Page 6

Oh, fuck no.

I scramble backward, finally coming back to reality.

The man looming over me, stalking toward me, is not my savior. He might have scared off Demon and his merry band of bastards, but that doesn’t mean he’ll help me. I push through the pain, every inch of my body screaming in protest of my sudden movements. Why didn’t I just run out the front door?

Stupid!

I knew better!

The man continues to close the distance between us, just as the kitchen island digs into my back. I whirl around, blindly looking for anything to protect myself.

My fingers wrap around a glass tumbler with the remnants of an amber liquid in the bottom. I fling it at my new captor.

He ducks out of the way easily, and the glass shatters when it makes contact with the floor.

The man tsks at me, his eyes flaring with heat and promise. “You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

I scowl at him, still trying to put as much distance between us as I can. My hands pat around the counter at my back as he continues to prowl toward me.

“That’s okay,” he muses. “I like my women with a little fire.”

“I’m not your woman,” I snarl, just as my hand collides with the distinct shape of a knife handle.

I don’t hesitate for even one second as I swing my weapon in his direction, the threat clear. I won’t allow him to hurt me. I’ve had enough.

He pauses, the tip of the knife inches from his throat.

His dark blue eyes flick to meet mine. “Cute.”

I slash the knife through the air again. “Don’t come any closer.” I do my best, but I can’t stop the slight tremble in my voice.

Then I see it.

A thin, red line at the base of his throat. A single drop of blood. I stare at it, mesmerized by the stark color against his skin. My heart stumbles over itself in fear as I force myself to meet his eyes once more.

One side of his mouth quirks upward, and he tilts his head in the way only a predator can.

When his eyes flash dark with promise, I know I never had a chance to begin with. In a movement far too practiced and fluid for me to follow, he knocks the knife from my hand. It skids across the counter and falls to the floor with a clatter.

My biggest mistake is glancing toward it as if I have a chance in hell of retrieving it before he attacks.

Mere seconds are all it takes for my captor to whirl me around and drag me toward him. His large hand grasps my throat while the other presses his pistol into my ribs. I can’t breathe. This is it. This is when I lose my life.

I close my eyes, preparing myself for the inevitable.

Even though he’s a good foot taller than me, he manages to drag his nose along my neck until his lips graze my ear. “It would suit you well to behave, Little Mouse. You’re in my home. My territory. You can fight. You can scream. But no one is going to save you.”

“Just do it,” I whisper.

He inhales deeply, then shifts to drag my body against his. “Do what?”

I can feel him fully now. His hard length digs into the small of my back. I gasp, and once again, I fight the urge to cry.

Not because I’m scared. Not because I’ve lost.

It’s because I’m tired and angry. I’ve survived this long only to be broken anyway.

“Just take what you want,” I whimper. “Then let me go.”