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What the fuck was wrong with her? He was like a black hole, sucking her in and in and—fuck, fuck, fuck, Soraya could barely breathe around it. Around him. This was not how this was supposed to go.

Feigning indifference she really did not feel, Soraya raised her chin and did what she always did when she felt backed into a corner. Attacked. “I’m thinking about how lovely it’s going to be to shoot you right there.” She stabbed a finger between his brows. “When all this is over.”

When Ikarus’s lips curved into a smirk, Soraya felt it in her belly. “I see. I wouldn’t be surprised if you touched yourself at night, imagining all the ways you’re going to kill me when we’re no longer linked.”

Soraya arched her brow. “I thought you said you couldn’t read my mind.”

Wrong. So very wrong for saying any of this—so why couldn’t she stop herself?

“Just in case you need reminding,” she said, pressing her foot forward for emphasis, “I fucking loathe you.”

“So you’ve told me. Yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that.”

Soraya forgot how to breathe when his hand started to slide up her calf. And when his fingers curled around the back of her knee, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of building anger and something else she would not acknowledge. She blamed these fairy sticks—vowed to never smoke another ever again, pain be damned.

“So, what are you going to do now, God Killer? Punch me?”

He inched a step closer, forcing her knee almost all the way back to her shoulder. Her hands balled into fists, ashes falling to the floor.

“Kick me? Spit in my face? You’ve said it all a thousand times, and it’s getting a little old. Surely you can concoct something a little more creative.”

Soraya scoffed, trying to regain some of her stolen power. “You think you know me so well?”

“Who else can say they’ve wandered by your side for years like I have? I’ve watched you grow up, seen the vicious thing you’ve become. I’ve even watched the first time you killed. That’s much more intimate than getting between your legs, I’d say.” He smirked, a dangerous gleam suddenly entering his eyes. “I’d say I know you almost as much as your precious Theron does.”

Hearing Theron’s name crossed some line Soraya hadn’t realized she’d drawn. Anger seared through her, making her spine shoot straight until they were almost chest to chest. “Watch your mouth before I—”

“Before you what?” She started to push him away with her foot, but Ikarus was already stepping forward, reclaiming the space she’d just taken, and even the boot on his chest didn’t seem to be enough to stop him from pressing forward until his hips were between her thighs, forcing her leg so far back it was straining and burning almost as much as her chest.

“What exactly are you going to do, human?” Ikarus spat. “Surprise me, I fucking dare you, because—”

One second Ikarus was sneering down at her and the next she was grabbing his face, fingers curving into claws that dug into his skin, and dragging his mouth to hers.

It was supposed to be a power move. A stupid way to take him off guard and show him that although she was trapped down here, he didn’t know her, that she could do what she wanted, whenever she wanted, just because she wanted to.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The deep growling noise he made when their lips met wasn’t supposed to travel into her stomach, curling her insides into melting need and—

A large, cold hand was suddenly around her throat, wrenching her lips from his and slamming her into the wall at her back.

Ikarus was panting in front of her, eyes wide with a mixture of panic and rage and … something else, shimmering across the slash in his iris, making it dance like living gold.

She stared back at him, her pulse fluttering in her throat.

He slammed his lips back against hers.

There was nothing tender about the kiss.

His fingers were in her hair, fisting her curls to the point of pain. His tongue dove into her mouth, and she swallowed his groan when she bit his bottom lip.

Soraya dragged her fingers down his chest, vaguely aware that she’d dropped the ash-stick somewhere along the way as her nails dug in where her boots hadn’t been able.

If she was hurting him, he didn’t seem to care. Not that he was any gentler with her.

He tore her jacket away, tossing it across the room so his calloused hands could scrape across her bare arms, her ribs, always leading right back to her throat.

His touch didn’t soothe or knead with care like she’d been handled in the past, like she was some fragile, breakable thing that needed to be protected. Ikarus was rough and exacting, like a tornado pulling her hair and stealing her breath right out of her lungs, taking whatever he wanted. He dragged his hands down her spine, scratching into her hips as he shoved her leg down and pulled her into him.