My gaze falls to the nightstand. There’s a small, leather-bound book lying there. My father’s journal. My breath catches in my throat.How did it get here?I haven’t seen this since… sinceEvilin burned all of my mother’s things. I thought it was gone forever.
My hands tremble as I pick it up. The leather is soft, worn smooth from years of use. I trace the embossed initials:A.B.My father, Alistair Blanc.
I open it, my fingers brushing against the familiar script. It’s filled with his thoughts, his observations, his love for my mother and me. A wave of raw, aching grief washes over me, so potent it makes my knees buckle. I sink to the floor, clutching the journal to my chest, tears streaming down my face.
It’s a cruel gift. A piece of my past returned to me in my new prison. He knows how much this means to me. He knows my vulnerabilities. He is using them against me.
A soft click. The door opens.
I scramble to my feet, wiping furiously at my tears, trying to compose myself. But it’s too late. He’s already seen me.
Kaden stands in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the faint light of the hall. He’s shirtless, his powerful chest and sculpted abs illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows. He looks like a pagan god, dangerous and untamed.
He walks toward me, his gaze fixed on the journal in my hands. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face—satisfaction? Regret?I can’t tell.
He stops a few feet away, his presence overwhelming. “You found it,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
I clutch the journal tighter. “Why?” I demand, my voice hoarse from crying. “Why do you have this?”
“It was among your mother’s things,” he explains, his eyes never leaving mine. “Evilin was going to burn it. I… intervened.”
He saved it. He saved a piece of my past, a piece of my heart. The contradiction of this man, the monster who drugged me, the captor who stole my freedom, and the savior who rescuedmy father’s words, is too much. It tears at me, pulling me in conflicting directions.
“Why?” I whisper again, the word a desperate plea for understanding.
He reaches out, his hand gently taking the journal from my trembling fingers. He flips it open to a random page, his eyes scanning the words.
“Because,” he says, his voice quiet, almost tender, “everyone deserves to keep a piece of their past, Wynter. Even you.” He closes the journal and places it back on the nightstand.
Then he turns back to me, his gaze intense. “And because I want you to know that I see you. I see all of you. The girl who ran through the woods, the woman who fought for her life, and the daughter who grieves for her parents.”
He steps closer, invading my space, his scent enveloping me. I should back away. I should scream. But I can’t. I’m paralyzed, caught in the dangerous magnetism of his gaze.
He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw, then the curve of my neck. His touch is light, almost feather-light, but it sends shivers down my spine.
“You’re not just a debt, Wynter,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “You’re more than that. So much more.”
His eyes drop to my lips. My breath catches in my throat. The air crackles with unspoken desire. Every instinct screams at me to run, to push him away. But a deeper, more primal part of me yearns for his touch, for the dangerous comfort he offers.
He leans in, slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away. But I don’t. I can’t. My eyes flutter shut, waiting.
His lips are soft, warm, and utterly devastating. They taste of wine and something wild, something untamed. It’s a kiss that is both gentle and possessive, a question and a demand. It’s a kiss that promises both salvation and damnation.
My body responds without my permission. My hands, which had been clenched into fists, slowly uncurl, reaching up to grip his shoulders. I lean into him, a desperate, hungry moan escaping my lips.
He deepens the kiss, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard, muscled body. I can feel the heat radiating from him, the undeniable proof of his desire. My breasts ache against his chest, my nipples hardening further.
This is wrong. This is my captor. This is the monster.
But as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, as his hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back, all rational thought dissolves. There is only him. Only this moment. Only the dangerous, intoxicating pleasure of his kiss.
I am lost.
Fourteen
Kaden
Herhands,smallanddelicate, curl around my shoulders, and the soft moan that escapes her lips is a primal sound of surrender. It’s the sweetest music I’ve everheard. Her body presses against mine, a perfect fit, and the fire that has been simmering beneath my skin for days ignites into an inferno.
