He grabs my hand—my left hand, with the ring. He squeezes it until my knuckles grind together.
"Did you let him touch you?"
"No!"
"Did you tell him you were unhappy? Did you cry to him about your monster husband?"
"No! Silas, stop!"
"Show me," he snarls.
He lifts me up and slams me onto the marble counter. Glasses rattle. The water pitcher tips over, spilling ice water across the surface, soaking the back of my trench coat.
"Silas!"
"You want to keep secrets?" he hisses, stepping between my legs. "You want to hide things in your purse and in your heart? Fine. But your body... your body never lies to me."
He rips my trench coat open. Buttons fly across the room, pinging off the floor.
He tears at the silk blouse underneath.
"I’m going to check," he says darkly. "I’m going to see if you’re wet. And if you are... God help us both."
"Silas, wait—"
He doesn't wait. He shoves my skirt up. He rips my panties aside.
He thrusts his fingers inside me. Rough. Deep. Unapologetic.
I gasp, my head falling back. It’s invasive. It’s angry.
And God help me, I am wet.
The adrenaline from the meeting with Kane, the fear of being caught, the violence of Silas’s reaction... it all pooled between my legs.
Silas freezes.
He feels the slick heat.
He pulls his hand out. He looks at his fingers, glistening in the dim light.
His face contorts. Pain. Betrayal. And a murderous rage.
"You’re wet," he whispers. "You met him... and you’re wet."
"It’s not for him!" I cry, grabbing his face. "It’s the danger, Silas! It’s the game! I didn't touch him! I swear!"
"You’re wet for thegame?" he asks. "You’re risking our lives, risking everything I built, for a thrill?"
"Yes!" I admit, the truth tearing out of me. "Because you made me this way! You taught me to hunt! You can't turn me into a wolf and then expect me to sit in the gallery like a poodle!"
He stares at me. His chest heaving. The anger warring with the twisted pride.
"A wolf," he mutters.
He unzips his pants.
"If you want danger," he growls, gripping his cock. "I’ll give you danger."
