He pinned me to the bed with an easy strength, his towel the only thing between him and the chill of the morning. His skin was damp, warm, still carrying the sharp scent of soap. I breathed him in greedily. He was my own private addiction, and I let myself laugh at how unguarded I was in his arms. He should have been preparing to leave for work, sharpening blades, checking his schedule. Instead, he was leaning over me as if time itself had bent in our favor.
His hands slid beneath the hem of my nightdress. His touch wasn’t rough, but it carried that quiet urgency he always had, a restless edge. Heat trailed wherever he pressed his palm, and my body arched to meet it. I wanted to stop him, to remind him of the hour, but the words dissolved before they ever left my tongue. I was selfish in that moment, clinging to the illusion that I could keep him here forever.
I would miss this body when I finally went home. My true form was monstrous, and even if I wore this borrowed shell flawlessly, I never forgot the truth. I was not meant for his world. He was not meant for mine. And yet, he kissed my stomach as if he worshipped me, his breath feathering over my skin, grounding me in this fragile human disguise.
I whispered a protest—something silly about not getting me dirty—but he ignored it, as always. He swept me up as though I weighed nothing, carrying me to the bathroom. The cold glass of the shower pressed against my back when he caged me in. His lips found mine, urgent and tender in turns, and I lost myself again.
Every kiss, every graze of his mouth, stole the air from my lungs. I couldn’t think of the portal I needed to open, of the jewels I had to steal, of the weight of my other life pressing down. Here, with him, I was only a woman. Not a monster. Not a schemer. Just his wife.
When he finally pulled away, I leaned into him, dazed, trembling from the storm he left in his wake. My heart still beat too fast, unsteady and reckless.
But reality always crept back.
"I’ll miss this," I thought, not daring to say it aloud. What I didn’t say: I couldn’t carry a child. I had been swallowing human medicine quietly, a little shield between us and a future I wasn’t meant to have. A husband was already more weight than I had bargained for when I opened my eyes in this borrowed body. But when I had first woken here, he had been the one by my side. He had offered me kindness, protection, marriage. I hadn’t been able to refuse him.
I was not foolish enough to believe it was love. But his feelings ran deep—deeper than I deserved. And I stayed, letting myself drown in him a little more each day.
He withdrew, water sliding from his hair, and set me gently on my feet. My nightdress clung to me, sheer and soaked, but I didn’t care. I brushed my lips over the curve of his chest, teasing him until he gave me that warning look, the one that always made me smile.
I slipped away, leaving him to dry and dress, though my eyes betrayed me. I watched him choose his clothing with methodical precision: black shirt, black slacks, every line neat and deliberate. He was elegance wrapped around lethality, a blade disguised as a man. He wasn’t just an assassin—he was the best. And yet, his heart was stubbornly human. He killed only those he believed deserved it. That streak of morality, buried beneath blood and precision, was part of what chained me to him.
When he was dressed, he returned to press a kiss to my lips. Brief. Almost casual. But his gaze lingered, sharp and searching, as though he was trying to read every secret I held.
And oh, there were so many.
Night fell. The air was damp, carrying the faint tang of rain, when we drove out of the city. He parked the car behind a cluster of trees, killing the headlights. Darkness wrapped around us, thick and watchful.
"So, they’re not supposed to be home?" His voice was quiet, even, but I heard the doubt beneath.
"I don’t know," I admitted, eyes fixed on the hulking silhouette of the building.
We moved like shadows, slipping around to the back. My heart hammered. The jewels I needed were inside. Power I couldn’t live without—power that would tear open the portal home. Without them, I was trapped.
He found a discarded fire extinguisher, hefting it without hesitation. A single swing, and the window shattered, spraying shards onto the floor. The sound rang far too loud in the night. My breath caught. For more chapters visıt N0v3l.Fiɾe.net
Sirens wailed in the distance. Growing closer.
"Damn it," he hissed. His jaw tightened. "We’re leaving."
Panic clawed through me. No. Not now. Not when I was this close.
I turned toward the broken window, ignoring his outstretched hand. He caught up immediately, anger flashing in his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"
I didn’t answer. I stepped into the dark, glass crunching under my shoes. The smell of dust and something metallic filled my lungs.
"There’s no time!" He grabbed me around the waist, hauling me back with raw strength. I thrashed, but he was relentless. In one motion he dragged me out through the window, back into the cool night.
The sirens screamed louder. Police lights painted the treeline with flickering blue and red.
He gripped my hand and we ran. My lungs burned, but my mind burned hotter, a desperate mantra repeating over and over: the jewels, the jewels, the jewels.
I looked back once—just once—and saw it. The building. The place that had my freedom locked inside. My jaw ached from clenching so hard.
Then a figure dropped into our path, as sudden as a shadow come to life. A man with a katana, blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
My husband froze, body shifting instantly into that poised, lethal stance I had seen a hundred times before. One hand pushed me slightly behind him. His gaze sharpened into ice.
I didn’t need him to say it. The night had just shifted. The plan was shattered. And survival was now the only thing left.