"Because of a debt.” The words are like broken glass in my mouth, scraping over teeth and tongue. The sudden urge to vomit makes me feel dizzy.
“Not entirely, but I think it’s easier for you to believe that’s all this is.”
My breath is coming in pants and if I don’t regain some kind of equilibrium soon, I will either pass out or have a panic attack. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, counting to ten slowly while his eyes watch me with such intensity I can feel it.
“You're talking about... what?” I whisper through gritted teeth, my throat too tight to manage anything louder. “Me leaving my entire life behind? Following you into a world I know nothing about? Becoming some kind of—"
"Mine," he finishes. "That's what you'd become. Mine. You’d marry me. Sleep in bed beside me. Wake up next to me. Carry my children. Build our future together with me. Next to me. Side by side. Always. Mine."
Heat floods through me. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building there.
"I can't just—"
"Two days left," he says, leaning forward. "That's what you gave me. Two more days to heal. But we both know I'malready healed, Lily. My wounds are nearly closed. I could leave tomorrow if I wanted to."
"Then why don't you?" I demand, voice breaking as the first tears spill over my lashes. Fury, I tell myself. It’s anger and frustration, and nothing to do with grief or pain.
"Because I'm waiting for you to admit the truth."
"What truth?"
"That you want this as much as I do." He is so calm as he says it that it only adds to my exasperation.
My hands are shaking. I fist them at my sides and surge to my feet, trying to create some distance between us, which is futile in this tiny apartment. "You don't know what I want."
"Don't I?" He stands, moving toward me with that predatory grace. Stops right in front of me, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You want someone to take control. To make decisions. To tell you it's okay to stop fighting alone."
"That's not—"
"You want someone who looks at you like you're the only thing in the room that matters. Who makes you feel safe and dangerous at the same time. Who makes you wet just by standing close."
My breath catches. "Zakhar—"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
I can't. The words stick in my throat because he's right. About all of it.
"I barely know you," I say instead.
"You know I'll keep you safe. You know I'll take care of you. You know I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. What else do you need to know?"
I shake my head, because the truth is I don’t even know. His hand comes up, fingers threading through my hair, thumb stroking along my jaw. The touch is gentle but possessive, and my body responds immediately, my pulse racing, skin heating, breath coming faster.
"Zakhar," I whisper, but I don't know if it's a protest or a plea.
"Say yes," he murmurs. "Stop fighting this. Stop pretending you don't feel it."
"I don't—"
"You do. Your body's already given you away, Lily. I can see your pulse racing. See the way you're breathing. See how badly you want me to touch you."
God, he's right. I'm practically vibrating with need, and we haven't even kissed.
"This is insane," I say again, weaker this time.
"Then be insane with me."
His thumb brushes over my lower lip again, and this time I can't stop the small sound that escapes my throat. His eyes darken at the noise, something predatory and pleased flickering across his face.
