smile was bitter. "We all have our origin stories, darling. Our reasons for becoming monsters." "You're not a monster." The words slipped out before she could stop them. Caspian went very still, studying her with those penetrating eyes. "Careful," he said softly. "You almost sound like you care." "I don't—" But the denial died on her lips. Because the truth was, she did care. Had cared since Prague, when she'd watched him through her scope as he stood on that balcony, looking so utterly alone despite the party raging behind him. "This is insane," she said instead. "The best things usually are." He finished his cognac in one swallow. "It's late. Marcus will escort you back to your room." "That's it? You're just... letting me go?" "For tonight." He stood, moving to the door. "But make no mistake, Vesper. You're mine now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be." "I'm not yours. I'm not anyone's." He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "We'll see about that." After he left, Vesper sat in the dying firelight, fingers pressed to her still-tingling lips. She was in so much trouble. Not because Caspian Blackthorne had kidnapped her. But because part of her didn't want to leave. * * * The next three days fell into a strange routine. Vesper woke in her luxurious prison to find breakfast waiting on the balcony, the mountain air crisp and clean. She ate alone, watching eagles circle the peaks, planning escapes she didn't attempt. Caspian gave her free run of the fortress during the day. She explored the library, the art gallery, the stunning indoor pool that seemed to stretch into the sky itself. Guards shadowed her movements but never interfered. It was like being a guest in the world's most exclusive hotel, if one ignored the fact that she couldn't leave. They dined together each evening, verbal sparring matches over courses of impossible beauty. Caspian revealed himself in fragments—a reference to a childhood in Eastern Europe, a mention of a brother who'd died young, hints of the events that had shaped him into what he was. He didn't touch her again, though his eyes followed her with an intensity that made her skin burn. The memory of that kiss haunted her dreams, leaving her restless and aching for something she couldn't name. On the fourth morning, Vesper found Caspian in the gym, working through a brutal routine on the heavy bag. He moved like a dancer, all controlled violence and deadly grace. Sweat gleamed on his bare chest, highlighting the scars that told their own story—bullet wounds, knife marks, a history of violence written on his skin. "Enjoying the view?" he asked without turning around. "Just observing the enemy's capabilities." He laughed, a rich sound that did things to her insides. "By all means, observe away." She should leave. Should definitely not be noticing the way his muscles rippled with each strike, the V of his hips disappearing into low-slung workout pants. Instead, she found herself moving to the equipment rack. "Spar with me," she said impulsively. He turned then, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?" "Unless you're afraid I'll hurt you." His smile was slow and dangerous. "You're welcome to try." They moved to the mats, circling each other with the wariness of predators. Vesper struck first, testing his defenses with a quick jab that he deflected easily. They exchanged blows, dancing around each other, learning each other's rhythms. He was good. Better than good. But Vesper had trained with the best, and she used every trick she knew, every feint and misdirection. When she finally swept his legs and sent him to the mat, triumph flared hot in her chest. It lasted approximately two seconds. Caspian's hand snaked out, catching her ankle and yanking her down. The world spun, and suddenly she was pinned beneath him, his weight pressing her into the mat. Both her wrists were caught in one of his hands, stretched above her head. "First rule of victory," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Make sure your opponent is actually defeated." Vesper's heart hammered against her ribs. Every inch of her was aware of every inch of him, the heat of his skin, the controlled strength in his grip. She should be fighting, but her body had other ideas, arching slightly beneath him. His eyes darkened. "Vesper..." "Let me go." "Is that what you want?" God help her, it wasn't. But she nodded anyway, and he released her immediately, rolling to his feet in one fluid motion. He offered her a hand up, which she ignored, standing on her own despite her shaking legs. "You fight well," he said. "You fight dirty." "I fight to win." He grabbed a towel, scrubbing it over his face. "There's a difference between sparring and surviving, darling. Out there, no one follows rules." "Speaking from experience?" His smile was sharp as a blade. "Always." They stood there, tension crackling between them like a live wire. Vesper knew she should leave, should retreat to the safety of her room. Instead, she heard herself asking, "Who taught you to fight like that?" Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps. "My father. Before he decided I was more useful as a bargaining chip than a son." "What happened to him?" "What happens to all monsters eventually." His voice was flat. "Someone worse came along." "You?" "Me." He turned away, but not before she caught the flash of old pain in his eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Vesper. I have business to attend to." He was gone before she could respond, leaving her alone with the echo of their bodies on the mat and questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered. * * * That night, Vesper couldn't concentrate on dinner. Caspian seemed different—quieter, the sharp edges of his humor dulled. He drank more than usual, his movements lacking their usual predatory grace. "You're thinking about him," she said quietly. "Your father." His hand stilled on his wine glass. "Mind reading is a dangerous hobby." "You said someone worse came along. You meant yourself." "Did I?" He smiled without humor. "How melodramatic of me. Too much wine, perhaps." "What did he do to you?" For a long moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then he leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on something beyond the windows. "Viktor Blackthorne believed in forging weapons. Not just selling them—creating them. He started with metal and gunpowder. Then he discovered children were more... malleable." Vesper's stomach turned to ice. "Caspian..." "I was seven when he started my training. By ten, I could strip and reassemble twelve different firearms blindfolded. By thirteen, I'd killed my first mark. By sixteen..." He trailed off, lost in memories she couldn't see. "You were a child." "I was a weapon." His eyes found hers, empty as winter. "One that eventually turned on its maker." "Is that why you do this? Sell arms? Some kind of twisted legacy?" "Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply discovered I was good at it." He poured another glass, the bottle nearly empty now. "We are what we're made to be, Vesper. Surely you understand that." She did. God help her, she did. "My handler would say you're trying to manipulate me. Make me sympathetic." "Your handler sounds tedious." He stood abruptly, swaying slightly. "Come. I want to show you something." Against her better judgment, she followed him through corridors she hadn't seen before, up a narrow staircase that spiraled into darkness. Finally, they emerged onto the roof, the night sky explosive with stars. "Beautiful," she breathed. "I come here when I need to remember there's more than the game." He moved to the edge, no barrier between him and the drop. "Tell me, agent. Do you ever wonder what it would be like? To just... let go?" Fear spiked through her. "Caspian, step back." "Concerned for my welfare? How touching." But he did step back, turning to face her. "Don't worry, darling. I'm far too curious about how our story ends to check out early." "What story? This isn't—" "A romance?" He moved closer, backing her against the wall. "No, probably not. Too dark for that. Too twisted." His hand came up, fingers ghosting along her jaw. "But God, the chapters we could write." "You're drunk." "In vino veritas, remember?" His thumb traced her lower lip, and she fought the urge to taste him. "Tell me you don't feel it. This thing between us." "It's just chemistry. Proximity. Stockholm syndrome." "Is that what they're calling it these days?" He leaned in, his lips a breath from hers. "When you lie awake at night, aching for my touch, is that Stockholm syndrome too?" Heat flooded her face. "I don't—" "Liar." The word was a caress. "I know because I do the same. Lie there imagining all the ways I could make you come undone. Wondering what sounds you'd make. Whether you'd fight me or surrender." "Caspian..." "Tell me to stop." His mouth brushed her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "One word, and I'll never mention it again. We'll play our roles—captor and captive, villain and hero. But we'll both know we're lying." Vesper's hands fisted in his shirt, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Every rational thought screamed danger, but her body had declared mutiny, melting against him like wax to flame. "I can't," she whispered. "Can't what? Can't tell me to stop, or can't admit you want this?" "Both. Neither." She laughed, slightly hysterical. "God, what are you doing to me?" "Hopefully, the same thing you're doing to me." He pulled back enough to meet her eyes, and the raw hunger there stole her breath. "Driving me slowly insane with wanting you." This time when he kissed her, there was nothing gentle about it. It was desperation and demand, three days of tension exploding like a powder keg. Vesper gave as good as she got, nipping at his lower lip, nails raking down his chest. He groaned, pinning her more firmly against the wall. One hand tangled in her hair while the other found the slit in her dress, fingers tracing fire up her thigh. When he reached the edge of her underwear, they both froze. "Tell me to stop," he said again, but this time it sounded like a plea. "No." She arched against him, decision made. "Don't stop." With a growl, he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. The kiss turned savage, all pretense of control abandoned. She could taste the wine on his tongue, feel the hammering of his heart against her chest. "Not here," he said against her mouth. "You deserve better than a roof." "I don't care—" But he was already carrying her back inside, down stairs and through hallways, never breaking the kiss. When he finally set her down, they were in what could only be his bedroom—all dark masculinity and expensive comfort. "Last chance," he said, eyes searching hers. Instead of answering, Vesper reached for the zipper of her dress. It whispered down, the fabric pooling at her feet. She stood before him in only black lace and defiance, chin lifted despite her racing heart. "Beautiful," he breathed. "So fucking beautiful it hurts." Then his hands were on her, and coherent thought became impossible. He touched her like she was something precious and breakable, even as his mouth told a different story—hot and demanding against her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. When he dropped to his knees before her, Vesper's legs nearly gave out. "What are you—" "Worship," he said simply, and proceeded to show her exactly what he meant. His mouth was sin incarnate, doing things that should be illegal in several countries. Vesper's hands fisted in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away as pleasure built like a storm in her veins. When she finally shattered, it was with his name on her lips and stars behind her eyes. He caught her as she collapsed, carrying her to the bed with a gentleness that made her chest ache. The sheets were cool against her overheated skin, but then he was covering her with his body, and temperature ceased to matter. "Still want to leave?" he asked, voice rough. "Shut up and kiss me." He laughed against her mouth. "As my lady commands." What followed was a masterclass in seduction. Caspian played her body like an instrument, finding every sensitive spot, every secret that made her gasp and arch beneath him. By the time he finally slid inside her, Vesper was half-mad with need, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. "Mine," he growled against her throat. "Say it." "No." But her body betrayed her, clenching around him, trying to hold him deeper. "Stubborn." He withdrew almost completely, making her whimper. "Say it, Vesper." "You first." His eyes flashed with something that might have been admiration. "Yours," he said without hesitation. "From the moment I saw you in Prague. Now you." She shouldn't. It was just sex, just the heat of the moment. But looking into his eyes, seeing the raw honesty there, the walls she'd built so carefully crumbled. "Yours," she whispered. His control snapped. The civilized man vanished, leaving only the predator as he claimed her with a possession that bordered on violent. Vesper met him stroke for stroke, their bodies writing a story of need and surrender and something that might have been salvation. When they finally collapsed, sweat-slicked and gasping, neither spoke. Caspian pulled her against his chest, and Vesper let him, too exhausted to maintain her defenses. She'd deal with the consequences tomorrow. Tonight, she just wanted to pretend this was real. * * * Vesper woke to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and an empty bed. For a moment, she wondered if she'd dreamed it all—the rooftop confession, the devastating passion, the way Caspian had taken her apart piece by piece and put her back together different. Then she moved, and her body provided all the evidence she needed. She ached in places she'd forgotten could ache, marked by his mouth, his hands, his possession. The sheets smelled like expensive cologne and sex. "Regrets already?" She turned to find him in the doorway, wearing only low-slung pajama pants and carrying a tray. His hair was disheveled, making him look younger, almost vulnerable. "Should I have them?" she asked carefully. "That depends." He set the tray on the nightstand—coffee, pastries, fresh fruit. "On whether last night changes anything." Vesper sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest. In the harsh light of morning, the reality of what she'd done crashed over her. She'd slept with her target. The man she'd been sent to investigate, possibly arrest. Her career, her integrity, everything she'd worked for—all compromised by one night of weakness. "I can hear you thinking," Caspian said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Let me guess—duty, honor, the mission?" "You're still a criminal." "And you're still a federal agent." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yet here we are." "This was a mistake." "Was it?" His hand dropped, and she immediately missed the contact. "Tell me, Vesper. When you go back to your handlers, will you tell them about this? About us?" The thought made her stomach turn. "There is no us." "No?" He stood, moving to the windows. "Then what would you call it? A momentary lapse in judgment? Scratch an itch and move on?" "I don't know what to call it." "I do." He turned back to her, eyes hard. "I call it inevitable. We've been circling each other for months, playing this game. Did you really think it would end any other way?" "It has to end." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "You know that. Whatever this is, it can't continue. You're going to let me go, and I'm going to report back to my superiors, and we're going to go back to being enemies." "Are we?" He moved with that predatory grace, stopping just out of reach. "Tell me, agent. When you report back, will you tell them about the shipment to Kozlov next week? The meeting in Zurich? All those useful details you could have gathered if you'd been playing me instead of—what was it? Oh yes, screaming my name." Heat flooded her face. "Don't." "Don't what? Point out the obvious? You're compromised, darling. Have been since Prague." He smiled, sharp as a blade. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?" "My job." "Your job." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Tell me, what has your job given you besides loneliness and scars? When was the last time you felt alive before last night?" "That's not—" "Fair? No, probably not." He returned to the bed, framing her face with his hands. "But then, I've never played fair. I want you, Vesper. Not for a night, not for a week. I want to watch you come undone in my bed every night and wake up to you every morning. I want to show you the world through my eyes, corrupt you in all the best ways." "Caspian..." "I want you to stop being the woman they made you and start being the woman you are." His thumb traced her lower lip. "The one who kissed me like she was drowning. Who fought me like she was on fire. Who came apart in my arms like she was finally home." Tears burned her eyes. "You don't understand. I have obligations, people counting on me—" "To what? Arrest me? Destroy my operation?" His hands dropped. "Go ahead. I'll give you everything you need. Account numbers, meeting schedules, supplier lists. Enough to end me completely." She stared at him. "What?" "You heard me." He stood, retrieving a tablet from his dresser. A few swipes and he handed it to her. "Everything. Every crime, every deal, every secret. My entire empire in digital form." Vesper looked at the screen, mind reeling. It was all there—more than she'd ever hoped to gather, enough to put him away for life. Her hands shook as she scrolled through file after file. "Why?" she whispered. "Because I'm tired." He sat heavily in the chair by the window. "Tired of the game, the violence, the emptiness. Tired of being the monster my father made." "So you're just... giving up?" "No." His eyes found hers, blazing with intensity. "I'm offering you a choice. Take that information and leave. Do your job, save the world, be the hero. Or..." "Or?" "Stay." The word hung between them like a challenge. "Help me dismantle it from the inside. Use that brilliant mind of yours to help me transform an empire of death into something else. Something better." "You're serious." "Deadly." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I have more money than God, connections in every major government, and absolutely no moral qualms about using both. Imagine what we could do together. The intelligence you could gather, the operations we could shut down, the lives we could save." "By working with a criminal." "By working with someone who knows how criminals think." He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Think about it. How many times has bureaucracy tied your hands? How many bad guys walked because of jurisdiction or diplomatic immunity? With me, those rules don't apply." Vesper's mind raced. It was insane. Completely unethical. It went against everything she'd been trained to believe. It was also brilliant. "My handlers would never approve." "Then don't tell them." He shrugged. "Feed them enough to keep them happy. Small fish while we go after the sharks." "And what do you get out of it?" His smile turned wicked. "You. In my bed, at my side, as my partner in all things. I told you, Vesper. I'm a selfish creature. I want it all." "This is crazy." "The best things usually are." He stood, moving to the door. "Take your time. Think about it. The tablet is yours either way—consider it a gesture of good faith." "Caspian." He paused at her voice. "What if I say no? What if I take this information and leave?" He looked back over his shoulder, and the vulnerability in his eyes stole her breath. "Then you'll destroy the only man who's ever truly seen you. But at least you'll have done your duty." The door closed behind him with a soft click. Vesper stared at the tablet in her hands, the weight of choice crushing. Everything she'd worked for was right here—the culmination of her mission, the vindication of her methods. So why did victory taste like ashes? * * * Three hours later, Vesper found Caspian in his study, staring out at the mountains. He didn't turn when she entered, but she saw the tension in his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on his whiskey glass. "I have conditions," she said. He turned slowly, hope and wariness warring in his eyes. "I'm listening." "No more weapons to active conflict zones. No deals with terrorists or cartels. We focus on information brokering, cyber intelligence, things that don't directly result in death." "Done." "I report to my handlers on my schedule, not yours. They can't know about this arrangement." "Agreed." "And we do this as equals. No more captor and captive. I'm not your possession or your kept woman. I'm your partner, or I'm nothing." "You were never my captive, Vesper." He set down his glass, moving closer. "The doors were unlocked after that first night. My men had orders to let you leave if you tried. You stayed because you wanted to." She stared at him. "What?" "I needed to know." His hand came up, hovering near her cheek without quite touching. "If you stayed, it had to be your choice. Always your choice." "You manipulative bastard." "Yes." He smiled, and it was real, transforming his face. "But I'm your manipulative bastard now, apparently." "This is probably the worst decision I've ever made." "Probably." His hand finally made contact, cupping her face with infinite gentleness. "But I promise you won't regret it." "Bold words." "I'm a bold man." He pulled her closer, until their bodies aligned. "Now, shall we discuss the terms of our merger? I believe celebrations are traditional." "Is that what we're calling it?" "Among other things." His mouth found her throat, making her shiver. "Partner." The word sent heat spiraling through her. Against all logic, all training, all sense, she was doing this. Throwing her lot in with the devil himself. "Caspian?" "Mmm?" He was doing distracting things with his tongue. "If you betray me, I'll kill you." He pulled back, eyes bright with amusement and arousal. "Likewise, darling. Likewise." Then his mouth was on hers, and conversation became unnecessary. They christened their new alliance against his desk, then the couch, then the shower when they attempted to clean up. By the time they finally collapsed in his bed, the sun was setting again, painting the mountains in shades of gold and crimson. "No regrets?" he asked, tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. Vesper considered the question seriously. She'd crossed a line today, one she could never uncross. Her old life, her old certainties, were gone. In their place was this—complicated and dangerous and thrilling in ways she'd never imagined. "No," she said finally. "No regrets." "Good." He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Because I have plans for us, Vesper Nightshade. Grand, terrible, beautiful plans." "Should I be worried?" "Probably." She felt him smile against her skin. "But where's the fun in safe?" Where indeed, Vesper thought, letting her eyes drift closed. She'd walked into the monster's lair and emerged not as his victim, but as his queen. Her handlers would be horrified. Her conscience should be screaming. Instead, all she felt was free. * * * EPILOGUE - SIX MONTHS LATER The gala in Monaco was in full swing, champagne flowing like water and diamonds glittering like stars. Vesper moved through the crowd with practiced ease, the emerald green dress Caspian had chosen for her drawing appreciative glances. "Kozlov is in the corner," she murmured into her champagne flute, knowing the subcutaneous transmitter would pick up her words. "Three bodyguards, possibly a fourth by the bar." "I see him," Caspian's voice purred in her earpiece. "He looks nervous. Good." She smiled, playing the part of the bored socialite to perfection. In the six months since their arrangement began, they'd systematically dismantled three trafficking rings, exposed a corrupt intelligence official, and redirected Caspian's empire into something that, while not entirely legal, at least didn't actively contribute to global instability. Her handlers were thrilled with the intelligence she provided, never suspecting its source. Caspian's competitors were nervous about his sudden shift in business practices. And Vesper... Vesper had never been happier. "Target approaching your position," Caspian warned. "Remember, he has a weakness for beautiful women and expensive art." "I remember." She turned, letting Kozlov "accidentally" bump into her. "Oh! Excuse me." "No, no, is my fault," the arms dealer said in heavily accented English, his eyes lighting up as he took her in. "Please, let me buy you drink to apologize." "That's very kind, Mr...?" "Kozlov. Dimitri Kozlov." He signaled the bartender. "And you are?" "Vivienne Thorne." The alias rolled off her tongue easily. "I don't believe we've met, though I've heard so much about your collection. Early Renaissance, isn't it?" His eyes sharpened with interest. "You know art?" "I dabble." She accepted the champagne he offered, letting their fingers brush. "Though I confess a weakness for the darker pieces. Caravaggio's violence, Goya's madness. Beauty born from brutality." "A woman after my own heart." Kozlov moved closer, predictable as clockwork. "I have piece you would love. Private collection. Perhaps you would like to see?" "Five guards outside his suite," Caspian murmured in her ear. "Two inside. The painting he wants to show you hides a wall safe. Combination is his mother's birthday—I'll walk you through it." "I'd be delighted," Vesper told Kozlov, letting him take her arm. Twenty minutes later, she stood in Kozlov's suite, admiring a genuinely stunning Caravaggio while the man droned on about its provenance. Her fingers danced over the frame, finding the hidden latch Caspian had described. "It's beautiful," she said. "Though I prefer the Judith. There's something about a woman with a sword, don't you think?" She turned to find Kozlov frozen, staring at the small pistol in her hand. "What is this?" he demanded. "Business, I'm afraid." She kept the gun steady, though she had no intention of using it. "Sit down, Mr. Kozlov. We need to discuss your recent dealings with certain individuals my employer finds... problematic." "Your employer?" "Now, darling." Caspian's timing was, as always, impeccable. The suite door opened, and he strolled in like he owned the place—which, knowing him, he might. The guards were nowhere to be seen, though Vesper suspected they were enjoying an unplanned nap. "Blackthorne," Kozlov spat. "I should have known. This is your whore?" The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Caspian smiled, and it was all predator. "I'd be very careful about the next words out of your mouth," he said pleasantly. "The lady is my partner. And she's the only reason you're still breathing." Vesper moved to the safe, inputting the combination Caspian fed her. Inside were the expected documents—shipping manifests, bank records, enough evidence to bury Kozlov and his entire network. "You sold weapons to the Kalanga rebels," she said, photographing each document. "Thirty children died in that school bombing." "Is business," Kozlov protested. "I don't control what buyers do—" "No." Caspian's voice was soft, deadly. "You just profit from it. Tell me, Dimitri. Do you ever think about them? The children?" "Why would I?" Vesper saw Caspian's hand twitch toward his gun and intervened. "Because now you're going to. Every night for the rest of your life." She held up the documents. "These are going to Interpol. Your accounts will be frozen by morning, your contacts arrested by the end of the week. You're finished." "You can't—" "We can." Caspian moved closer, and Kozlov shrank back. "But here's the interesting part. We're going to let you run. No death, no violence, just the knowledge that everywhere you go, we'll be watching. Every deal you try to make, we'll sabotage. Every ally you reach out to will receive a copy of these files. You're going to live, Dimitri. But you'll wish you hadn't." They left him there, white-faced and shaking. In the elevator, Vesper finally relaxed, leaning into Caspian's solid presence. "Whore?" she said mildly. "Really?" "I should have killed him for that alone." His arm came around her, possessive and protective. "No one speaks to you that way." "My hero." But she smiled as she said it. "Did you get what you needed from his phone?" "Everything. Marcus is already tracing the calls." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Have I mentioned how magnificent you are?" "Not in the last hour." "Unforgivable. I'll have to make it up to you." The elevator opened to the penthouse suite he'd booked. "Repeatedly." "Promises, promises." But then his mouth was on hers, and conversation became unimportant. They'd debrief later, send the intelligence where it needed to go, plan their next move in the chess game they played with the world's monsters. For now, there was just this—the two of them against the world, predators turned protectors, finding salvation in each other's arms. "No regrets?" Caspian asked later, as they lay entwined in sheets that probably cost more than most people's cars. Vesper traced the newest scar on his chest, acquired during a particularly dicey operation in Berlin. "None. You?" "Only one." She looked up, concerned. "What?" "That it took so long to find you." He rolled, pinning her beneath him. "But I'm a patient man. I can wait for the things that matter." "Good thing I'm not patient at all." His laugh was rich and dark, full of promise. "No, you're not. It's one of the things I adore about you." "One of the things? What are the others?" "How long do you have?" "Forever," she said, and meant it. His eyes softened, that vulnerability he showed only to her breaking through. "Forever sounds about right." As he proceeded to show her exactly what forever might entail, Vesper reflected that her life had taken a decidedly unexpected turn. Six months ago, she'd been a by-the-book federal agent with a spotless record and a lonely apartment. Now she was the partner of one of the world's most dangerous men, walking a tightrope between legal and illegal, right and wrong. She wouldn't change a thing. After all, the best love stories were never simple. They were complicated and messy and sometimes they started with kidnapping and ended with two broken people fixing each other in all the ways that mattered. And if that wasn't a happily ever after worth fighting for, Vesper didn't know what was. THE END