I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

-'Wicked Game' by Ursine Vulpine ft. Annaca

"Will you be making your presence known?" D asks, his voice even, unreadable.

I smirk, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "Let's see. It isn't every day we come across those who prefer to live in burrows, do we?"

"I guess not," he replies, stepping closer to the marble railing. Below us, the throng of people moves like a tide, shifting under the dim lights, bodies pressed close, music thrumming through the air like a heartbeat.

After a meeting that exposed more than they intended, I should feel satisfied. But satisfaction is a fleeting thing. A shallow indulgence.

And right now, it isn't enough.

Not when I'm this close.

I need a drink. Or something stronger. Something to drown out the relentless pounding in my skull, the thoughts circling like vultures, tearing into the one name I can't escape.

Ziva.

It lingers on my tongue, a whisper, a weight, a temptation. I almost let it slip past my lips, almost give it shape in the silence-

Until a voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Careful," D drawls, his gaze flicking toward me. "You look like a man on the verge of losing his mind."

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders back, forcing the tension from my muscles. "Losing my mind?" I echo, my tone smooth, measured. "No."

Losing control?

That's another story.

I ignore him, leaning against the railing. The cool marble grounds me as I take in the scene below-dark suits, silk dresses, bodies entwined in the haze of smoke and lust. Predictable. Monotonous.

I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn settle in my chest. It soothes the physical ache but does nothing for the restlessness clawing beneath my skin.

A sharp crack splits the air.

Glass shatters.

The sound is sharp, jarring, slicing through the thick atmosphere like a blade. My head snaps toward the source, instincts kicking in before thought.

D's hand hangs in midair, the remains of his glass shattered across the marble floor, whiskey dripping onto the dark surface. But it isn't the broken glass that grabs my attention.

It's his expression.

His usual easy arrogance is gone, replaced by something colder, something hateful. It's not often I see Dhruv react like this. Whatever has caught his eye has sent a ripple of something dark through him.

Curious, I follow his line of sight.

My gaze drifts across the crowd, drawn to a pair of women on the dance floor.

The one in the striking red dress is undoubtedly the center of his attention, her beauty a beacon in the dim light. But it's the other woman, the one in the understated beige dress, who truly captures my interest.

She moves with quiet confidence, shielding her companion from wandering eyes. It's subtle but unmistakable-a silent command to back off.

My gaze fixates on her, the rest of the crowd fading into the background. She's a vision in beige, the dress sculpted to her form in a way that is both elegant and effortless.

Long, dark hair cascades down her back, framing a face that's both delicate and strong. Her lips, a subtle shade of mauve, hint at a playful nature. The intricate design of her mask does little to hide her features.

Yet there's something about her-something familiar.

I watch, transfixed, as she exchanges a few words with her companion. Then, she turns and heads toward the bar, slipping onto a stool beside a man, her posture relaxed, unconcerned.

My eyes stay locked on her, but I don't notice hers-

Not until they find me.

And when they do-my world stops.

Dark brown eyes-hauntingly familiar-stare back at me. The same eyes from all those years ago.

A past I never quite outran slams into me with the force of a bullet.

It's her.

It has to be.

My fingers clench around my glass, the condensation slick against my palm.

Ziva.

I can't look away, drawn into the depths of her gaze.

The air shifts, charged with something I can't name. Something dangerous.

Unable to help myself, I raise my glass in a silent toast, a challenge.

To my surprise, she nods, a small, defiant smile playing on her lips. The stubborn dimple appears on her cheek, the same one I remember from years ago.

It slams into me, a vicious punch to the chest, unraveling a memory I had buried deep. The countless times my fingers traced that dimple, pressing against it just to see if it would fade, only to watch it stubbornly remain, flickers through my mind.

A ghost of a smile tugs at my lips. A sudden surge of adrenaline courses through me.

The man beside her leans in, drawing her attention away, and suddenly, I can breathe again. But only for a second.

Because my feet are already moving.

By the time I reach the bar stools-she's gone.

A flicker of movement catches my eye-a glimpse of beige disappearing toward the restrooms.

I don't hesitate.

I follow.

No hesitation. No thought. Just need.

By the time I reach the entrance to the women's restroom, my patience is running thin. My hands flex at my sides, restraint fraying with each second.

I wait.

Just barely.

The seconds stretch, slow and agonizing.

Just as I'm about to say fuck it and barge in-

The door swings open.

And there she is.

She stumbles out, her fingers pressing against her temple, muttering under her breath. "Responsibilities..."

Her voice.

Something inside me shifts, visceral and sharp, the sensation almost foreign. The years fall away, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something I can't control.

My world narrows to just her.

Every sway of her hips, every slight stumble as she tried to navigate her way back to the main hall pulled me in deeper. She was like a puzzle with too many jagged edges, and God help me, I wanted to be the one to smooth them out.

The faint smell of jasmine and lavender lured me in with a promise of something sweet and dangerous.

As her small hands pressed against my chest, I thought she might push me away. Instead, she gripped my lapels like I was her lifeline, anchoring herself to me as though letting go wasn't an option. The way her body leaned into mine, her flushed cheeks and the tell-tale clench of her thighs-it was all maddening.

And then, it hit me.

The way she tilted her head, the shape of her lips, the look in her eyes-it was almost like a challenge. A dare. As if she wanted to see if I'd take the bait, if I'd unravel her right here, right now.

It couldn't be.

No.

And yet, the longer I looked, the harder it became to deny.

She was real.

Right here.

Mine.

The words left me before I could stop them, low and deliberate.

"Do you believe it's a good idea to be with a complete stranger in a dimly lit corner of a nightclub, kitten?"

The shift in her demeanor was instant.

Not just annoyance. No, this was something deeper. A sharp, primal reaction, as if the word itself had claws.

My kitten never did like being called that by anyone else. And judging by the way her fingers curled into my lapels-she still didn't.

Satisfaction curled in my chest.

She might not have realized it yet, might not have pieced it all together-but her body knew. Some part of her still remembered.

Then I saw it.

A glimpse of black ink peeking from beneath her sleeve.

And I couldn't help myself.

I reached out, fingers trailing over the familiar design. The moment my skin met hers, everything inside me went still.

A black cat curled around a snarling wolf.

Our mark.

Not a meaningless tattoo. Not a coincidence.

A bond. A fucking promise.

My fingers burned from the contact, from the way her skin reacted-like it knew me, like it remembered before she did.

For a second, it was just us. A world of silence, of recognition, of something I wasn't ready to name.

The urge to rip that mask off consumes me. To see her-unveiled, bare, mine.

Fingers twitch at my sides, the distance between us a taunt I refuse to endure much longer. Her breath hitches, lips parting as if she knows-feels-what's coming.

But then-

"Ziva."

A voice. Sharp. Invasive. Splintering the fragile moment like glass.

She jerks away like I've electrocuted her. Like touching me was a mistake.

I reach for her, fingers desperate to reclaim what was already slipping. But she's faster. Gone before I can stop her. And now she's running.

I should've stopped her. Should've pulled her back the second she tried to leave.

But I didn't.

"We'll see each other again."

The words leave my lips, a promise and a warning wrapped in one.

She stiffens for a fraction of a second. Just enough for me to catch it. Just enough to tell me that some part of her-no matter how deeply buried-knows I'm not lying.

Then, she turns away.

And that's when I see him.

The man from the bar.

He stands at the edge of the corridor, arms crossed, posture rigid. Waiting.

For her.

Irritation slithers through me, sharp and unwelcome. But beneath it, something colder, darker, unfamiliar. A slow-burning heat that settles low in my stomach as he shifts his gaze to me.

There's no confusion in his eyes. No idle curiosity.

He knows I'm a problem.

Good.

Because I know he is, too.

The air between us crackles, silent and lethal, a wordless exchange that speaks louder than any threat ever could.

Then, he breaks it.

"Let's go," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She obeys. Without hesitation.

That unfamiliar heat flares.

I watch her back as she walks away, daring her-willing her-to turn around.

To look at me.

To acknowledge what just happened.

But she doesn't.

And something about that...

Pisses me off.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders back as my fingers twitch at my sides.

This isn't over.

Not even fucking close.

Let her think she's walking away. Let her believe she can slip through my fingers like smoke.

Because now that I've found her again-

She's never escaping me.

She'll end up exactly where she belongs.

With me.

Forcing down the simmering frustration, I turn away. My bodyguards remain in the shadows, waiting for orders, their presence a silent reminder of the world I command.

But tonight, I don't need them.

I spot Fixer, my most trusted man, watching me with a knowing expression. He doesn't ask questions-not usually. But when I extend my hand, palm up, he hesitates for just a second before reaching into his pocket.

His brows furrow as he tosses me the car keys. "Something I should know?"

I catch them effortlessly, offering nothing but a cold smirk in return. "You're all dismissed for the night."

He doesn't argue. He knows better.

Because I don't need an entourage for this.

Tonight, I have only one destination.

I have, after all, decided to follow her.