His Deadly Desired Assassin

Ezra Raine didn't believe in accidents. Not in business. Not in war. And definitely not when a woman slipped past his supernatural security system and walked straight into the most guarded room in the city.

 The penthouse pulsed with silence.

 He stood by the glass wall overlooking Midtown, a drink untouched in his hand, rain smearing the city lights into soft chaos. Forty-five stories below, the world moved in patterns he'd long since learned to control.

 But something was off.

 A faint buzz stirred beneath his skin old magic, warning him before logic caught up. The kind of instinct no machine could replicate. Something was inside the vault.

 And that something had just crossed a line no one came back from.

 Ezra moved through the suite like a shadow, quiet and controlled. No need for weapons. He was one. The vault was wide open. That alone told him everything he needed to know this wasn't just a break-in. It was a message. And whoever delivered it was either brilliant... or suicidal.

 She stood inside, back to him. Clad in a sleek, black tactical suit, built like she knew how to break bones and hearts in the same breath. Her attention was locked on a pedestal at the center of the room.

 The Relic.

 An ancient bloodstone orb glowing faintly with runes that hadn't responded to anyone in centuries.

 Until now.

 Ezra stepped inside. She didn't react. Not even a twitch. That made her either extremely confident or extremely stupid. He let the door hiss closed behind him.

 "You've got five seconds to explain how you got in here before I decide what part of you to break first," he said calmly.

 The woman turned, slow and measured. No fear. Just cool, calculating eyes the color of storm clouds.

 "That's one hell of a welcome," she said.

 Ezra took a step forward. "You're not supposed to be breathing."

 She smiled faintly. "Neither are you, from what I've read."

 That pulled a flicker of curiosity from him. She knew who he was. That wasn't unusual. What was unusual?  The fact that she wasn't impressed.

 She reached for the Relic. Ezra moved faster. In less than a breath, he had her against the wall, forearm across her collarbone, pressure exact and practiced. She didn't struggle, just met his eyes like this was a negotiation.

 "You walked into a building layered with sigils, enchantments, and biometric triggers," he said. "You shouldn't even remember walking in, let alone be standing here."

 "Maybe your security isn't as special as you think." Ezra's palm lit up with a faint glow. The sigil. It was reacting. He looked down. So was she.

 A matching symbol flared beneath her suit, burning through the fabric in gold-red light. His eyes narrowed. That wasn't possible.

 "You activated a binding mark," he muttered.

 "I didn't activate anything," she said. "I was just here to steal it."

 "Well," he said, stepping back slightly, "you failed." She rubbed her neck and tilted her head.

"If I failed, why am I still alive?" Ezra didn't answer. Because he didn't know.

 Ten minutes later, she sat in the lounge, still calm, still composed. Rain hammered the glass behind her. Ezra watched her from across the room, leaning on the marble bar with a new glass of scotch in his hand.

 He wasn't sure if he wanted to seduce her or tear her apart. Possibly both.

 "What's your name?" he asked finally.

 She glanced up. "Lira."

 "That your real name?" 

"It's real enough."

 Ezra stared at her for a long beat. "What are you?" A flash of something passed across her face hurt, maybe. Anger. She didn't answer. "You touched a relic no one's touched since the old wars. You triggered a bond mark that shouldn't exist anymore. And you walked into my vault like you belonged there."

 "Maybe I do."