“Good.” Viper chuckles.
And he lets me go.
I stumble, gasping for breath, momentarily stunned by the sudden absence of him. Quickly, I spin around to face him. But Viper just stands there, smiling, head cocked to the side as though watching to see what I’ll do.
Like I’m a toy he’s playing with. Like I’m not even a person.
Suddenly, all that fear turns into hot rage. All the times I felt powerless, all the times I felt I needed to behave. All of that comes rushing back to me. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve slapped him across the face, hard.
His head snaps to the side at the force, but the smile never leaves his lips. If anything, he looks even more amused, his tongue snaking out to run over teeth.
Shit.
Clearly, I can’t fight him. That much is obvious.
Hesitant, I take a step back, away from him.
He steps forward. Just enough, like he’s keeping me close.
Okay.
I let myself go still, forcing my too-tense muscles to relax, trying to calm my breathing.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask. My voice sounds low and monotone in my ears. Not terrified, the way I would have expected.
Viper tilts his head a little more, dark eyes sparkling.
“Do you want me to hurt you?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
I don’t react immediately. Stunned, I just stand there, letting the words rattle around my skull. Then, I shake my head, just barely, from side to side.
“Pity,” he says, lip curling just a little, showing his teeth. “I want to hurt you, little rabbit. You’d like the things I could do to you.”
I shake my head again, more forcefully this time.
No. I wouldn’t. I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t like being hurt. That’s not me. That’s not who I am.
The way Viper looks at me makes me feel like a liar.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Viper’s grin is feral.
“Someone needs to watch over you,” he coos in a sing-song voice. “Keep away all the big bad wolves.”
“You’re here to…protect me?” I interpret, not believing the words as they fall from my lips.
But he nods, eagerly. He steps forward, again, ignoring the way my body tenses and flinches away from him, ready to run again. He reaches up and touches a lock of my hair, curling it around his finger.
“Only we get to hurt you,” he promises me, like it’s meant to be comforting. “No one else. Only we get to watch you bleed.”
I gulp.
Slowly, he slides his fingers from my hair and over my cheek, his touch gliding over my skin and down to my neck.
“So soft,” he whispers, almost reverently.
Voice a little weak, I whisper, “Don’t touch me.”
