His icy breath hits the side of my neck, his hands landing on the door either side of my head, casting me in a cold cage that should make me feel trapped.
But doesn’t.
I’m not sure why my eyes sting at the realization, but they do.
I’m fine.
“I know what you’re doing, Milaje.”
The words are uncharacteristically soft, unlike my answer—hewn from that hard and scarred space within.
“No. You don’t.”
I feel him shift closer. Feel his body align with my spine—a balm to the scalding slither I can’t expel. That disgusting, vile thing inside me.
The truth.
His lips skate the shell of my ear, his whisper a hushed attack. “You want me to hurt?”
Yes.
I want to lash myself against him until I’m bruised and bent and broken. Until I can no longer hear their burning screams.
I want to hurt him so much I don’t even recognize myself.
Perhaps he’ll finally rip me to fleshy shreds in a way that serves my due. After all, he’s the only one who’s ever been able to leave a lasting scar to rival this hurt I feel inside.
The only one who truly has the power to ruin me.
“No,” he growls. A command and a pledge and so much more, as though he’s studying the fabric of my thoughts.
A flash of anger sparks in my chest, my upper lip curls, and that frosty hardness returns with a vengeance.
“Get out.” Of my head. My heart. “I have everything I ever wanted, and you’re ruining it.”
“A smart woman once told me that everything is nothing if you’re in pieces.”
I’m fine.
“Don’t lie to me.” The words are a grated snarl that shreds the silence and attacks the sensitive spot below my ear.
My heart races. Skin flares.
“Get. Out.”
“Is that what you really want?”
He moves impossibly close, crushing me in ways that make me feel held.
I don’t want to be held.
I don’t deserve to be held.
I ball my hands into fists. “Yes.”
He doesn’t move or breathe or speak, but the air around him screams—pleads with me in a way I don’t want to understand.
Fury erupts, and I whirl, snarling.
