A lone shadowed figure emerged from the smoke, his silhouette barely visible in the blaze of fire that tore through the forest.

The orange glow flickered across his face as he reached Draupadi's crumpled form, his arms wrapping around her just as her eyes rolled back.

Blood flowed freely from the gash on the back of her head, soaking into her dark hair.

Arjun's jaw tightened as he pulled her closer to his chest, his muscles rigid with fury.

His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths ragged as he looked down at her unnaturally pale, unconscious face.

And for a moment his world halted. It had been years since he had seen her. There were a thousand unwanted scenarios that had often ran through his mind about how he would meet her again.

But not in his wildest dreams he had anticipated to meet her like this.

Bleeding and deadly pale.

Fury thrummed in his veins, like a wave of tsunami that was rising to destroy everything.

He hated her. There was no doubt about that. But the fact that somebody else except him had dared touch her made him see red.

Arjun had always been possessive of her. It was no secret. Since their childhood if there was one thing that he had known was that Draupadi was always meant to be his.

And his alone.

Only know she was meant to be only his enemy. Nobody has a right to hurt her except him.

Her once innocent features of young girl were now matured to that of a beautiful woman, her playful expression, that he was used to seeing all those years ago, was now replaced by an unnatural stillness that chilled his bones.

Wrath swelled within him like a raging inferno, matching the flames devouring the trees around them.

Fire blazed through the forest, wild and furious, but it was nothing compared to the bloodlust stirring in his veins.

He scooped her up in his arms, her warm body fit perfectly against his, she was light.

He frowned, did Panchaal didn't feed her or something?

He carried her, her limp body cradled against his powerful frame. As screams filled the skies around him.

His warriors had broken through the foliage, and were now tearing down the assassins.

For now he couldn't think about anything, except the girl in his arms.

For the first time in years, his dead heart thrummed making it's presence known. He almost froze in surprise, but than again why was he surprised?

Draupadi had always had a vice around his heart. Only now he knew better than to trust her with the organ in his chest.

She had shredded it once, and she wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Walking toward an old oak tree, he gently laid her down, like she was a precious cargo and not his enemy, her back resting against the rough bark.

Arjun's gaze swept over Draupadi's unconscious form as she lay slumped against the tree, the bark rough against her delicate back.

Blood trickled from a gash on her forehead, staining her dark hair and trailing down the side of her face like crimson tears.

Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling beneath the torn fabric of her attire, her form marred by cuts and bruises. Yet even in this state, there was a haunting beauty to her-an ethereal quality that seemed to linger despite the violence she had endured.

He knelt beside her, his heart tightening at the sight of her injuries, the blood that stained her skin, and the exhaustion that softened her features.

Her hair, once neatly tied, had come undone, cascading in waves across her shoulders and framing her face with a dark halo.

Her cheeks were pale, almost ghostly, with faint streaks of dirt and blood painting her skin, and her lips-usually full and defiant-were parted ever so slightly, her breathing labored.

There was a heartbreaking innocence in the way she lay there, so still and quiet, a stark contrast to the ferocity he had witnessed moments ago.

Arjun's mind traveled back to the last time he had seen her-years ago, when she was just a girl of sixteen.

Back then, she had been a creature of light and laughter, someone who recoiled from violence and feared the darkness in the world.

She had possessed a gentleness, a kind of vulnerability that seemed incongruent with the world of warriors and weapons. Her eyes had been wide with wonder, her voice hesitant whenever the talk had turned to battles or bloodshed.

He had known her as someone who loved the simpler things-flowers in her hair, the warmth of the sun on her skin, and the innocent dreams of a girl untouched by the shadows of the world.

But that Draupadi was gone.

"What have they done to you..." His voice was thick with emotions, his heart tightened.

He knew a person didn't just change so much overnight, and not painlessly.

Panchaal had molded, twisted and snapped the once innocent princess to a warrior. To sharpen her edges, they had shattered her.

Or had he?

Guilt swarmed his soul. His eyes stung. But than fury followed as he recalled her leaving.

She had left, when he had insisted she stay. She chose them over him.

He gazed at her, searching for the Drau he knew all those years ago.

But the woman before him was a warrior-fierce, fearless, and unyielding. Her body, though now battered, was stronger than he remembered, shaped by years of hardship and training.

Her skin, though bruised and bleeding, glowed with an inner fire, a strength that seemed to pulse beneath the surface even in her unconscious state.

She was beautiful in a way that was both mesmerizing and unsettling, like a rose that bloomed amidst thorns, her allure sharpened by the dangers she had faced.

Arjun reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced the line of her jaw, noting how much sharper it seemed now, how the girl's softness had given way to a woman's strength.

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and for a moment, she seemed impossibly delicate, a striking contrast to the deadly grace she had wielded in the forest.

He could still see the warrior in her- the way her fingers were curled slightly, as though still clutching an imaginary weapon, the faint smears of blood on her hands marking where she had fought and killed.

And yet, there was a fragility to her now that made his chest ache, a reminder of the girl who had once been too kind for a world that showed no mercy.

His gaze lingered on the curve of her lips, the elegant arch of her brows, and the softness of her features that seemed to belong to a dream rather than this brutal reality.

She was as much an enigma now as she had been in their youth, a paradox of beauty and danger, of innocence and violence.

The years had changed her-hardened her, sharpened her edges-but beneath the layers of blood and dirt, he could still see glimpses of the Draupadi he had known, the girl whose laughter had once echoed in the corridors of his memories.

Arjun's jaw tightened, a surge of protectiveness flooding his veins as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her temple.

She had grown into a woman who could wield a sword as effortlessly as a smile, a woman whose beauty was as dangerous as the blade she carried.

Yet, as she lay unconscious, bruised and bleeding, she seemed to him almost heartbreakingly peaceful-a contrast so stark it tore at him.

He had once known her as a girl who feared the darkness, but now she had become a woman who thrived in it, who danced in the shadows and wielded her fear like a weapon.

And in that moment, as he looked at her, he realized just how much she had changed-and how much the world had lost in shaping her into what she had become.

His throat burned with an unspeakable mix of anger and fear. She was so still, too still.

A low laugh echoed through the trees, drawing his attention away from her. His blood ran cold, snapping him back to reality.

"Oh look who's here? The savior." A man sneered from the shadows, his arm badly burned but his eyes full of malice, he limped towards Arjun, a sword in his hand while he sneered at Draupadi.

Arjun's gaze snapped toward the group of men, their faces twisted with cruel amusement. These were the same men who had dared to touch her.

His Draupadi.

He pushed back the thought as soon as it has risen. She wasn't his. She had left him.

"The bitch got a dog guarding her now?" another spat, limping toward the group, his lips curling into a cruel grin.

The prince of Hastinapur moved ahead of the young princess, blocking their view of her.

His hands itching to tear each one of them. The images of them reaching to touch her were seared in her mind.

Though she was his enemy, she was still a woman, and these bastards had dared to think they could touch her.

The thought sent a wave of wrath crashing through his system.

"Would you like to watch us take turns-"

The man never finished his sentence.

Arjun's fury snapped. His hand shot out, grasping the Gandiv, his sacred bow, with lightning speed.

Arrows weaved from the very air, glimmering with an ethereal light as he pulled back the string and released.

One arrow zipped through the air, striking the man squarely in the mouth, cutting his vile words short.

He gurgled in agony, collapsing to his knees as blood poured from his lips.

"You shall not speak her name with your filthy mouths," Arjun said softly, his voice was like steel, cold and sharp.

The eerie calm in his tone sent a wave of unease through the remaining men.

The group shifted nervously, but arrogance still flickered in their eyes.

They were many, and he was only one.

Arjun stood like a vision of savage beauty amidst the carnage, a lethal force wrapped in the guise of a prince.

His tall, powerful frame radiated strength, every sinew and muscle honed from years of battle and discipline.

His skin, sun-kissed and smooth, glistened with a sheen of sweat, clinging to the hard contours of his chest and arms.

He was the embodiment of masculine perfection-broad shoulders that led to strong, muscled arms, veins standing out in stark relief as he gripped his Gandiv with deadly intent.

His attire was as pristine as it was royal-an immaculately draped white dhoti, tied with the precision of a warrior and the grace of a prince.

The angvastra hung from his sculpted torso, moving with his every breath, a stark contrast to the blood and dirt that clung to his bare skin.

He wore his warrior heritage like a second skin, regal yet dangerous, the kind of man who could command a battlefield or crush a kingdom with the same effortless grace.

His face, framed by the thick, dark locks of hair that reached his shoulder blades, was a masterpiece of beauty and danger.

Those locks were pulled up into a man bun, leaving a few rebellious strands to fall over his forehead. His molten hazel eyes burned with an intensity that could melt steel, a mix of fury and vengeance swirling in their depths.

They held the kind of fire that promised death to any who dared to challenge him-eyes that could kill with just a glance. His gaze cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting, leaving no room for doubt about the fate of his enemies.

His lips, full and sensually curved, were set in a line of cold determination, betraying nothing of the storm that raged within him.

His jaw was strong and angular, a perfect complement to his chiseled features.

He was handsome in a way that was almost unnatural-too perfect, too deadly. A prince, yes, but more a predator.

The quiet confidence with which he moved was terrifying, a panther on the prowl, each step deliberate, measured, as if the earth itself bowed beneath his feet.

On his right hand, a glorious golden bracelet adorned his wrist, an intricate web of delicate chains that extended to his fingers, clasping each digit like a jewel.

The metal glinted in the firelight, a reminder of both his royal status and the lethal power he wielded.

His fingers, long and strong, twitched ever so slightly as he prepared to draw his next arrow, each movement a calculated promise of death.

He was the very picture of a revengeful angel, a warrior prince with a body built for battle and a face carved by the gods themselves.

His every breath was a silent threat, his every movement a deadly promise. He was Arjun-sexy, dangerous, and utterly unstoppable.

"Get him!" the leader snarled.

They lunged forward. Arjun's eyes narrowed. His fingers moved faster than the eye could see, drawing and releasing arrow after arrow with lethal precision.

His movements were fluid, graceful-every motion a deadly strike.

One arrow pierced a man's heart, another ripped through a throat, and another embedded itself deep into an eye socket.

With each kill, his fury grew more palpable, his muscles taut beneath the sweat-slicked fabric of his royal attire.

He was a prince, yes, but more than that, he was the epitome of death in that moment-his handsome features hardened into something terrifying and unyielding.

His jaw clenched, veins bulging along his neck, his hazel eyes glowing with righteous rage.

Arjun dispatched each man with a deadly grace, giving no mercy, offering no respite. His arrows were swift but deliberate, aimed for the most painful, fatal blows.

The air was thick with the sound of men choking, gasping, dying. Blood sprayed the forest floor like rain, mixing with the earth beneath his feet.

But for those who had dared to touch Draupadi, he saved something special.

He grabbed one man by the collar, lifting him with a single hand as if he weighed nothing.

The man's eyes bulged with terror as Arjun glared down at him, his face a mask of cold fury.

Without a word, Arjun's free hand plunged a dagger into the man's stomach, twisting it slowly as the man's screams echoed through the trees.

"For every hand that dared touch her," Arjun growled, twisting the blade deeper, "you will feel a thousand times the pain."

He dropped the body to the ground, turning to the next.

Another man scrambled to flee, but Arjun was faster, his arrow catching the man between the shoulder blades before he could take more than three steps.

The man crumpled, gasping for air as he bled out.

One by one, they fell, and Arjun felt nothing but the searing need to protect, to avenge.

His protectiveness over Draupadi was a force of nature, primal and overwhelming.

His love for her surged through every strike, every kill-she owned his soul, his heart, and he would destroy anyone who dared threaten her.

Soon, only the leader remained, clutching his burned arm and staring at Arjun with wide, terrified eyes.

"Please," he stammered, backing away. "I-"

Arjun didn't give him the chance to beg.

With one final, precise shot, the arrow found its mark, silencing the leader's pleas forever. . .

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