“Do I still scare you?”
“Yes. Less, though.” She blushes slightly.
That’s when I see it. The same look she gave me after I killed Vlad. This woman... might be into me.
Then, her voice lowers to a private whisper, as if we share a secret world now.
“Gustav. Why did you... hit the side of your head during the ceremony?”
My throat tightens.
I want to tell her. I want to drag her into the darkness of my mind, pull her close enough to hear the screams, close enough to understand what she married. Fear me. Run.
But the thought of exposing that piece of me feels like a betrayal to my family.
No one knows that part. No one hears what I hear. People may see my tics, but they don’t dare ask.
Instead, I reply dismissively, “It was nothing.”
Her lips press together in disappointment.
She takes my hands tightly, fingers curling around mine with surprising confidence.
I squint, studying her.
She leans into my chest, soft and seeking warmth, seeking closeness as if the kiss opened a door she wants to walk through.
She must think we are bonded now.
We are.
A little.
Her body presses firmly against me —the nerve— but the contact nearly breaks my restraint. She’s so soft.
So fuckable.
The voices return, fast and demanding.
Don’t trust her. She will betray you. Make her scream in fear tonight. Make her bleed. End this unearned boldness.
She interrupts them again with a small, hesitant question that twists my stomach.
“Do you like me?”
The insecurity layered in her voice is intoxicating. The desire for my approval. The hope. The neediness directed at me and no one else.
Something primal surges in my blood. This time, I picture her beneath me, but the scene is darker: My hand locked around her throat. Her body trembling under mine. Her lips parted as shechokes. Her eyes wide with terror. A flash of pain in her face. A silent cry.
It would silence the voices.
Silence this feeling.
“Gustav? Do you like me?” she repeats, breaking through the noise once more, but she stills, confused as she searches my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I snap, cold.
She doesn’t recoil as before.
