Love Is a Deep Burn

chapter 1

Henry and I had been enemies because of our families. Both families trained both of us at a young age to fight, so there's no surprise that I and he are violent and bloodthirsty.

And tonight, I was standing in front of Henry. I was on the rooftop of the building with a lot of dead bodies on the floor from the fight, and the only person who is alive is the both of us.

My dress is torn, my hair is disheveled, and there is a bloodstain on my body from the fight while Henry is standing in front of me with a gun in his hand, pointing it at me.

His eyes lock on mine in a piercing glare while I just stand there near the railing, feeling weak from the fight, with a cut on my arm that is still bleeding. Henry takes a step closer to me, daring you should give up already, u are about to faint, he said in his low, husky tone

get here before you fall

The cold wind whipped through my hair as I struggled to stay on My feet. The rooftop was drenched in blood, the bodies of the men I had slaughtered scattered around me like fallen puppets. My breathing was uneven, every inhale burning my lungs.

Blood dripped down my arm from the deep cut I received during the fight, staining the torn fabric of my dress. my body screamed in exhaustion, but surrender had never existed in my vocabulary.

Especially not to him.

Henry.

The man I had been taught to hate before I even learned how to write My name.

I were raised with blades in my hands and blood on my knuckles. The two of us had spent our entire lives trying to kill each other—or perhaps something far more dangerous than that.

Henry stood before you, dressed in black, his clothes stained crimson. There was blood smeared across his jaw, bruises decorating his face, and his gun was aimed directly at your heart.

His cold gaze remained fixed on you.

"You look terrible," he muttered in his usual mocking tone.

I laughed bitterly despite the pain. "And you look beautiful with blood on your hands."

His jaw tightened slightly at My words.

my vision blurred for a moment, forcing me to grip the railing behind me. The blood loss was beginning to catch up with me.

Henry noticed immediately.

He always did.

He took a slow step towards me, lowering the gun slightly.

"Daring give up already?" he asked in his low husky voice before his expression darkened when he saw my body sway.

He sighed softly and held out his hand.

"Get here before you fall."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

The infamous Henry—the ruthless monster who would burn kingdoms to ashes—was asking me to come to him.

"What?" I whispered weakly.

"I won't repeat myself."

"You'll shoot me if I do."

"If I wanted to shoot you, sweetheart," he said quietly while taking another step closer, "you would've been dead ten minutes ago."

My heart betrayed you by skipping a beat.

His eyes traveled to the blood running down my arm before they softened for just a second—a softness reserved only for you and hidden from the rest of the world.

"You lost too much blood."

"So did you."

"Mine isn't important."

I scoffed. "Since when?"

"Since it's yours that's spilling."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The city lights shone beneath the two of us as the cold wind carried the scent of blood and gunpowder through the night.

"You should kill me, Henry," i murmured softly.

"Should I?"

"That's what we've been raised for."

He smiled bitterly at that.

"No," he answered immediately. "That's what they raised us for."