“You’re a tragic heroine, Daisy Elfhorn,” I murmured. “Caught between your urge to be free and your longing to be held. You need the pain because it proves you’re alive. So, tell me—what now? Will you obey me, stay away from your ex, or do you want me to stop and let you go?”
“I don’t want you to stop,” she breathed, her gaze locked on mine, wide and raw. “I want to stay with you. I need you. You’re right—I’m addicted. To you. To everything you give and everything you take.”
Her words ripped something open in me. She chose me. Not the light. My darkness.
“Even if it destroys me,” she went on. “I can’t live without you. Every touch, every word drags me deeper. I’m not whole without you. I want you, despite the pain. Despite the darkness.”
Darkness.
The word reverberated through me like a vow. She wasn’t asking for salvation. She wasn’t clinging to hope. She chose my darkness.I’d hold her all the way down. And that was what broke me. Not because I believed I could hold her forever. But because I knew I’d never let her go.
She had no idea how deep the fall was. But I would hold her all the way down.
I leaned into her, my forehead pressed to hers, our breaths tangling.
“You will never escape me,” I whispered.Not even if you try.The words weren’t loud, but each carried the weight of a promise. “I will never let you go. You’re mine. Forever.”
And if you die, Daisy… you’ll die with my name on your lips.
Chapter 13 Damian
Istood in the doorway of the treasure chamber and let my gaze stay on Daisy as she hunted the shelves for artifact X7887628. The muted lights draped the room in shadow and glare; in that gloom she looked like contraband—beautiful and forbidden.
Five days since Woodstock. She'd spent the night at my hotel and, early the next morning, still in a bathrobe, I drove her to Jenn. The rest of the day she’d been with her friend, probably reworking the story of her dress. I should have snapped her ex’s neck. I knew how sick that sounded. I didn’t care. The thought of anyone else touching her lit something feral inside me.
Daisy already meant too much. That terrified me. My head screamed at me to keep away, that nothing good could come of this, especially if my friend ever found out. But desire drowned reason.
She knelt before the shelf, pulling boxes out one by one with that tense, quiet persistence only she had.If she turned around now,she’d see what she does to me—and I’d never stop.I watched the tilt of her shoulders, the way fabric pulled across her back when she leaned forward. Every millimeter beneath her skin begged for my hands. Her neck, slightly reddened, unguarded, exposed, flared in my mind like a target. My hands belonged there. Not gentle. Not tentative. I wanted her to hold still beneath my grip.
Her braid had come half undone, wild and unruly—like everything about her. Yet she tried to keep things in order, as if she didn’t know she had become the chaos itself.
I pictured grabbing that braid. Hard. Suddenly. Pulling her back without warning, forcing her to meet my eyes and hold them until she understood what she was doing to me. Not because I had to, but because I couldn’t stand it otherwise.
I took a step and stopped. I knew what would follow if I didn’t. I knew how it would end if I touched her now.
My fingers twitched for just a second. I could have done it. Grabbed her, shoved her against the shelf. She would have let me—that was the problem.
But then I would have stopped being human.
Heat pressed under my ribs like a living thing. She knelt there, disheveled, focused, unsuspecting. I stood behind her like a shadow: too many thoughts, too little control, and a woman who could destroy me without a word.
I dropped my gaze and curled my hands into fists. A few breaths. Just long enough for the pressure to ease so I could breathe again without picturing what she’d look like if I took her.
Daisy half-turned, glanced over her shoulder without breaking the search. “It would go faster if you helped me,” she murmured, casual.
I leaned against the doorframe with calculated calm, let my eyes trace her on purpose, and crossed my arms. “I’d rather watch you work.”
She snorted, fighting a smile.
“There it is,” she said minutes later, pulling a box free. “Who’s the buyer?”
“An unknown collector in Europe. He has a taste for rare Greek pieces.”
She eased the lid back and revealed an ancient statuette. Her fingers skimmed the carved surface with reverence. “This is incredible.”
“It is,” I said. “He’ll prize it—one of a kind.” I stepped closer until I stood directly in front of her, lifted a hand, and placed it against her cheek. “Just like you.”
The weight of that landed on her. She raised her head and met my gaze. God, she was beautiful. Too beautiful for whatever I might do. Not because I wanted to. But because I didn’t know how to keep someone like her without breaking them.
