My things have already been unpacked, tucked into drawers and hung in closets by his maids like I belong here. Like I’ve always belonged here.
A princess in a castle built on blood and power. And he’s the warlord who claimed it all.
Aleksei shrugs out of his jacket, watching me the entire time, his gaze heavy enough to feel like a touch. He begins to unbutton his shirt, and I can’t look away even when I want to. Each flick of his fingers pulls at something inside me, something hot and wanton and almost cruel.
The fabric parts, and I see the tattoo inked across his chest. That lion, feral and victorious.
It’s violent. Beautiful. Terrifying. A perfect reflection of the man himself.
It stares at me with bared teeth and wild eyes, tearing into the wolf’s flesh the same way he’s torn into every fabric of my life.
But as I look closer at the artwork, I see something I never saw before. Beneath the ink, beneath the sharp lines and vivid colors, are scars—round and raised ridges clawing across his skin like some monster tried to tear its way out and failed.
My stomach twists. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t feel this strange tug in my chest. Not pity, but something deeper. I shouldn’t be wondering if he got the tattoo to hide the scars, or what hurt him enough to leave it there. Yet I do.
There’s a part of me—some stubborn, idiotic part—that wants to reach out. To let my fingers skim over the marks and ask how they happened. Who made him bleed. Or maybe who he bled for.
But I don’t. Because no matter how human those scars make him seem, he’s still who he is. And I’m still the woman trapped in his empire, pretending I don’t feel the walls closing in.
He stands across from me like the king of all things dark, and for the first time, I understand why people follow him, fear him. He doesn’t have to command power. He justis.
And that might be the most dangerous thing about him.
He catches where my attention falls, his jaw gritting tight, and I instantly look away. Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I sink onto the edge of the chaise, tugging at the straps of my heels.
“Jesus,” I mutter as one finally slides off. “Whoever designed these should be tried in international court.”
He pauses halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, that razor-sharp gaze cutting straight through the dim light. “Do your feet hurt?”
I nod, already starting to rub them, but the relief is barely there.
He doesn’t wait for permission. His shirt hits the floor in an instant, leaving only the dark slacks riding low on his hips and the kind of temptation that makes it hard to think. When hestarts toward me, something tightens in my gut, hot and wild and a little afraid. Not of him, but of how badly I want him to keep walking.
To reach me. To touch me. To ruin everything just by looking at me like that.
He lifts my foot into those rough, calloused hands that have broken men, pressing into the arch. My head tips back, a shameless sound of pleasure slipping out of me.
“Better?” his deep voice whispers.
I can’t even find words. Just a breathy moan that barely qualifies as a yes. Because it’s not just relief flooding me. It’s desire. Twisting. Thrumming. Alive.
My eyes fall to a close as he moves to the other foot, his touch firmer now, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. What I like. When my lashes flutter open, his stare is there waiting—dark and seared on mine.
And I know what he’s thinking.
I’m not supposed to want this. I promised myself the last time was it. But how am I supposed to hate the way he makes my body feel when he touches me this way?
I want his hands slipping under my dress. I want to feel free and alive, the way only he can make me feel.
And as soon as the thought comes, I curse myself.
What the hell is wrong with you? You’re here because he threatened your parents and forced this on you. Not because of the way he touches you or how good it feels.
Except good doesn’t even cover it. It’s addictive. Dangerous. Life-altering.
Reckless. You forgot reckless.
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan internally, from frustration this time. Because I already know I’m losing this fight.
