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Daxton almost raped her tonight.
He’d tried and failed.
But me?
I’d succeeded.
I didn’t stop.
I stumbled again, punched and kicked by the truth.
I didn’t stop.
I hadn’t stopped when I took her against her will in Victor’s dead zoo either.
This is what I am.
This is what I wanted.
So why did I choke on shame? Why did I break beneath grief and guilt and grotesque self-hatred?
Because of that motherfucking kiss!
The moment her tongue touched mine, I’d hoped.
The second she opened wide, I swore her heart reached out to mine. There’d been something. Something transcendental. Something ethereal and sacred and—
Christ, you’re a fool.
Completely screwed in the head.
She didn’t kiss me back.
She fought me off!
Look!
Look at what you did.
Look at what you’ve become.
Blood trickled beneath her collar.
Shadowy bruises marked her breasts.
Teeth marks punctured her throat.
She looked as if she’d been attacked.
Not by the man I’d killed to keep her safe but by a man who’d let evil turn him into something un-fucking-forgivable.
And instead of kneeling for her forgiveness. Instead of flaying myself alive for ever laying a finger on her…I felt pride for marking her as mine.
Balling a hand in my gut, I turned away from her.
This was by far the worst thing I’d ever done.
Not because I’d done exactly what I promised and treated her like my jewel but because…I’d thought she wanted it.
Damn, even the monsters inside this castle didn’t slip that far into insanity.
They knew their boundaries.
They accepted they would never have the love of a jewel and contented themselves with their pain instead.
But me?
Me?
Ha!
I’d deluded myself into thinking she could forgive me.
Believed in a fucking fairy-tale that she’d suddenly switch from hate to love and choose me.
Choose me?!
No one would ever choose me.
Because I didn’t deserve to be chosen.
Sighing heavily, I slowly turned back to face her.
Gritting my teeth against her tear-brimming eyes, I swallowed the razors in my throat. “Go to bed, little nightmare.”
And then I barged past her and imprisoned myself in the bathroom.
I needed bars.
And locks.
And chains.
I needed to get a fucking grip before I killed her, all because she’d just killed me.
Chapter Seventeen
………………………….
Ily
“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU learn to fight like that?”
I looked up from where I kneeled beside Henri. The wooden deck beneath my bare legs was comfortingly warm, the new sunshine extra bright as if shining in apology for the storm’s wrath three nights ago.
God…has it really been three nights?
Time had never passed so slowly or so awkwardly.
The energy in Victor’s citadel was electric with animosity.
All the Masters kept a careful, hateful eye on Henri, avoiding him as if he might suddenly kill another of their ranks. No guest dared come near me. No one even looked in my direction.
It was as if we’d been in a snow globe of untouchability for the past three days—thanks to Henri’s ruthlessness during the treasure hunt and Victor’s ominous disappearance.
Seventy-two hours he’d been missing, and now…here he is.
Lucky me.
I schooled my face to remain impassive as I glanced up at the lord of this despicable estate. He looked as cool and collected as usual, with orange-tinted sunglasses perched on his sharp nose.
Henri shifted in his chair, finishing his swallow of coffee as he looked up at Victor. “Excuse me?”
Victor helped himself to an unoccupied chair and sat down. Dressed in a beige polo and linen shorts, he was the epitome of a rich asshole on holiday.
An inconspicuous waitstaff appeared, placing a plate of cut fruits, mini pastries, and a freshly brewed cup of coffee before Victor.
Grabbing a piece of pineapple, Victor plopped it onto his tongue and said midst-chew, “What you did to my two unfortunate guests the other night. Where did you learn to do that?”
I shot Henri a look.
His white t-shirt almost blinded, and blue jeans made him far more handsome than any man had the right to be. Even now, after everything, I still couldn’t look at him without a kick of unbearable attraction. It didn’t help that his knuckles were still raw, and a few bruises hinted he’d been in a brawl and won.
A small smile crossed his face, sinfully hot and devilishly gorgeous.
Ever since what happened between us.
Ever since my body proved exactly what it needed and embraced the awful word Henri called me, I hummed with vicious arousal.
His every move, his smell, his presence.
Watching him read was pure torture.
Having him refuse to talk to me was ridiculous foreplay.
Masochist.
I’m a masochist.
I wished it wasn’t true.
I waited for my heart to refute it, but…he’d weaved a curse around me.
As soon as he’d mentioned that damn word, I was his.
Unbearably, unwillingly his—and he’d avoided me ever since.
“So?” Victor scowled, yanking me out of my thoughts. “You gonna tell me how you did what you did, or is it some sort of secret?”
Henri dabbed his mouth with a napkin, wincing a little as the cuts on his knuckles refused to heal. “Secret? Why would it be a secret?”
