My bedroom is a vast, spartan space. A king-sized bed, a fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the dark, brooding forest. It is a room built for solitude and control. Her presence in it is a violation of every rule I have ever lived by. It is chaos. It is color. It is life.
I lay her gently on the silk sheets, the deep gray of the comforter a stark contrast to her pale skin and the ruined yellow of her dress. I press a button on the nightstand, and the gas fireplace roars to life, casting flickering, dancing shadows across the room, across her still form.
I stand over her, just watching her breathe. This is possession in its purest form. It’s a feeling I recognize from my youth, from the days when I had nothing. The fierce, desperate need to claim something, anything, as your own. To have one thing in a world that has given you nothing but pain that you can look at and say, ‘Mine.’
I haven’t felt that way in twenty years. I have everything now. Money, power, respect born of fear. I can buy or kill my way to anything I desire. But I cannot buy this. This feeling. This woman.
My eyes trace the lines of her face, the delicate arch of her brow, the sweep of her dark lashes against her cheek. She is exquisite. A work of art forged in innocence and pain. And someone has dared to mar my masterpiece.
My gaze drifts down to the angry scratches on her arms, the smear of dried blood on her chest. The memory of Evilin’s sneering face flashes in my mind, and the cold, calculated rage returns, sharper and more focused than ever.
I reach out, my hand hovering over her. I want to touch her, but I’m afraid my touch is too rough, too tainted by the violence of my world. My life has been a series of brutal transactions, of dominance and submission. I take. I break. I own. I don’t know how to be gentle. I don’t know how to protect something without putting it in a cage.
But I will learn. For her, I will learn.
She will wake up in my bed, in my home, and she will be terrified. She will fight me. She will try to run. And I will patiently, methodically, break down every one of her defenses until she understands. Until she accepts that her life with Evilin is over, and her life with me has just begun. She has been a prisoner her whole life. The only thing that will change is the nature of her cage—and the nature of her captor.
My cage will be gilded. My cage will be safe. And her captor… her captor will worship the very ground she walks on, even as he locks the door behind her.
A soft moan escapes her lips, and she shifts in her sleep, her brow furrowing in pain. The sound breaks my trance. The time for quiet contemplation is over. Her pain needs to be addressed. The marks on her body need to be cataloged, and the person responsible for them needs to be sentenced.
I turn from the bed, my resolve hardening into a diamond-sharp point. First, I will see to her comfort. Then, I will see tomy revenge. And I will start by stripping away the last vestiges of Evilin’s control over her body.
I stride toward the door, my mind already on the doctor waiting downstairs. He will be the first to learn the new, unwritten law of my world: Wynter Blanc is to be protected at all costs. And anyone who harms her will answer to me.
Five
Kaden
IfindDocinthelibrary, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his face etched with a weary concern that borders on irritation. Vinnie ‘Doc’ Costello is one of the few men I allow toshow irritation in my presence. He’s been stitching up my men—and me—for fifteen years. He’s a disgraced surgeon who values my money and discretion over a medical license. He’s seen my worst, and he knows how to keep his mouth shut.
“This better be good, Kaden,” he says, forgoing any titles. “You pulled me out of a very warm bed.”
“It’s not good,” I say, my voice flat and cold. The lack of emotion seems to alarm him more than any shouting would have. “She’s upstairs. In my room.”
Doc’s eyebrows shoot up. He knows me well enough to know that no woman has ever been granted access to my private quarters. He sets his glass down, his demeanor shifting from irritated to intensely focused. He picks up his medical bag. “Show me.”
I lead him up the stairs, the silence between us heavy with unspoken questions. He can feel the shift in the atmosphere of the house, the dangerous, volatile energy that has taken root.
When we enter the bedroom, the sight of Wynter lying pale and still on my bed stops him in his tracks. The firelight flickers over her, illuminating the ruined dress and the raw, angry scratches on her skin.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, moving toward the bed. “What happened?”
“Later,” I bite out. “Just fix her.”
He gives me a sharp look but turns his attention to Wynter. His professionalism takes over, his movements becoming efficient and precise. He pulls a pair of shears from his bag. “I need to get this dress off her. See what I’m dealing with.”
A possessive, irrational anger flares in my chest. The thought of him cutting away her clothes, of his clinical eyes seeing her body, is a violation.
“I’ll do it,” I growl.
Doc pauses, his gaze meeting mine. He sees the madness there, the raw, territorial instinct. He gives a slow, careful nod and steps back, affording me space.
I pull my knife, the one I keep for business, not for saving damsels. With a surgeon’s precision that feels like a mockery of Doc’s own skills, I slide the blade through the fabric of her bodice. I cut away the cage Evilin built around her, the material falling to the sides.
Wynter takes a deep, shuddering breath in her unconscious state, and for a moment, I feel a grim satisfaction. Then the full extent of the damage is revealed in the flickering firelight.
Doc lets out a low whistle. “This wasn’t from running through the woods.”
