“You remember me,” I say. I’m not sure victim-number-what I was. Judging by all the shit that went down at the asylum, I have no idea how many people he tortured.
He doesn’t answer, just assesses me from head to toe, trying to make me feel more insignificant than I am, even from this position. Somehow, in a deep part of me, he manages. The man has no fucking eyelids, no limbs, no nothing, and somehow he manages to inflict more damage on me than I indirectly just did on him.
Maybe the doctor is right, and he really is a sociopath. I just keep staring at him, waiting to see how it could be possible that I still suffered more than he does now.
At one point, Ares comes closer to me, the heat of his body emanating with comfort as he stops right when my back meets his chest. “Are you okay? Do you want us to go?” he asks, wrapping a protective arm around my waist.
“I’m fine,” I answer, looking at Ezekiel, who continues to defy all of us. But the steady beep of his heart monitor accelerates with each second, numbers flash red as his blood pressure spikes, and his eyes, previously empty, now burn with unstable emotion.
Hatred.
“Hmm,” I hear Ares behind me, humming almost a laugh. Then he draws me closer, and his lips find my neck.
The machines go crazy as Ezekiel’s jaw squares, grinding his teeth.
For the first time, I look at him with the same clinical detachment he applied to me for all those years.
I smile, amused, remembering how he kept telling me I’m his. How obsessed he was with me. How possessive and the thingshe did to me every time he thought someone touched me. He considers me his property. But I was never his. In my whole lifetime, I have truly belonged to only one man. One god.
“I was never his,” I repeat out loud, knowing that he marked me, that he changed me. He broke pieces of me that can never be put back together, but he never owned me.
“No.” Ares’ voice drops lower, “You weren’t his. You’re mine.” He whirls me around, capturing my lips in a hungry kiss, claiming me, taking everything he wants. I don’t fight him. I don’t battle him for dominance. I just let him. I let him take me completely.
The monitors continue their frantic beeping as Ezekiel’s heartbeat accelerates further. But I don’t even look at him anymore.
“How funny that the only emotion he still feels is hatred when I touch you. Everything else—fear, pain—has burned out of him. But this…” His tongue traces my lips like he’s tasting me. “This is what really kills him,” he says with a sick satisfaction I know he wants to exploit. Because I want that too. Because the greatest torture I could inflict on him isn’t physical pain or mutilation, but forcing him to watch me be touched by another man. The woman he broke, willingly submitting to another monster’s touch.
The knowledge is a match struck in darkness, igniting something vengeful deep inside of me.I look at Ares, pressing my body against his in an insanity that overrides logic but feels like honey on a broken soul.
Ares looks at me, understanding what I’m asking, but not really believing I’m really asking it. That maybe I am as twisted as he is. The perfect match for the God of War.
The monitors spike again, they’re beeping frantically, in total opposition to the steady rhythm I’ve heard as we entered the room.
“Doctor,” Ares says, his voice too calm, “You’re dismissed.”
The doctor hesitates, looking at us. “Sir, the subject’s vitals are dangerously high. He must be monitored.”
“Out,” one word spoken so softly, yet carrying such a command that the doctor immediately grabs his things and almost runs out of the room.
“You’re just as fucked up as I am,” Ares whispers, his lips curving into a smile as he kisses me.
“Is this gonna be a problem between us?” I ask, tracing my hand against the bulge in his pants that’s already hard.
“Only if you plan on stopping,” he bites my lip hard enough to draw blood, and I bite him back. The taste so unique, so decadent, yet so perfect.Us.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding response, and I give it willingly, my fingers digging into his shoulders, asking. No—begging—for more.
Before I know it, we’re moving into the corner of the room where a silvery table seems to be waiting for us. A few medical utensils are there, but Ares clears the space with a swipe of his hand, and with the next move, I’m on top of it, his hips finding room between my thighs.
The beeping of monitors accelerates like a soundtrack to our display.
Ares’ lips find my collarbone, taking his time to descend to my breasts, but doesn’t push down the top of my dress, keeping the exposed skin just to himself, away from Ezekiel's sight. He ensures that bastard will never see those parts of me, ever again.
“You only belong to me,” he growls against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Say it, little curse. Tell me how I am the only one who controls your heart, your mind, and your fucking nightmares.”
“You,” I whisper. “You’re the only one who fully owns me. You have control over every part of me. Over my sweetest dreams,”I murmur, driving my nails into his back as he licks one of my nipples. “And over my greatest nightmares.”
The cold metal of the table seeps through my dress in contrast to the heat building between my thighs. And his hands are everywhere, cupping my breasts, tracing the scars on my lips, and sliding down to grip my hips with bruising force.
