Stars of Darkbriar - Chapter 5 - 8

Chapter 5

Elias

 

I stood in the crowded ballroom, surrounded by the dizzying swirl of London's elite. Lords and ladies with painted smiles and razor-sharp tongues circled each other like predators, but I saw none of them. My attention had been entirely captured by the woman who'd just entered—Zoe Heriot, who'd transformed herself from a grease-stained astronomical engineer into something altogether dangerous.

My eyes tracked her as she moved through the crowd. Her usual practical attire and tool belt had been replaced by an emerald gown that caught the light with each step. The bodice hugged her curves in a way that made my mouth go dry, while the skirt flowed around her like liquid jade. Her auburn curls were still partially pinned up, but artfully so, with tendrils framing her face that begged to be brushed aside.

"Lord Darkbriar," she said as she approached, her voice carrying that familiar stubborn edge despite the refined setting. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

I couldn't recall the last time a woman had rendered me speechless. The emerald fabric matched the fire in her eyes, and the candlelight played across her skin, illuminating the constellation of freckles across her collarbone. My gaze lingered there longer than propriety allowed.

"You look... like sin wrapped in silk," I murmured, my voice thick with desire, my eyes reflecting the dance of the candlelight.

The flush that crept up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks was more captivating than any sunrise I'd witnessed. Her breath caught—a subtle hitch that would have gone unnoticed by anyone who wasn't watching her as intently as I was. But I noticed everything about Zoe Heriot. The way her fingers twitched at her sides, as if seeking equations to ground herself. The slight upward tilt of her chin as she gathered her courage.

Zoe's cheeks flushed at my words, her heart visibly pounding against her ribs. She held my gaze, her breath hitching. "Then you'll have to be very, very careful," she replied boldly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions I could see raging inside her.

My lips curved into a wicked smile, my eyes never leaving hers. Heat coiled low in my stomach at her challenge. She wasn't running from this—from us—anymore. The realization struck me like lightning.

"Careful has never been my strong suit, Miss Heriot." I extended my hand to her, palm up. An invitation. "May I have this dance?"

She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her hand in mine. The simple touch sent electricity coursing through me. Her fingers were still calloused from her work with gears and tools, a delicious contrast to the refined elegance of her appearance.

I led her toward the dance floor, acutely aware of the eyes that followed us. London society would be buzzing with gossip tomorrow—the notorious Lord Darkbriar dancing with an unknown woman in emerald. Let them talk. The warmth of her hand in mine was worth any scandal.

As we took our positions for the waltz, I placed my hand at the small of her back, drawing her closer than strict propriety dictated. The heat of her body radiated through the silk, and I could feel each breath she took.

"I should warn you," she whispered, "I've calculated the patterns of this dance theoretically, but practical application may prove challenging."

A laugh escaped me—genuine, not the practiced chuckle I reserved for society functions. "Then hold onto me, and follow my lead. For once."

Her fingers hesitated for only a moment before sliding into mine. The instant our skin connected, a jolt shot through me—like touching a Tesla coil. Her eyes widened slightly. She'd felt it too.

I led her to the center of the dance floor, acutely aware of the whispers that followed us. The notorious Lord Darkbriar and the mysterious woman in emerald. My hand found the small of her back, fingers brushing against bare skin where her gown dipped low. The contact sent heat spiraling through me, primal and urgent.

The orchestra struck up the opening notes, and we began to move. Zoe's initial steps were stiff, her brilliant mind visibly counting beats, but soon her body surrendered to the rhythm. My hand splayed possessively against her back guided her through the turns.

"You're full of surprises tonight, Zoe," I murmured as we swept past a group of gawking matrons. "I never thought I'd see you willingly in a ballgown."

"The variables changed," she replied, her eyes gleaming up at me. "New problems require new approaches."

"And am I the problem you're attempting to solve?" I pulled her incrementally closer with each turn, the space between us shrinking with every note.

Her lips parted slightly, and I found myself transfixed by their fullness. "You're certainly the most complex equation I've encountered."

Zoe shivered under my touch, her pupils dilating slightly. "I'm surprised you dance as well as you do," she whispered, her scientific mind clearly trying to regain control of the situation. "The mathematics of movement doesn't seem your forte."

"There are many things I excel at that might surprise you." I pulled her closer, eliminating the proper distance between us. Our bodies aligned, her curves pressing against me in ways that made coherent thought increasingly difficult. The warmth of her, the scent of machine oil barely masked by lavender water, was intoxicating.

We moved together, her body responding to mine instinctively. For all her protestations about dancing being merely applied mathematics, Zoe followed my lead with unexpected grace, as if we'd danced together a thousand times before.

"You're drawing attention," she murmured, though she made no attempt to increase the distance between us.

"Let them look." My thumb traced small circles on her bare skin. "I can hardly focus on anything but you."

The music swelled around us, and I guided her through a turn, bringing her back against me with more force than necessary. The small gasp that escaped her lips sent blood rushing to my core.

"You feel incredible in my arms, Zoe," I whispered, my lips brushing her ear. Her auburn curls tickled my cheek, soft as silk. The scent of her—paper, ink, and something uniquely Zoe—filled my senses.

She leaned into me then, her breath catching in a way that made my grip on her tighten involuntarily. "You're playing with fire, Elias," she whispered back, her voice transformed into a husky murmur that shot straight through me.

"Perhaps I want to burn." My fingers splayed wider against her back, memorizing the contours of her spine through the thin fabric. "Perhaps we both do."

Her eyes met mine, those deep brown depths revealing the same hunger that clawed at my insides. The mathematical genius who'd arrived at my door days ago with stars in her eyes and grease stains on her fingers had transformed into this magnificent creature who fit in my arms as if she'd been crafted for them.

"This doesn't make sense," she breathed, even as her body pressed closer to mine. "You and I, we're—"

"Perfect contradictions," I finished for her. "The rogue lord and the brilliant engineer. Chaos and order."

The waltz continued around us, but we'd slowed almost to stillness, caught in our own orbit. My hand at her waist slid slightly lower, propriety be damned. Her fingers tightened on my shoulder in response, nails digging through the fabric of my evening coat.

"I calculate the probability of this ending well at approximately zero," she said, a tremor in her voice betraying her.

"Then let's defy probability," I murmured, guiding her into another turn, our bodies moving as one. "It wouldn't be the first impossible thing you've accomplished."

 

I pulled her closer as we danced, my hand sliding lower on her back. My fingers traced the delicate curve of her spine, feeling each vertebra through the thin fabric of her gown. She gasped—a small, intoxicating sound—and her body arched instinctively into my touch, betraying her mind's resistance.

"I love the way you respond to me, Zoe," I growled, my voice rough with barely contained desire. The proper lords and ladies surrounding us faded into insignificance. There was only her—her scent, her warmth, the heat between us. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind doesn't."

Her pupils dilated until only a thin ring of brown remained. I watched, transfixed, as her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling against mine in a rhythm that threatened to undo me completely. The analytical engineer who dissected the world through equations was gone. In her place stood a woman of flesh and blood, of desire and need.

I shifted, pulling her flush against me, allowing her to feel the hard length of my arousal pressed against her. A shudder ran through her body—not revulsion but recognition. Her skin flushed, a delicious pink blooming across her chest and climbing up her neck to stain her cheeks.

"Elias," she whispered, my name a secret on her lips, a confession torn from her throat.

Our gazes locked, and the world around us disappeared entirely. The music, the crowd, the suffocating propriety of London society—all of it evaporated into nothingness. There was only Zoe and the raw, primal desire that crackled between us like lightning seeking ground.

Her fingers clutched at my shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of my evening coat. The small pain was exquisite, fueling the fire burning through my veins. Her breathing quickened, matching mine—both of us caught in this moment of perfect symmetry.

I could feel the rapid hammering of her heart through her bodice, echoing my own thundering pulse. The dance had become a mere pretense, our bodies swaying slightly while our minds raced with unspoken possibilities.

"What is your next calculation, my brilliant engineer?" I murmured, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "What equation solves the problem of us?"

Her lips parted, her eyes never leaving mine. The world had narrowed to this moment—this woman in my arms, her body pressing against mine, her breath mingling with my own.

The music faded around us as I drew Zoe closer, the heat of her body against mine intoxicating. The delicate scent of lavender mixed with machine oil—her unique perfume—filled my senses. Her eyes, those deep pools of intelligence and passion, looked up at me with an intensity that made my heart stutter.

I lowered my head, my lips hovering mere inches from hers. I could feel her breath, quick and shallow, warming my skin. The rest of the ballroom dissolved into insignificance—the tittering aristocrats, the swirling dancers, the judgmental stares—all vanished. There was only Zoe, trembling slightly in my arms.

"Tell me you want this, Zoe," I whispered, my voice laced with need that I could no longer disguise. "Tell me you want me."

Her lips parted, and I watched as uncertainty battled desire in her expression. The brilliant astronomer who calculated every risk, who approached life through equations and logic, was struggling with the most primal of human desires.

She swallowed hard, her eyes searching mine as if looking for some final answer to her internal calculations. "I... I do," she admitted, her voice barely audible, a secret shared between us alone.

That whispered confession broke the last of my restraint. I closed the distance between us, crushing my lips against hers. Her mouth opened beneath mine, surprised at first, then yielding. My tongue slipped past her lips, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, claiming her as my own. She tasted of champagne and possibility, of fire and steel.

Zoe responded with unexpected fervor, her analytical mind seemingly overwhelmed by sensation. Her arms wound around my neck, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer with desperate need. Our bodies pressed together, the thin layers of fabric between us doing nothing to hide the heat we generated.

My hand splayed across her lower back, fingers pressing into the soft curve there, holding her against me as our breaths mingled and our kiss deepened. Her soft gasp was swallowed by my mouth as I backed her toward the edge of the dance floor, away from prying eyes.

We broke apart only when our lungs demanded air, both of us panting. Her pupils had dilated until only a thin ring of brown remained, her lips swollen from my kisses. I'd never seen anything more beautiful than Zoe Heriot in that moment—brilliant mind temporarily silenced by passion, her usual composure shattered.

"Elias," she breathed, my name a prayer on her lips. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, keeping me close.

I pressed my forehead against hers, my breathing uneven. The world around us continued to spin, but we remained in our own private universe, connected by touch and desire and something deeper that neither of us had dared name.

"We should..." She attempted to gather her thoughts, her analytical mind fighting to resurface. "The other guests..."

I silenced her with another kiss, shorter but no less intense. "Let them talk," I murmured against her lips. "I don't care about anyone in this room but you."

The truth of my words struck me in that moment. I, who had spent years crafting a carefully controlled image, maintaining distance through charm and wit, no longer cared about appearances. All that mattered was the woman in my arms, her body pressed against mine, her breath coming in quick gasps that matched my own.

 

Chapter 6

Zoe

 

I couldn't believe what was happening. Elias, the enigmatic lord who had captured my attention and stirred something deep within me, was now pressing me against the warm stone wall, his body so close I could feel the heat radiating from him.

His lips, soft and insistent, found mine, and I gasped as they collided. It was a fierce, frenzied kiss, one that demanded my full attention. Our tongues met, tangling and dancing together, exploring and claiming, leaving me breathless and longing for more.

Elias' hands, calloused and strong, roamed over my back, their touch sending electric currents through my body. I felt the weight of his fingers as they slipped beneath the fabric of my blouse, pushing it aside with a gentle ease that spoke of his strength and precision.

The cool stone beneath my back provided a stark contrast to the warmth of Elias' body, and I felt the subtle press of his erection against my lower stomach, a reminder of the passion that burned between us.

His touch was like a caress, gentle yet insistent, as he traced the curve of my waist, the delicate slope of my ribs, and the softness of my stomach. Every touch ignited a flame within me, making my skin hum with desire.

"You feel like heaven," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he nuzzled his face against my neck. I shivered at the sensation of his breath, warm and moist, against my skin, and felt the heat of his words like a brand.

I couldn't help but give in to the moment, letting my body relax into his, arching into his touch as he continued to explore my form. His fingers trailed up my sides, caressing the curve of my breast, and I gasped, my hips shifting involuntarily against his.

The kiss intensified, becoming more desperate, as our tongues clashed and danced together once more. I could feel the muscles of his jaw clenching, the roughness of his breath against my lips, and I knew he was fighting for control, just as I was.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, our bodies flush against each other, and I felt the weight of his chest pressing against mine, the firm press of his muscles, the strength and power he possessed.

His hands moved to my face, cupping my cheeks, his thumbs tracing the line of my jaw and the curve of my lips. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he lifted my face, angling it for a deeper kiss, and I surrendered to his touch, my body trembling with the force of my emotions.

The kiss continued, long and slow, as if neither of us wanted to let go, as if we were both savoring the moment, committing it to memory.

And in that moment, I knew that this encounter would change everything. It was a turning point, a moment where the lines between logic and emotion blurred, where the boundaries of our hearts became intertwined.

I felt his desire, raw and unfiltered, and knew that mine was equally as fierce. We had crossed a threshold, one that could not be undone, and I embraced the sensation, the sweetness and the danger, that came with it.

The kiss finally ended, and we both paused, our eyes meeting in the dimly lit room, the silence heavy with our unspoken thoughts and emotions. I could see the intensity in his gaze, the same passion that burned within me, and I knew that we had created a bond that would forever shape our lives.

 

My hands tangle in Elias' hair, the dark locks soft and silken against my fingers. I pull him closer, needing to feel the solidity of his body against mine, needing the reassurance of his presence. His eyes flicker with a fierce intensity, and his mouth, that beautiful mouth that has kissed me with such passion, quivers with the hint of a smile.

The kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, as if we are both aware that time is fleeting and this moment is precious. My body responds instinctively, my hips pressing against his, seeking the familiar friction, seeking the reassurance of his touch.

"Elias," I whisper, his name a breathy plea that escapes from my lips. I can feel his arousal, hard and insistent, pressed against my core, and it sends a shiver down my spine. My hips move in a subtle, seductive rhythm, an invitation for him to join me in this dance of desire.

I feel his hands on my waist, his fingers tracing the curve of my hips, and I know he understands the language of my body, the silent plea for more.

In an instant, his hands are on the buttons of my blouse, their touch gentle yet firm. The garment falls away, and my breasts, freed from their confinement, are exposed to the cool air and his heated gaze.

His eyes, those piercing blue orbs that have seen the depths of my soul, fix upon my chest with an intensity that makes my breath catch. I can feel the warmth of his gaze, the heat of his desire, and it sends a rush of pleasure through me.

Elias' mouth, that mouth which has tasted mine with such hunger, lowers to my breast. His lips, soft and warm, press against the sensitive skin, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I arch into him, my back pressing against the stone wall, as he takes my nipple between his lips, his tongue swirling around it, teasing and tormenting.

A moan escapes me, low and primal, as his mouth works its magic. My head falls back, my eyes closing as I surrender to the exquisite pleasure. I can feel the muscles of my body clenching, my hips moving in a subtle dance, inviting him to explore further, to delve deeper into the depths of my desire.

His hand, calloused and strong, trails down my side, his thumb grazing my ribs, sending shivers down my spine. I feel his touch like a brand, a mark of ownership, and I welcome it, wanting to be claimed by him, body and soul.

The touch of his mouth on my breast becomes more insistent, more demanding. His tongue, hot and wet, traces circles around my nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. I can feel the heat building within me, the fire that burns low in my belly, threatening to consume us both.

I reach for the buttons of his waistcoat, my fingers fumbling slightly with desire. I want to feel his skin, to touch the muscled plane of his chest, to know that this man, this enigmatic lord, is mine, at least for this moment.

With a gentle tug, the waistcoat is open, and I slide my hands inside, my fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the solidity of his muscles, the warmth of his skin. He shudders at my touch, his breath catching, and I know that I have him, that he is as lost in this passion as I am.

My hands move lower, finding the waistband of his trousers, and I feel the hard length of him, the evidence of his desire, pressing against my palm. I can't help but smile, a twisted, satisfied smile, as I realize the depth of our connection, the way our bodies respond to each other.

Elias' mouth leaves my breast, and he lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire. "Zoe," he breathes, his voice hoarse with need. "I want you. I want to feel you, to have you, to know that you're mine."

I nod, my lips brushing against his as I whisper, "Take me, Elias. Take me as I am, flaws and all. I'm yours, completely."

And with that, he reaches for the laces of my corset, his fingers skilled and quick. The garment falls away, and I stand before him, my body bared, vulnerable, yet strong in my desire.

His hands, warm and sure, trace the curve of my hips, the swell of my breasts, the dip of my waist, and I shiver, feeling the heat of his touch on my skin. He kneels before me, his eyes fixed on the juncture of my thighs, and I know what he wants, what I want.

He reaches for the hem of my skirt, tugging it up, exposing my legs, my petticoats, and the delicate lace of my drawers. His fingers, rough and calloused, trace the line of my thigh, and I feel a rush of desire, a heat that pools low in my belly.

With a gentle tug, he pulls the lace aside, revealing me, bare and open, to his gaze. His breath catches, and I can see the desire in his eyes, the raw hunger that matches my own.

"Elias," I whisper, my voice hoarse with need. "Now. Please."

In that moment, as Elias' hands cupped my ass, lifting me, I felt a rush of power and vulnerability. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I was suddenly enveloped in the strength of his embrace, my body nestled against his, our heat and desire intertwining.

The connection between us was electric, our movements in perfect harmony. I could feel his every breath, the rise and fall of his chest against mine, and the steady beat of his heart, which mirrored my own. It was as if we had become one entity, our bodies speaking a language only we understood.

As we moved together, I felt the intensity of his gaze on me, his eyes fixed on my face, drinking in every expression, every sound that escaped my lips. My breathy moan against his neck sent a shiver down his spine, and I knew it undid him, just as his presence undid me.

"Christ, Zoe," he groaned, his voice low and rough with desire. "You feel so fucking good."

His words were like a catalyst, igniting a fire within me. I could feel the heat of our passion building, an intense, fiery energy that demanded release. And as we collided, our bodies coming together in a fierce embrace, the stars above us seemed to align, witnessing our passionate collision.

Elias' thrusts were deep and powerful, filling me completely, claiming me as his own. I could feel the length of him, the hardness of his body against mine, and it sent a rush of pleasure through me. Our bodies moved in a perfect rhythm, slick with sweat, our desire palpable in the air.

The sensations were overwhelming, a storm of emotions and physical ecstasy. I felt his hands on my hips, guiding our movements, and I gave myself over to him, trusting in his strength and our shared desire. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust, brought us closer, binding us together in an unbreakable bond.

Our cries of pleasure filled the air, raw and unfiltered, a testament to the intensity of our passion. It was as if we had tapped into a wellspring of desire, a fountain of pure, unadulterated lust that flowed between us.

The heat of our bodies, the sweat mingling as we moved, the sound of our breath mingling with the soft moans and gasps, created a symphony of passion that was uniquely ours. I could feel the power of our love, the depth of our connection, in every cell of my body.

As we rode out the waves of pleasure, our bodies trembling and quivering with the force of our ecstasy, I knew that this moment would be forever etched in my memory. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, a celebration of our love and the intense passion that burned between us.

Elias and I were like two halves of a whole, our bodies fitting together perfectly, our souls intertwined in a dance of desire. I felt his love, his devotion, in every touch, and I gave myself fully to him, my heart open, my body receptive to his every need.

In that moment, as we reached our climax together, I knew that this was just the beginning. Our love, our passion, would only grow stronger, deeper, with each passing day. We had found something special, something rare and precious, and I was determined to hold onto it, to cherish every moment, every touch, every kiss, for the rest of my life.

A low, guttural groan escaped his lips as his body tensed and shuddered, every muscle clenching in exquisite ecstasy. His hips snapped forward, his cock pulsing deep inside me, and with a final thrust, he reached the pinnacle of his pleasure.

I felt the heat of his release, the intense warmth of his seed spilling into me, and my body trembled in response. The force of his passion coursed through me, an electric current that left me breathless and sated.

His arms enveloped me, cradling me close as he whispered into my hair, his voice a soft, tender caress. "You've undone me, little star. I'm lost in this moment, lost in you."

His words, filled with awe and surrender, resonated within me, and I knew that this connection, this love, was unlike anything I had ever known. In that instant, I felt a shift, a transformation, as if the very fabric of my being had been touched by something profound.

I had always relied on calculations, on understanding every variable, but in that moment, I realized the futility of such an endeavor. There were some things that could not be calculated, some emotions that defied logic. And standing here, in the embrace of this man, I embraced the unknown, the beauty of surrender.

His fingers traced soft circles on my back, his touch a soothing balm to my soul. I felt his heart, beating in sync with mine, and I knew that we were intertwined, our lives forever changed.

"I want to stay here, forever," I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion. "In this moment, with you."

Elias smiled, a gentle curve of his lips, as he lifted his head and looked into my eyes. The intensity of his gaze, the depth of his love, was overwhelming. "Then let's make it last," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Let's make every moment count."

Our lips met once more, a tender kiss, a promise of eternity. I felt his breath against my skin, warm and soothing, as he breathed, "You've given me a reason to live, Zoe. A reason to believe in something greater than myself."

My heart swelled at his words, at the depth of his emotion, and I knew that I had found my place, my true home, in his arms. I was no longer alone, no longer adrift in a sea of equations and theories. I had found my anchor, my constant, in the form of this remarkable man.

Our bodies, now languid and sated, clung together, as if afraid to let go, afraid to break this perfect synergy. The warmth of his skin, the hardness of his body, the softness of his touch, were all familiar, comforting, and yet, they stirred something wild and untamed within me.

We lay there, in the afterglow of our passion, our hearts beating as one, our breaths mingling in the air. The room around us seemed to fade away, and it was as if we existed in a bubble, a private universe where only love mattered.

I traced the line of his jaw with my finger, feeling the stubble that had begun to prickle, a reminder of the passage of time. "I want to know everything about you," I whispered, my voice filled with a quiet intensity. "Every thought, every memory, every secret."

As we lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, I felt a sense of peace and completeness that I had never known before. I had found my soulmate, my partner in crime, and together, we would face the world, taking on every challenge, every adventure, with love as our guiding light.

And so, in that moment, I knew that I had made the right choice, that I had surrendered to the power of love. I had chosen to embrace the unknown, to trust in the depths of my heart, and in return, I was rewarded with a love that would forever change my life.

Elias and I, we were bound together, our souls intertwined, and I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it hand in hand, our love a beacon of hope and passion.

And as the sun began to peek over the horizon, casting a golden glow through the window, I knew that a new day had begun, a day filled with promise and the endless possibilities of love.

 

Chapter 7

Zoe

 

I paced the damp stone cell, each footfall echoing against the unyielding walls. My breath escaped in visible clouds, a testament to the bitter cold choking the air. Six steps forward. Six steps back. A cage designed for breaking spirits.

"Calculating escape probability based on material degradation rate..." I muttered, fingers twitching as invisible numbers danced before my eyes. "Factoring in guard rotation patterns and estimated oxidation coefficients..."

My hands trembled—partly from the cold, partly from the fury building inside me. How could I have been so careless? Allowing myself to be captured like some amateur instead of the brilliant engineer I prided myself on being. And Elias... was he searching for me? Did he even know I was gone?

I stopped my pacing abruptly, forcing myself to focus. Sentiment wouldn't free me. Calculations would.

"Think, Zoe," I whispered, scanning the cell methodically. The stone walls appeared seamless but for a tiny window near the ceiling—far too small for escape. The floor was solid, offering no possibility of tunneling. That left the iron bars at the front of the cell as my only potential egress.

I approached them cautiously, my analytical gaze sweeping from floor to ceiling. The bars were thick—Victorian-era craftsmanship at its most unforgiving—but even iron had its weaknesses. Where dampness met metal, time became my ally.

My fingers traced along the cold iron, feeling each imperfection. The bars had stood for decades, perhaps centuries, subjected to the relentless moisture that permeated these underground chambers. Near the bottom of the third bar, I found what I sought—a patch of flaking rust, the metal beneath crumbling under slight pressure from my fingertip.

"Perfect," I breathed, a thin smile crossing my lips. "Structural integrity compromised approximately forty-eight percent."

I glanced quickly toward the corridor. The guard had passed seven minutes ago, which meant—if my observations of their patterns were correct—I had approximately thirteen minutes before the next patrol.

Reaching into my bodice, I retrieved the small multi-tool I'd designed myself—a clever arrangement of miniature mechanisms that the fools who'd searched me had mistaken for an ornamental brooch. They'd stripped me of my more obvious implements, but they'd underestimated my preparedness. I always had contingencies.

I knelt, pressing my face against the cold stones to better access the weakened section. The tool unfolded in my hand, revealing a small but effective file. I began working immediately, focusing on the point where the corrosion was most severe.

"Applying pressure at precisely twenty-seven degrees..." I whispered, the rhythmic scraping of metal against metal oddly comforting. "Maximizing force against compromised structural points..."

My hand moved with mechanical precision, each stroke calculated to remove the maximum amount of material without creating noise that might travel down the corridor. The rust gave way easily, flaking off in rusty particles that dusted my fingers and the stone floor.

The cold bit into my knees through my thin dress, and my fingers grew numb, but I didn't pause. Pain was merely sensory input—irrelevant to the task at hand. I continued filing, my mind racing through equations of material stress and breaking points.

A sound from the corridor—footsteps, earlier than I'd calculated. I froze, tucking the tool back into my bodice with practiced speed. Had I misjudged their pattern? An uncomfortable realization for someone who prided herself on mathematical precision.

I pressed myself against the wall beside the cell door, holding my breath as the footsteps drew nearer. Not the heavy tread of the usual guard—these steps were lighter, more purposeful.

When they passed without pausing, I exhaled slowly. Back to work. Time was not an ally I could waste.

I returned to the bar, retrieving my tool and continuing with increased urgency. The metal yielded more with each careful stroke. My mind calculated the necessary weakening required before I could apply sufficient force to bend the bar enough for my slender frame to slip through.

The metal creaked beneath my fingers as I leaned into the final strokes of my file. Sweat beaded across my brow despite the chill, dripping onto the stone floor as I worked.

"Applying torque at the point of maximum stress," I muttered, focusing my mind on the mechanics of escape rather than the growing ache in my fingers and back.

But as I worked, my focus wavered. The cold metal beneath my fingertips transformed in my memory to warm skin—Elias' hand at the small of my back, steady and possessive. I could almost feel his breath against my neck, the way he'd pressed me against the library shelves just days ago. The phantom sensation of his lips grazing my ear sent an involuntary shiver through me.

"You're mine, Zoe," he'd whispered, his voice rough with desire. The memory of those words burned hotter than the friction of metal against metal.

I pressed my forehead against the cool stone wall, momentarily overwhelmed by the visceral pull of that memory. My analytical mind had calculated odds, projected scenarios, planned contingencies—but it hadn't accounted for how deeply he'd worked his way into me, how completely he'd dismantled my carefully constructed defenses.

"Focus," I hissed at myself. "Twenty-three minutes until guard rotation."

I returned to the weakened bar with renewed purpose, but my resolve had morphed into something more than mere survival. The rust flaked away more quickly now, my movements driven by something primal rather than purely logical.

"Find me, Elias," I whispered into the empty cell, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. The words were irrational—he couldn't possibly hear me—yet speaking them aloud steadied my hands, centered my thoughts.

With the bar sufficiently weakened, I positioned my multi-tool at the point of maximum leverage. Taking a deep breath, I braced my feet against the adjacent bars and pulled with all my strength.

Physics was on my side—the compromised metal groaned in protest but yielded to the applied force. I bit my lip to keep from making noise as the bar bent outward by precious inches. Not enough. I repositioned and pulled again, muscles straining, tendons standing out like cords in my neck.

Another inch. Still not enough.

I paused, chest heaving, and calculated the passage width versus my body dimensions. The gap remained insufficient for passage. Twenty minutes until guard rotation. No time for further filing.

"Damn conventional Victorian engineering," I muttered, wiping sweat-damp curls from my forehead.

One final effort then. I wedged myself against the cell door, both feet pressed against the adjacent bar for maximum leverage, and pulled with everything I had. My body trembled with exertion, and a small sound escaped me—half grunt, half whimper.

With a final metallic groan, the bar bent enough to create a gap barely wider than my shoulders. It would have to do.

I slipped off my outer skirt, leaving only my practical undergarments. Fashion was an absurd consideration in the face of survival, and the excess fabric would only hinder my escape. After a final check of the corridor, I turned sideways and began working my way through the narrow opening.

The cold metal scraped against my ribs as I squeezed through, my breath coming in shallow pants. For a terrifying moment, I thought I might become trapped—suspended between captivity and freedom—but with a final push, I tumbled into the dim corridor, catching myself before I could fall.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I pressed myself flat against the wall, straining to hear any sign that my escape had been detected. The corridor stretched before me, lit by sporadic gas lamps that cast more shadows than light. The air hung heavy with the smell of must and decay, a miasma of neglect and abandonment.

I steadied my breathing, forcing my racing thoughts into orderly patterns. Seventeen minutes until guard rotation. I had to move.

"I'm coming, Elias," I whispered, the words a promise to myself as much as to him.

I flattened myself against the dank stone wall, trying to make my body as insubstantial as shadow. The corridor stretched before me like the gullet of some great beast, illuminated only by flickering gas lamps that cast more darkness than light. I'd memorized the guard rotations during my captivity—fourteen minutes remained before the next patrol.

My stockinged feet made no sound on the cold stones as I crept forward. I'd abandoned my boots in the cell; they were impractical Victorian monstrosities anyway, with heels that announced a woman's presence like a brass band. The chill of the floor seeped through the thin fabric, numbing my toes, but the discomfort was irrelevant data.

I paused at an intersection, calculating probabilities. Left would lead deeper into the complex—right would theoretically lead outward, based on the structural logic I'd pieced together from my observations. I turned right, moving with careful precision.

The sound hit me before I'd gone ten paces—voices rebounding off stone, distorted by echoes but unmistakably human. I froze, my hand instinctively reaching for tools I no longer possessed.

"...should fetch a handsome price," a gruff voice declared. "Lord Blackthorn's been huntin' for an engineer with her talents."

"Seems a waste," another replied, his tone laced with something that made my skin crawl. "Pretty little thing like that."

I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, my breathing shallow and controlled. The conversation emanated from a chamber ahead and to my left—the door stood ajar, spilling yellow lamplight into the corridor.

One, two... I counted mentally, identifying at least three distinct voices. Their careless conversation revealed volumes—they were mercenaries, not zealots. My capture was business, not personal vindictiveness or political maneuvering. That knowledge shifted my tactical considerations significantly.

"The tonic should keep her docile for transport," a third voice added. "Though she didn't take to it like most. Still had fight in her eyes."

A bitter smile touched my lips. They'd drugged my water, but I'd recognized the bitter undertaste immediately. I'd only pretended to drink, secretly emptying most of it into a crack between the stones when they weren't watching. Elementary precaution.

I inched past the doorway, my body pressed so close to the wall that the rough stone scraped my back through the thin fabric of my chemise. Thirteen steps to the next corner. Twelve. Eleven.

"Lord Darkbriar will come for her," one of them said, his voice lower now, tinged with something that might have been concern.

"Let him," another scoffed. "By the time he traces her here, she'll be halfway to London."

My heart stumbled in its rhythm at the mention of Elias. Would he come? Of course he would. The man was maddeningly protective, treating me like some delicate astronomical instrument rather than the capable engineer I was.

I reached the corner without incident and paused, calculating my next move. The corridor branched again—right continuing onward, left descending a narrow staircase. Logic dictated that exits would be at ground level or above, but instinct pulled me toward the stairs.

I took a steadying breath and started down, my hand trailing along the wall for balance. The steps were uneven, worn by centuries of use, making silent descent challenging. I focused on the placement of each foot, distributing my weight to prevent creaking.

The air grew cooler as I descended, carrying the faint scent of night air and vegetation—promising signs of an external exit. Hope fluttered in my chest, an irrational emotional response that nevertheless accelerated my movements.

Just as I reached the bottom step, I heard it—the soft scuff of a boot behind me. Before I could turn, heat bloomed across my back and a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, fingers digging into my flesh with bruising force.

I gasped, unable to suppress the involuntary response as I spun to face my captor. My mind raced through possible countermoves, cataloging weaknesses and vectors of attack, but the calculations faltered as I took in his appearance.

He towered over me, his broad frame blocking any retreat. A scar twisted through his stubbled jaw, pulling his mouth into a permanent half-sneer. His eyes traversed my body with insulting deliberation, lingering on the thin fabric of my chemise.

"Going somewhere, little bird?" he sneered, his fingers tightening painfully. His breath washed over me, sour with tobacco and spirits.

My mind raced like the innards of a chronometer—gears turning, mechanisms clicking into place. The mercenary's grip tightened, but his position was flawed, his balance compromised by overconfidence. Through the haze of panic, I cataloged variables: corridor width, ambient illumination, structural vulnerabilities, his left-side dominance.

"Please," I whimpered, allowing my body to sag slightly—a calculated performance of feminine weakness that made his sneer widen.

His mistake. The shift in his posture created a momentary opening—a twitch of relaxed vigilance.

My eyes darted across the stonework behind him. There—a protruding block, its mortar crumbling with age. Not fully loose, but structurally compromised. Imperfect, but sufficient. I processed trajectories, force requirements, and probable outcomes in fractions of seconds.

"Now, you'll be a good—"

I never let him finish. I lunged sideways with unexpected force, breaking his grip through sheer mathematical precision rather than brute strength. My fingers closed around the compromised stone block, and I wrenched it free with a strength born of desperation and applied physics.

The weight felt perfect in my hand—approximately 2.7 kilograms of irregularly shaped limestone. I pivoted, calculating the ideal impact point, and swung with all my strength.

The stone connected with his face with a sickening crunch. Not a clean hit—I'd aimed for his temple but struck his cheek and nose instead. Blood erupted from the impact site as he stumbled backward, howling curses that echoed through the corridor.

"You fractured my bloody—"

I didn't wait to hear the specifics of his injury. I was already running, bare feet slapping against cold stone, my chemise billowing behind me like some ghostly apparition.

"She's loose!" he bellowed, his voice distorted by pain and rage.

My lungs burned as I sprinted down the corridor, making split-second directional decisions based on air currents and architectural logic. Left at the intersection—the draft suggested an exterior exit. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything but the rhythm of my footsteps and the desperate calculations churning through my mind.

Distance covered: approximately twenty-seven meters. Estimated time until pursuit: forty-three seconds. Probability of unassisted escape: diminishing rapidly.

A door appeared ahead—heavy oak with iron reinforcements. I slammed into it at full speed, my hands scrabbling for the latch. Locked. Of course it was locked. I cursed under my breath, fingers already reaching for my multi-tool to attempt the mechanism.

Before I could extract it, the thunderous boom of an explosion rocked the entire corridor. The force of it knocked me sideways as dust and debris cascaded from the ceiling. The ancient stonework groaned in protest against this violent disruption of its centuries-long slumber.

More explosions followed—systematic, measured. Not random destruction but tactical breaching. Someone was creating multiple entry points with professional precision.

I pressed myself against the wall, calculating the blast pattern. Not the work of panicked captors—this was a rescue operation.

The oak door before me splintered inward with such violence that fragments embedded themselves in the opposite wall. Through the smoke and dust, a figure emerged—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with lethal purpose.

Elias.

His face was transformed—gone was the aristocratic charmer with lazy amusement dancing in his eyes. This was something primal, something dangerous. Blood streaked his left cheek from a shallow cut, and his waistcoat was torn at the shoulder. His knuckles were raw, his breathing heavy.

His eyes locked with mine—fierce, possessive, relieved.

"Elias," I whispered, my voice catching on his name.

He crossed the space between us in three strides, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled state—the torn chemise, the bruises forming on my arms, the dirt smudged across my cheek.

"You're mine, Zoe," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me like the bass notes of a pipe organ. "They should never have touched what's mine."

Before I could respond, shouts erupted from the corridor behind me. Three men charged around the corner, weapons drawn.

Elias pushed me behind him with one powerful arm, his body becoming a human shield. The movement was smooth, practiced—the action of a man accustomed to violence.

He met the first attacker with devastating efficiency, disarming him with a sharp twist that left the man howling. The second received an elbow to the throat that dropped him instantly. The third managed to land a glancing blow before Elias drove him into the wall with bone-crushing force.

 

Chapter 8

Elias

 

I moved like a demon through the sheeting rain, steel singing against steel. Each clang of blades sent reverberations up my arm, but I welcomed the pain. It kept my mind sharp, focused on the task at hand—killing every last bastard who'd dared to touch what was mine.

"Is this what the great Lord Darkbriar has been reduced to?" My rival's voice carried over the storm, dripping with mockery. "Fighting like a common thug for some engineer's apprentice?"

My blade answered for me, slashing across his shoulder. Not deep enough. He danced back, cursing.

"She's worth a dozen of you," I snarled, circling him. Lightning forked overhead, illuminating the courtyard in stark relief. I caught glimpses of Zoe from the corner of my eye—my brilliant, fearless Zoe—fighting with unexpected ferocity against one of the nobleman's guards.

Her emerald gown, the one that had left me breathless at the masquerade, now hung in tatters around her. Mud streaked her face and arms. But her eyes—those deep, intelligent eyes—burned with determination. Not once had she begged for rescue. Not once had she cowered. Instead, she'd engineered her own partial escape, the way she engineered everything else in her life.

God, how I loved her for it.

"Stay close," I growled as thunder crashed above us. The primal sound matched the roaring in my blood, the need to protect her consuming every fiber of my being.

I saw her breath hitch as she narrowly avoided a guard's blade. Her movements were unpracticed but effective—ducking, weaving, using her smaller size to her advantage. The cold dagger I'd slipped her glinted in her hand. When our eyes met across the rain-soaked courtyard, I felt that same jolt of recognition I'd experienced in the library during the lightning storm—a connection beyond reason or explanation.

We moved as one creature then, instinctively understanding each other's strategies. Where I struck high, she darted in low. When she feinted, I followed through with lethal precision. We danced around each other, her analytical mind complementing my years of swordplay.

"I never figured you for the romantic type, Darkbriar," my rival taunted, pressing me back with a flurry of blows. "You were always too busy gambling away your family fortune."

His words were meant to distract, but they only stoked my fury. I'd spent years atoning for my past, rebuilding what my recklessness had destroyed. I wouldn't let this bastard reduce me to that person again.

"And I never figured you for a kidnapper," I shot back, parrying his thrust and countering with my own. "Your methods grow more desperate by the day."

Rain plastered my shirt to my skin, and blood—mine or theirs, I couldn't tell—mixed with the water dripping from my hair. But I felt more alive than I had in years, fighting alongside Zoe, watching her brilliance translate into survival.

She caught my eye again as she slammed the hilt of her dagger into a guard's temple. The man crumpled, and I saw a flicker of surprise cross her face, followed quickly by grim satisfaction. Even now, she was cataloging experiences, analyzing outcomes.

"Behind you!" she called, her voice cutting through the storm.

I spun, blade arcing, and caught another guard across the chest. He fell with a splash into the muddied courtyard. Three more approached, caution in their steps.

"Come now, Darkbriar," my rival panted, blood seeping through his fine coat. "She's just one woman. Surely not worth dying over."

I laughed then, a sound devoid of humor. "That's where you're wrong. She's not just anything."

Zoe had worked her way back toward me, her movements perfectly complementing mine. We stood back to back now, her warmth tangible even through the chilling rain.

"I should have brought my pneumatic wrench," she muttered, and I felt her body tense as she prepared for another attack. "Would have been far more efficient than this primitive blade."

Even facing death, her mind worked in equations and mechanics. I couldn't help the surge of affection that rose within me.

"Next time," I promised, tightening my grip on my sword as the circle of enemies closed in. "Though I rather like watching you improvise."

Elias lunges forward, my blade slicing through the air, but a sharp pain explodes in my side. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my vision blurring. "Elias!" Zoe's scream cuts through the chaos, her voice filled with terror.

The world tilted sideways as pain exploded through me. I staggered back, my hand finding the hilt of a dagger buried in my side. Each breath became a battle, fire spreading through my veins.

"Elias!" Zoe's scream cut through my haze of pain. Through the curtain of rain, I saw her face transform—all that beautiful scientific detachment shattered into naked terror.

I tried to stay upright, to keep fighting, but my legs betrayed me. My knees struck the mud with a dull impact. The sword slipped from my fingers. Cold rain pelted my face, each drop feeling like tiny needles against my feverish skin.

Then she was there, her small hands gripping my shoulders, lowering me more gently to the ground. I wanted to tell her to run, to save herself, but all that emerged was a wet cough that tasted of copper.

"No, no, no," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "You can't leave me, Elias. You can't."

I'd never seen Zoe cry before. Her tears mixed with raindrops and blood on her face as she cradled me against her. The emerald silk of her torn gown darkened where my blood seeped into it. Her hands trembled violently as she tried to assess the damage, the engineer in her desperately seeking a solution even as her composure crumbled.

"It's nothing," I managed, trying to sound cavalier through gritted teeth. "Just a scratch."

Her scientific mind wouldn't accept the lie. I watched her face as she calculated blood loss, damage to internal organs, the trajectory of the blade. The same brilliant mind that could rebuild astronomical mechanisms was now processing the mechanics of my death.

"Don't you dare joke right now," she hissed, pressing her hand against my wound. Pain rocketed through me, and I bit back a scream. "I need to—I need to stop the bleeding."

Around us, the fight continued. The rain fell harder, turning the courtyard into a swamp of mud and blood. But in that moment, trapped in Zoe's tear-filled gaze, the world narrowed to just us.

"Did I ever tell you," I gasped, reaching up to brush wet curls from her face, "how magnificent you are when you're angry?"

Her breath hitched, tears falling faster now. "Stop it. Save your strength."

I'd faced death before. Had even courted it during my most reckless years. But this time was different. This time, I had something—someone—worth fighting for.

"Should have known," I whispered, "it would take getting stabbed to make you admit you care."

Her fingers dug into my shoulders. "Of course I care, you impossible man!" The words broke from her like something long caged. "I have calculated every variable, every possible outcome, and none of them work without you. Do you understand? None of them."

From Zoe, this was practically a declaration of undying love. Despite the agony tearing through me, I felt warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with blood loss.

"Then I suppose—" I struggled to draw breath, "I'd better not die. Wouldn't want to disrupt your calculations."

She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Her forehead pressed against mine, her tears falling onto my face. For once, that brilliant mind of hers wasn't racing ahead to the next solution, the next blueprint. She was fully present in her grief, her fear.

"You can't leave me," she repeated, her voice breaking. "I won't allow it."

I wanted to tell her that not even she could command death. That some things couldn't be engineered or calculated. Instead, I found myself making a promise I wasn't sure I could keep.

"Never," I breathed, the word barely audible over the storm. My hand found hers, our fingers interlocking. "I'm yours, little star. Always will be."

The world grew dimmer around the edges. Zoe's face blurred, then sharpened when I blinked rain from my eyes. She looked wild, desperate, nothing like the composed engineer who'd first arrived at my manor. Her hands pressed harder against my wound, stubbornly fighting against the inevitable.

 

I felt consciousness slipping through my fingers like water—or maybe it was my blood seeping into the mud beneath me. Pain came in waves now, distant then crushing, my body growing colder despite the strange fire in my side.

Zoe's face hovered above mine, her features shifting in and out of focus. Rain streaked down her cheeks, or maybe they were tears. I couldn't bear it—the naked anguish in her eyes. This brilliant woman who calculated star trajectories and rebuilt complex mechanisms reduced to this raw, primal fear. Because of me.

"From the moment you called me a half-wit lord..." My voice caught, barely audible above the storm. Each word took monumental effort, but she had to know. If these were my last breaths, she had to know. "I was yours, Zoe."

The confession tore from someplace deep inside me. No calculated charm, no practiced seduction—just the unvarnished truth I'd been running from since she first stormed into my life, demanding passage to her damned observatory. Since she'd looked at my ancestral home and called it "structurally inefficient."

Her fingers trembled against my face. I watched her brilliant mind struggle to process emotion rather than equations, tears falling faster now, collecting at the corners of her mouth.

"And I am yours, Elias." Her voice broke on my name. "Forever."

Forever. What a concept from a woman who measured everything in precise units of time and space. In her mouth, the word held weight, certainty—a calculation she'd finally solved.

Then her lips crashed against mine, desperate and fierce. The kiss tasted of salt and copper, her tears mingling with my blood. Even dying, I responded, my hand finding her rain-soaked curls. Life flared within me—not just the animal instinct to survive, but something deeper. The need to stay with her, to watch her mind work, to earn more of these moments of abandon.

Zoe pulled back just enough to whisper against my lips, "We're not done fighting."

Through the fog of pain, I saw it in her eyes—that fierce determination that had first captivated me. When Zoe Heriot set her mind to a task, the universe itself seemed to bend to her will. And right now, that magnificent mind had decided I would live.

"Wouldn't dare... contradict you," I managed, feeling a ghost of my usual smirk form. "Bad for my health."

She made that sound again—half laugh, half sob—and I clung to it. For a woman of science, she had unwittingly performed alchemy, transmuting my selfishness into devotion, my cynicism into hope. Even as darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, I fought to stay, to keep looking at her.

"Don't you understand? I never calculated for this," she whispered fiercely, pressing her forehead to mine. "You weren't supposed to happen, Elias Darkbriar. You broke all my equations."

I wanted to tell her how thoroughly she had shattered mine as well. How the moment she'd stormed into my life, all my carefully constructed walls had begun to crumble. But my strength was fading, the world growing dimmer despite my desperate fight to stay.

"Stay with me," she commanded, her engineer's voice returning, brooking no argument. "Your heart will keep beating. I've determined it must."

My brilliant Zoe, trying to order death itself to stand down. As consciousness flickered, I found myself believing she might actually succeed.

I felt her small hands grip under my arms, her body trembling with effort. Pain tore through my side, making the world swim in a haze of agony.

"Up," Zoe commanded, her voice steel beneath the fear. "On your feet, Elias."

"Rather comfortable here," I managed through gritted teeth, but I pushed with my legs anyway, unwilling to disappoint her.

The world tilted violently as she hauled me upright. My vision darkened at the edges, but I forced myself to focus on her face—determination etched in every line, those intelligent eyes calculating my chances even as she refused to accept the math.

"Lean on me," she ordered, pressing her body against my uninjured side.

The feel of her—warm, alive, fierce—sent a surge of something primal through my blood. Her heartbeat thundered against my ribs, strong enough for both of us. Rain streamed down our faces, washing away blood and grime but not our resolve.

"How romantic," my rival sneered, advancing through the mud. Lightning flashed, catching on his blade. "The lord and his mechanic, dying together."

Zoe's arm tightened around my waist. "I've recalculated our odds," she whispered fiercely. "We're not dying today."

"You've miscalculated before," I reminded her, finding my sword in the mud and raising it with trembling hands.

"Only about you." Her eyes met mine, fierce and certain. "Never about this."

God help me, even half-dead, those eyes undid me completely. I straightened despite the fire in my side, strength flowing from her touch into my veins. Where science failed to explain us, perhaps magic would suffice—the alchemy of her skin against mine creating something greater than the sum of our broken parts.

"Tell me the plan, little star," I murmured, forcing steel into my voice.

She pressed something cold into my free hand—a small brass contraption from her torn pocket. "When I say now, press this button and close your eyes."

My clever engineer, always prepared. I nodded, adjusting my stance to shield her better with my body, ignoring how the movement sent fresh blood seeping through my shirt.

"Touching," my rival spat, signaling his remaining guards to circle us. "But pointless."

We moved as one creature then, back to back, her body bracing mine. I felt her every breath, every shift of muscle and tension. Our heartbeats synchronized, her brilliance complementing my skill with a blade. Even wounded, even outmatched, we were magnificent together.

"On my count," she whispered, her fingers briefly squeezing mine. "Three... two... one... NOW!"

I pressed the button and squeezed my eyes shut. Even through closed lids, I sensed the flash—brilliant, blinding—followed by the disoriented shouts of our attackers. Zoe's creation had worked perfectly.

Before the spots could clear from our enemies' vision, we struck.

I lunged forward, ignoring the protests of my wounded body, blade singing through the rain. The first guard fell before he could raise his weapon. The second managed a weak parry before my backhand stroke caught him across the chest.

Beside me, Zoe fought with calculated precision, using the small dagger with surprising effectiveness. No wasted movement, no unnecessary flourish—just pure, elegant efficiency. Even in battle, her engineer's mind optimized every action.

My rival recovered fastest, rage twisting his features as he charged. Our blades met with a sound like thunder, the impact jarring through my wounded body. I faltered, strength waning.

"Elias!" Zoe's voice cut through the pain, anchoring me.

I parried a vicious thrust, but my footwork slowed. Another strike sent me staggering backward. My rival's face twisted into triumph as he raised his blade for the killing blow.

Then Zoe was there, slipping between us with impossible speed. She caught his descending arm with both hands, redirecting his momentum. The move gave me the opening I needed. With the last of my strength, I drove my blade forward, feeling it slide between his ribs.

Shock registered on his face, followed by disbelief. He crumpled, his body hitting the mud with a dull finality.

Silence fell, broken only by the drum of rain and our ragged breathing. The remaining guards, seeing their master fallen, retreated into the shadows of the estate.

I swayed on my feet, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision again. But Zoe's arms were there, catching me, holding me up. We clung to each other in the storm, both trembling—from exertion, from pain, from the raw emotion that coursed between us.

"We did it," I whispered, awed despite myself. The words tasted of blood and victory and impossible odds overcome. I stared at her rain-slicked face, this brilliant woman who had rewritten my fate with her stubborn refusal to accept defeat.

 To be continued...