NIA

I wake to the sound of rain again.For one dizzy heartbeat, I think I’m still on that rooftop, the storm gnawing at the city, my knife in my hand and my target at my mercy. Then I smell the familiar scent and my stomach sinks.

No.

I know that smell.

I pry my eyes open. The ceiling is high. The sheets beneath me are soft, expensive, and definitely not mine. When I shift, pain claws through my ribs and arm. Bandages pull tight across my skin.

The air hums with warmth. I push myself up, fighting the dizziness. The room comes into focus: glass walls, city lights, the steady beat of rain against the windows. I recognize it instantly.

Knight Golden’s penthouse.

The same room I’d broken into a few hours ago. The same man I’d almost killed.

A rough laugh echoes from the doorway. “Two visits in one night, Silent Blade. I must’ve hit the jackpot.”

My head snaps toward the sound. He’s leaning against the frame, casual as sin, a mug of coffee in his hand, shirt hanging loose, sleeves rolled. His golden eyes gleam with amusement.

I glare at him. “Where are my weapons?”

He takes a slow sip. “Confiscated. You don’t need them while you’re bleeding on my sheets.”

“I heal fast.”

“Not fast enough. You lost a lot of blood.” He nods toward my arm. “Silver-dust rounds. Nasty stuff. Had to dig them out myself.”

My stomach twists. “You touched me?”

“I saved you.” He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Yeah, but dying wasn’t exactly a better look on you.”

His tone is pure infuriation—light, amused, like this is all a game. I swing my legs off the bed, ignoring the pain. “I’m leaving.”

He sets the mug down. “You sure about that? You stand up too fast, you’ll hit the floor again. And if you break my floor, I’ll have to bill you.”

“I’ll add it to your death invoice.”

When I try to rise, the room tilts violently. My knees buckle. He’s there before I hit the floor, his arms around me, solid and too warm. The bond slams between us—heat, electricity, heartbeats syncing for one impossible second.

I shove him back with what little strength I have. “Don’t touch me.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “You keep saying that, yet you keep falling into my arms. Starting to think it’s a habit.”

“Starting to think you have a death wish.”

He grins, unbothered. “Not really. I just enjoy good company.”

“Company implies consent,” I snap. “I didn’t ask to be here.”

“Would you rather be dead?”

The question hangs heavy in the air. My wolf goes still. I hate that he’s right.

I glance at my bandages, then at the shattered remnants of my clothes folded neatly on a chair. He’d seen too much already.

“Who sent you?” he asks quietly.

I look away. “You already know I won’t answer that.”

“Humor me.”

“Someone rich. Someone scared of you.”

He chuckles softly. “aah same answer as before."

I say nothing. The silence stretches. My pulse won’t settle.

He crosses the room and sits across from me, elbows on his knees, eyes searching mine. “You realize whoever hired you also sent those mercs. They didn’t come for me—they came for both of us.”

I frown. “You’re sure?”

“I saw their gear. Silver rounds, Wolfsbane injectors. You were meant to disappear as cleanly as I was.” He tilts his head. “Guess someone doesn’t like fate playing matchmaker.”

“Fate doesn’t exist,” I mutter.

“Tell that to my throat.” He brushes his neck where my blade had cut him. The wound is gone, only a faint scar left behind. “You marked me before you even knew it.”

“Don’t read into it.”

“Oh, I’m reading everything.” His smile is infuriating. “I tend to pay attention when a beautiful woman breaks into my home, tries to kill me, and then passes out a street from my home.”

I grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest. He catches it midair and smirks. “Feisty.”

“You’re lucky I’m too injured to stab you properly.”

“You’re lucky I like a woman with a temper.”

I groan and drag a hand through my hair. “You talk too much.”

“Only when I’m nervous.”

I blink. “You? Nervous?”

“Having my mate under my roof, armed, angry, and gorgeous? Yeah. Little bit.” He leans forward. “You’re shaking, by the way.”

I glance down. My hands are trembling. The bond—it’s pulsing again, dragging heat through my veins. I curl my fingers into fists. “It’s adrenaline.”

“Sure,” he says, and the sarcasm makes me want to punch him.

When I try to stand again, the dizziness returns. He catches me—again—and this time I can feel his breath near my ear. The world narrows to that point of contact, the scent of him, the steady rhythm of his heart.

The bond hums, a silent command in my blood:mine.

I shove him back harder. “I said don’t touch me.”

He sighs. “You keep saying that like I want to.”

“Then stop.”

“Can’t. The bond’s a bitch like that.”

My wolf growls softly. I hate that she agrees.

Knight straightens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You’re in over your head, Nia.”

My name on his tongue makes me freeze. “How do you—”

“You talk in your sleep.” His lips curve. “Kept muttering about blades and betrayal. Charming bedtime stories.”

I want the floor to swallow me. “You should’ve let me die.”

He steps closer, serious now. “No. I shouldn’t have. Because whoever sent you… they’ll send others. And next time, you won’t be the one bleeding.”

I glare at him. “You think I need your protection?”

“I think we both need answers.” He studies me for a long moment. “So here’s a deal: you stay until we figure out who’s trying to kill us. Then you can go back to pretending you hate me.”

I hesitate. My instincts scream to refuse. My wolf hums with interest.

“Not interested,” I say finally.

“Lie better,” he murmurs, amused.

He moves toward the door. “Get some rest, Silent Blade. Wouldn’t want my mate dying before breakfast.”

I open my mouth to tell him exactly where to shove that grin, but he’s already gone.

I sit there for a long time, staring at the rain bleeding down the glass. The city looks small from here. Powerless. I touch the bandage on my arm, the faint echo of the bond still burning under my skin.

Two nights in one night. I should’ve known fate had a cruel sense of humor.

NIA

You know that feeling when you can’t figure out how fate flipped your life upside down in a single heartbeat? Yeah. That’s me—lying in the bed of the man I was supposed to kill, who turned out to be my mate.

I stare at the ceiling, tracing invisible cracks with my eyes, trying to make sense of it all. Fate has a sick sense of humor. Last night I was Silent Blade—ghost, killer, legend. Now I’m just Nia—confused, sore, and wrapped in sheets that smell like the man I swore to end.

My wolf stretches lazily inside me, content. Traitor.

The sunlight creeping through the glass walls is too bright, almost mocking. The city sprawls below like nothing happened.

I swing my legs out of bed and wince. The bandages around my arm are fresh.

Knight Golden.

My jaw tightens at the memory of his smirk, the sound of his laugh, the way he said “my mate” like it meant something sacred instead of catastrophic.

I push to my feet, slow and careful. Every muscle complains, but standing feels like taking back control.

The penthouse is quiet. No guards. No noise. Just the distant hum of the city below. My weapons are gone, but I can smell the faint burn of silver in the air. He must’ve locked them away.

I move through the space barefoot, scanning for exits. The floor-to-ceiling windows catch my reflection—a ghost in one of his shirts. Great. He even changed me.

There’s coffee on the counter. Two mugs. One empty, one steaming.

Before I can decide whether to throw one or drink it, I hear a voice—his voice—from the next room.Speaking into a phone.

“…No, keep the pack on standby. I’ll deal with the council myself. Yes, I’m aware of the rogue contract. Containment first. Then we talk retaliation.”

Containment. Retaliation. The words crawl under my skin.

He’s not just a CEO. He’s an Alpha—probably one with influence far beyond his fancy skyscraper and smug grin.

I should leave. Disappear before this bond becomes another chain.

I take a step toward the door.

“Morning, Silent Blade,” Knight’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Sleep well? You didn’t stab anyone in your dreams, did you?”

I turn slowly. He’s leaning against the doorway, phone tucked in his pocket, sunlight turning his hair gold. The bastard looks rested.

“You’re still alive,” I say flatly. “Guess not.”

“Barely.” He gestures at the coffee. “I made you some. Black. Figured a killer’s not the cream-and-sugar type.”

I cross my arms. “You figured wrong.”

His lips twitch. “So there’s a soft side under all that steel.”

I grab the mug anyway. It’s hot, bitter, and annoyingly perfect. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just good at guessing.”

“I’m good at survival,” he says, watching me. “And apparently, I’m good at rescuing assassins too.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You were unconscious. Hard to ask for anything when you’re bleeding out on my floor.”

I take another sip, trying to ignore the way his eyes track every movement like he’s cataloging me.

“Why am I still here?” I ask finally.

He shrugs. “Figured it’d be rude to dump my mate in an alley.”

I roll my eyes. “Stop calling me that.”

“Stop pretending you don’t feel it.”

The bond hums, like it heard him. My pulse trips, heat blooming under my skin. I look away first.

He walks to the kitchen, his presence filling the room. “You hungry?”

“I don’t eat with my targets.”

“Then consider me your patient. You can feed the wounded.”

I glare, but my stomach betrays me with a low growl. He grins and starts cracking eggs into a pan like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You know,” he says over the sizzle, “most mates share breakfast before plotting each other’s deaths.”

“Most mates aren’t on opposite sides of a kill order.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Touché.”

We eat in silence. Well, I eat; he watches. His kitchen smells like coffee and home.

After a while, he slides a datapad across the counter. “This is what we found on the mercs who hit you.”

I skim the file. No names. No origins. Just redacted records and one untraceable payment trail.

“They were paid through supernatural channels,” he says. “Whoever hired them knew what they were doing.”

My throat tightens. My handler. He must’ve known. He set me up.

“Whoever you were working for,” Knight continues softly, “they sold you out.”

I force a shrug, though my hands tremble around the datapad. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Still hurts like the first,” he says quietly.

I meet his gaze, and for a moment, there’s no sarcasm there—just understanding. It’s worse than the teasing. It feels like truth.

The air shifts again. The bond rises between us. I grip the counter hard, but it doesn’t stop the heat curling through my veins.

Knight’s eyes darken, wolf glint flickering gold. “You feel that too.”

“I feel nothing,” I lie.

He steps closer, slow enough that I can stop him, but I don’t. The space between us vibrates with tension.

“Liar,” he murmurs.

I move before my sanity gives way, brushing past him toward the balcony. “I need air.”

The city wind slaps me awake . I lean on the railing, breathing until the world steadies again.

Of course, he follows. He always does.

“You don’t have to trust me,” he says, voice low behind me. “But if you stay, I can protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“No,” he admits. “You need answers.”

I glance back at him. The morning light softens his edges, makes him look less like a monster, more like a man. It’s dangerous.

He continues, “Whoever ordered that hit isn’t done. You want to find them? You’ll need me.”

I cross my arms. “And what do you get out of this?”

He smiles. “A live mate. Maybe a thank-you. Definitely entertainment.”

“Try patience,” I mutter.

“Temporary alliance?” he offers, extending a hand.

I stare at it for a long moment, then take it. His grip is firm. The bond hums like approval.

“Temporary,” I warn.

He grins. “Until fate decides otherwise.”

That night, I lie awake in the guest room, staring at the ceiling again. The city outside glows against the glass. Somewhere down the hall, I can hear him moving—steady footsteps, the low murmur of a voice call. Safe.

My wolf sighs, content.

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the faint echo of his heartbeat through the bond.

I came here to kill him.

Now I’m starting to think fate didn’t just twist the blade—

It turned it back on me.

NIA

A week.That’s how long it’s been since the night everything went wrong and somehow even more right.

Seven days since I was supposed to kill Knight Golden, and instead found myself living in his penthouse, drinking his coffee, wearing his spare shirts, and pretending the bond humming between us doesn’t exist.

Physically, I’ve healed. My ribs don’t ache, my cuts have faded, and I can hold a blade again without flinching. Emotionally? That’s another story.

The penthouse feels too large. I was built for shadows, for silence but now I can hear him everywhere. His laugh. His voice through the comms.

Fate didn’t just twist the knife. It buried it in deep and left me to deal with the bleeding.

Knight has rules now. “While you’re here, you train, you eat, and you don’t try to stab me before noon.”

I told him two of those were negotiable.

Every morning starts in his private gym—a sleek space with mirrored walls and a scent that’s purely him: cedar, steel, and wolf. I spar with drones, run drills until sweat soaks through my tank top, and pretend I don’t know he’s watching from the corner of the room.

“You move better when you’re angry,” he calls one morning.

I don’t turn. “You talk too much for someone who claims to like silence.”

He laughs. “It’s the company that inspires me.”

I throw a dagger at the wall near his head. It lands an inch from his ear.

His grin only widens.

By the end of each session, I’m more exhausted from ignoring him than from the training itself.

Afternoons are worse. That’s when we work together—two wolves picking through encrypted data on the mercenaries who attacked us. He’s sharp, annoyingly focused, and somehow always right.

When I find something, he leans in close, his scent overwhelming. My heartbeat betrays me every time.

It’s getting stronger. The bond.

I know when he’s near. I can sense his mood before he even speaks. Once, I woke up in the middle of the night gasping—because somewhere in the building, he was bleeding.

I found him in the gym, knuckles raw from punching the training bag.

“You’re not supposed to be up,” he said, breath ragged.

“You’re not supposed to bleed,” I shot back.

We stared at each other too long. I turned before my wolf could betray me further.

Since then, I’ve stopped pretending the connection isn’t there. I just refuse to acknowledge it.

This morning, he challenged me. “You’re healed enough. Time for a rematch.”

Training blades. No killing blows. But the tension? Fatal.

We circle each other on the mat. His eyes gleam with mischief; mine, with warning.

“Don’t go easy on me,” he says.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The first clash of steel echoes through the room. It’s muscle memory, instinct, hunger. I feint, spin, strike low. He blocks, counters, grabs my wrist—too close. Our breath tangles in the space between.

“Still deadly,” he murmurs.

“Still alive,” I reply, sweeping his leg out from under him. He hits the mat with a grunt, then laughs.

The sound cracks something inside me. I can’t remember the last time someone laughed like that around me—like I wasn’t a weapon.

He looks up, golden eyes catching mine. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to that space between us.

Then his comm buzzes. The moment shatters.

He sighs, rolling to his feet. “Saved by the bell.”

“Saved from what?” I ask, voice too low.

He gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “From myself.”

That night, we finally make progress.

The encrypted payments that funded my contract traced to a holding company under one of Knight’s subsidiaries. Someone inside his empire paid for my blade.

“Someone close,” he mutters, pacing the office. “Someone who knows my patterns. My weaknesses.”

I swallow hard. “They knew mine too.”

He glances at me. “You think your handler was working with them?”

I nod once. “Or for them. I was just the cleanup.”

His jaw tightens. “We’ll find them.”

I should feel relief. Instead, I feel… uncertain. Because once we do, once this is over, I’ll have no reason to stay.

He must sense it. He always does.

“You keep looking at the door,” he says quietly. “Like it’s calling you.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Maybe it’s not the only thing that’s calling.”

I hate how easily he can do that—strip down my defenses with a few words.

I can’t sleep again. Too many memories, too many questions. I end up on the balcony, the city lights bleeding into the clouds.

Knight’s already there, leaning against the railing, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks without looking at me.

“Never could,” I answer, joining him. The air is sharp and cold; I welcome it.

He hands me the glass. “Drink. It’ll help.”

I take a sip—burns like fire, tastes like truth.

For a while, we just stand there in silence. Then he says, “You ever wonder what we’d be if we’d met differently?”

“Alive, maybe,” I say dryly.

He chuckles. “You’re impossible.”

“You hired me to kill you. You should’ve read the fine print.”

His smile fades. “I didn’t hire you, Nia. Someone did that for both of us.”

I stare at the skyline. “Story of my life.”

He turns to me then, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen. “Tell me about it.”

And somehow, I do. About the orphanage. The handlers. The years of blood and silence. How I stopped counting my kills when the number stopped meaning anything.

When I finally stop talking, he says, “You were never meant to be a weapon.”

I laugh once, bitter. “Funny. Everyone else thought I was made for it.”

“Not everyone,” he says, stepping closer.

The bond hums again, low and steady. I can feel his heat, his heartbeat syncing with mine.

He tells me his own story—how he once lost control of his wolf, tore through a rival pack, nearly lost everything. “Power without control destroys,” he says softly. “You and I both learned that.”

We stand there, two broken creatures forged by violence, pretending we’re not finding something whole in each other.

For a second, I forget what side we were ever on.

The city lights blur below us, and I realize the truth I’ve been running from all week: I don’t want to run anymore.

A week ago, I was supposed to end his life.

Now, I can’t decide if he’s the reason I’m still breathing or the reason I can’t breathe at all.