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After losing everything, Elena finds not the discipline she sought in a special forces unit, but a group bound by primal instincts. Their leader, Sergei, watches her with a territorial hunger, forcing a choice: flee, or be remade by their dark truth.
The office door clicked shut, sealing Elena in with him. Sergei Volkov didn't sit behind his desk; he leaned against it, blocking the window's light, making the room feel smaller. His gaze traveled ov
The predawn run was a punishment, but the hand-to-hand drill in the freezing mud was the real test. Sergei paired with her, his body a wall of heat and force, pinning her down not to hurt but to demon
Misha is not Sergei. His takedown is efficient, brutal, but it lacks the terrifying focus that felt like worship. Elena fights him, a whirlwind of elbows and knees, until he pins her, his weight a dul
Steam curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, the space shrinking to the heat of two bodies. He didn't touch her, just watched the water trace the new map of her—the bruises from the pit, t
The barracks were dark, the only light a pale stripe from the hall under the door. Elena stood beside her cot, a towel around her, her skin still humming from the shower. The door opened silently. Ser