My lungs forget their rhythm. The air in the room feels too thin.
"I don't take orders well," I manage.
"I've noticed."
His hand rises. I think he's going to make his point with force.
Instead, his hand curves around my neck. The other slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head.
Then his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is angry. Hungry. Claiming. Nothing soft or tentative about it. Just raw need and barely controlled fury channeled into heat that makes my knees weak.
I should push him away. Should establish boundaries. Should remember all the reasons this is complicated and dangerous and wrong.
I don't even try.
My hands come up, fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. My mouth opens under his, and the sound that escapes my throat is pure surrender.
He makes a rough noise in response. His grip tightens in my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. His other hand slides down my spine, pressing me against him until there's no space left between our bodies.
The room is too hot. The monitors cast flickering light across us, making everything feel unreal. Dreamlike. Like maybe this is happening to someone else and I'm just watching from a distance.
But the heat of his mouth is real. The strength of his hands is real. The way my body is responding, melting into him, meeting his aggression with my own, is devastatingly, terrifyingly real.
When he finally tears his lips from mine, we're both gasping. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his chest pressed against mine.
His hand is still on my throat. Not squeezing. Just resting there. Claiming me with warmth and pressure that makes my pulse race against his palm.
A claim.
A promise.
18
ZAKHAR
I'm breathing hard. Too hard.
Victoria's lips are swollen from my kiss, her eyes dark and unfocused. Her hands are still fisted in my shirt.
I should step back. Should restore distance. Should remember all the reasons this is a catastrophically bad idea.
I don't move.
The anger that drove me to this room is still there, coiled tight in my chest. But it's transformed into something more dangerous than simple fury. Something that burns hotter and demands more than simple discipline.
I was furious when I found out she'd left the house.
After last night. After Ramiz Krasniqi's trap. After we barely escaped with our lives.
Maksim's orders were explicit. No one leaves without permission. Victoria especially stays inside until we understand the full scope of the threat.
I was in the middle of coordinating security upgrades when my phone buzzed. A text from Vitor.
Had to take Mrs. Severyn to Maison Lyra. Already on our way back. ETA 10 minutes.
A text. Not even a phone call. Coward.
