I pointed at the chair he was sitting in before I left. “Go sit down.”
His red eyes blazed. “You’re ordering me now?”
I shoved him, and a deep satisfaction filled me when he staggered backward several steps. “How would you prefer your punishment?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kara
With a thought, I dematerialized my blade and cleansed the blood from my skin, using a shimmer of power to erase the wolf demon’s mark from me.
Luke cocked his head, arms loose at his sides, watching. Still shirtless. Still dangerous.
“I don’t think you understand that you’re the captive,” he said, though his stance betrayed the words—ready, waiting. Was he bracing for chaos and willing to let me bring it?
I wasn’t foolish. I was strong, but Luke was stronger. Unless I caught him off guard, I couldn’t overpower him. Sure, I could hurt him, but he could hurt me far more.
Still… I wanted to play a game. One where I touched him without asking. One where I saw how far I could push before he remembered he was the Devil.
“I asked if you were going to sit,” I murmured, voice soft like smoke, “or if I need to sit your ass down myself.”
I peeled off my shirt.
Heat flushed through me as his gaze darkened, devouring every inch of me.
“Pretending to want my touch again?” he asked.
The words cut deeper than I expected. He still thought this was an act. A manipulation.
But the truth was simpler: today had been about sorrow. I needed something—someone—to burn the sadness away. I needed a release. I needed him.
It should have made me cry.
Instead, I burned.
I took a step toward him, reached for his ribs—just to shove him, tomovehim—but then everything changed.
The second my fingers brushed his skin, it hit me.
Like a punch to the gut, a sudden hollowness opened inside me.
My breath caught.
My power was gone.
Moving him would be impossible now. Without my strength, I couldn’t shove a door open, let alone a devil.
And Luke would sense my mortality—he had to. It was in his nature to detect weakness, to exploit it. Yet…he didn’t.
I dropped my hands, cheeks burning. Brute strength had always felt like my only bargaining chip with him. I refused to ask for what I wanted—relief, attention, comfort. I was verystubborn. Too prideful. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to meet cruelty with some of my own.
Then, he did the unexpected.
Luke crossed the room and dropped into his oversized chair like it was a throne, spreading his legs wide in a way that made heat punch through my stomach. He didn’t look at me—he studied me. And not once did he mention the obvious: I was mortal now. Powerless.
Instead, he leaned back, eyes simmering with something too dark to name.
“I think I’ll enjoy this punishment more than you,” he said simply.
