He watches me cry for a long moment without saying anything.
Not impatient.
Not uncomfortable.
Interested.
I hate that more than the words.
When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, almost thoughtful, like he’s answering a question he’s been turning over in his head for a while.
“You know what I want from you,” he says.
I shake my head weakly. My throat burns too badly to talk.
“No,” he corrects. “Youdon’t. And that’s why you’re still fighting this.”
He stands and walks slowly toward the bed, stopping just far enough away that he isn’t touching me. That feels intentional. Like he knows exactly how much space to give before I break.
“I don’t think you’re a whore,” he says plainly.
The word still lands like a slap.
“I never did,” he continues. “Men like Blade? They don’t keep women like you around for that. You’re not soft. You’re not stupid. And you’re definitely not weak.”
My breath stutters.
“I saw it,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “Out there. When you picked up the gun. When you held it on me even though you were shaking so hard you could barely stand. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t beg.”
He tilts his head, studying me like a problem he enjoys solving.
“You stood your ground.”
My stomach twists.
“That,” he says quietly, “is what I want.”
I swallow hard. “You want to hurt me.”
He smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “No. If I wanted that, this would already be over.”
He leans closer now, bracing one hand on the mattress, careful not to touch me. His voice drops, steady and sure.
“I want totakeyou.”
The word sinks into me, cold and heavy.
“Not your body,” he adds, like he’s correcting a misunderstanding. “Your will. Your loyalty. Everything you think makes you theirs.”
My chest starts to ache.
“An Iron Reapers woman choosing me?” he continues softly. “Not because she was forced. Not because she was dragged away screaming. But because she had nowhere else to go.”
I shake my head, tears spilling again. “I would never choose you.”
His smile widens just a little.
“No,” he agrees. “Not yet.”
