Page 212 of Untamed

Even though I’m burning to, I don’t dare look over my shoulder.

If I do, I’ll see Giana’s face.

I’ll see Bianca’s shock. Enzo’s disbelief. Luciano’s fury. Matteo’s hurt.

Not that any of that matters, I can’t take my eyes off Ares anyway. His grip is unshakable. Warm and grounding. Like he’s trying to anchor me to a truth only we understand:

This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t a secret.

This is a war, and he just chose his weapon,me.

Ares walks like a man who’s just burned the throne he was born to sit on, and doesn’t regret it. We pass the tall double doors and I catch a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye.

Dante. He moves without a word, his face unreadable, his men falling in quietly behind him like shadows. None of them speak. They don’t need to.

They know what just happened.

And they know what’s coming.

By the time we reach the main hall, we’re a silent procession, Ares leading, me beside him, and a wall of loyalty trailing just behind. The doors swing open, letting in a breath of cool nightair. It hits my skin like a promise: whatever comes next, it’s already in motion.

Ares doesn’t say a word as we descend the steps of the manor, his eyes locked ahead like he’s daring someone to stop us.

No one does. And I walk beside him.

Not because I’m brave, but because I’ve already decided,

If Ares Russo burns for me… I’ll burn with him.

Seconds feel like hours while we walk toward his villa. Ares doesn’t speak.

Not when the doors close behind us. Not when Dante and his men melt back into the shadows like this was always the plan.

Ares just keeps walking.

His grip on my hand is tight but steady. As though he’s not quite sure if what he just did was a declaration or a death sentence.

We walk side by side in silence, the chill of the night air wrapping around us as we cross the courtyard. Every step echoes louder than it should. My heels crunch over gravel. His boots fall like thunder beside me. Still, no words.

I’m watching him, but he doesn’t look at me.

Not once.

Even as we climb the hill toward his villa, and the lights of the main estate fade away behind us, not even when the wind picks up and I shiver in my dress.

He notices. I feel it in the way his thumb strokes once over my knuckles, subtle but sure. That same calloused touch that set my skin on fire days ago now steadies me like a tether.

But still, nothing.

The front door clicks open. The warmth hits immediately, amber light, soft shadows, the faint scent of leather and cedar lingering in the air like a memory.

I step inside, heart still racing like it’s going to stop.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Just walks deeper into the villa like he’s trying to outrun the weight of what he’s done. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. I hover in the entryway, arms wrapped around myself, pulse in my throat.

I want to scream.

I want to ask him why he did it. Why he kissed me in front of them? What all of this means? Why did he pull me out like that? I have so many questions I want to ask.

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