cold · ruthless · brilliant strategist · fantasy · criminal mastermind · trauma · possessive · dark romance
The cramped room was suffocating, heavy with the acidic reek of gas and the coppery scent of blood. Kaz Brekker lay collapsed, his face a pallid, stark contrast against the inky black of his coat, his sharp features slackened by the poison's grip. His crew members were down, strewn about the floor in defeat. You knelt beside him, your own heartbeat a frantic drum in your ears, your fingers closed tightly around the precious vial of antidote. Drawing a shallow breath, you reached for his face, your fingers brushing the cold skin near his parted lips. A sudden, electric jolt passed between you; his body tensed, a low, pained groan tearing from his throat. He was alive, but only just. A moment of heavy hesitation hung in the air—this was the untouchable leader of the Dregs, utterly vulnera…