Because maybe I wanted to be broken. Maybe then, I’d finally stop feeling.
And maybe… just maybe… he would, too.
But reality didn’t work like that. It never did.
Grief doesn’t soften a monster’s heart.
Zagreus's breath ghosted over my skin with that unholy intention. I could feel Adrian’s grave pressing into my skin. But the one looming over me had my full attention.
“You think I’m afraid of dying alone?” he slowly asked. I caught a faint sense of emotion in his tone before it was gone. “I was born alone, Dolcezza. I live in solitude and I rule it well.”
“You don’t rule it,” I said. “You survive it. Barely. But deep down…”
I saw it then. A flicker in his brow. “…you wish someone would choose you. But no one will because you’re a monster!”
I spat viciously. Not afraid of what he might do to me. I was so consumed by my grief and pain, I wanted something else to hurt. Maybe physical pain. But not this gut-wrenching suffering. I wouldn’t survive it.
Instead of punishing me, the monster smiled. I thought he might let go and slap me, or worse, kill me too. But when he moved, fingers dragged down the front of my bodice with deceptive calm, and I panicked. “What…”
His gaze didn’t leave mine, even when the sound of fabric ripping filled the chilled silence of the graveyard. The fabric split under his fist like paper, and I gasped at the audacity of it.
“You want to see the monster?” he asked. “You want to peel back the skin and stare into the pit?”
Hand curled around my jaw, tilting my face up until I could see him, his fury, his hunger, and the graveyard of emotions he’d buried beneath that deadpan cruelty.
“I’ll show you, Dolcezza,” he rasped, staring down at the partially covered chest. “I’ll ruin your idea of monsters.”
I stared at him wide-eyed, chest heaving. “Adrian would’ve never touched me like this.”
I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth, ‘cause in a blink, a feral primal sound came from his throat as he fisted what was left of my dress, yanking it harder until the fabric gaveway completely. I cried out, one hand flying to shield myself, but he didn’t stop.
“Stop, please!”
He didn’t. If anything, he manhandled me under him.
“I'm going to fuck you,” he growled, grabbing my waist and pulling me flush against him, “I'm going to fuck you right here, on the grave of the man I killed for you. I'm going to make you scream so loud, everyone for miles will know you're mine.”
He crashed his lips against mine, kissing hard and rough. His hands roamed my body, squeezing every inch as if I solely belonged to him, my chest, my thighs. He wanted to mark me, to claim me, to make me forget that I ever loved anyone but him.
“You're mine,” he growled against my lips. “You've always been mine. I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name, let alone his. I'm going to make you crave my cock, need it, fucking worship it.”
“I'll kill him again if I have to,” he snarled. “I'll kill him a thousand times if it means you'll be mine...”
He attacked my neck with bites and kisses, sucking dark marks into my skin. His hand slid down the back, cupping my arse, squeezing it hard.
And there was this thing about monsters, they never know when to stop. They didn’t draw lines. They didn’t ask for consent. They took.
Because somewhere along the way, someone taught them love was a war and they were forged to win, no matter the cost.
Zagreus wasn’t a man. He was the war itself. And the way he looked at me now, he wasn’t seeing a woman. He was looking at a toy to be owned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Grief Meets Skin
“Do your worst,” I choked, glaring up at him through the blur of my tears.
I didn’t flinch, and I wouldn’t.
