"I belong to you!" she screams, her head tossing back against the pillows, completely losing control as the second climax rapidly approaches.
I do not hold back. I let the absolute, unhinged obsession in my blood completely take over. I ride her with a feral, aggressive intensity, completely branding my existence into her nerve endings. She meets every devastating thrust, her hips bucking wildly beneath me, her legs wrapping securely around my waist to pull me impossibly deeper.
The climax hits us simultaneously.
My vision completely whites out. I roar her name, a dark, primal sound of absolute victory, as my body entirely locks rigidly against hers. I pour my heavy, hot release deeply into her core, completely sealing the blood pact that defines our existence.
She shatters beneath me, screaming my name, her body milking my thick length in violent, scalding spasms that completely stop my heart.
I collapse forward, completely burying my face in the curve of her neck, my chest heaving violently against her breasts. Theair conditioning chills the sweat on our skin, but the immense, burning heat between our bodies is absolute.
We lie in the silence for a long time, completely anchored to the mattress, entirely insulated from the world we burned to the ground.
I slowly roll off her, pulling the pristine white sheet over our bodies. I pull her entirely flush against my uninjured side. She rests her head on my chest, her fingers lazily tracing the heavy white burn scars on my ribs.
"Thayer," she whispers, her voice completely thick with sleep.
"I'm here," I murmur, kissing the crown of her head.
"Do you think they will ever stop looking for us?" she asks softly, the ghost of her past entirely incapable of staying completely buried.
I look out the open glass walls, entirely tracking the endless, empty horizon of the ocean.
"No," I answer honestly. "The federal government does not forget. Your brother will not forget. They will hunt the ghosts of the Thorne Syndicate until the end of their miserable lives."
I feel her tense slightly against my side.
I tighten my arm around her waist, completely pulling her closer.
"Let them hunt," I growl, a dark, terrifying smirk completely curving my lips. "They will never find this island. They will never breach this cage. We are the kings of the ashes, Sybil. And we are never, ever going back."
She relaxes, completely entirely surrendering to the absolute security of my promise.
"Good," she breathes, entirely closing her eyes.
I watch her sleep, completely consumed by the heavy, toxic, beautiful reality of my obsession. The world outside the glass is completely irrelevant.
The monster has his prize, and he is entirely at peace.
CHAPTER 33 THE HEIR OF THE ASHES POV: SYBIL
The white plastic stick resting on the edge of the cold marble vanity is the heaviest object in the entire world.
It is completely silent. It does not tick like a bomb. It does not wail like a federal siren. But as I stare down at the two stark, undeniably bright pink lines etched into the small digital window, the deafening roar of a catastrophic explosion violently detonates inside my skull.
The Caribbean sun pours through the massive skylight of the master bathroom, completely blinding in its intensity, but the blood flowing through my veins has turned to absolute, freezing sludge. My hands grip the edges of the marble counter so tightly my knuckles are entirely devoid of color, the sharp stone biting into my palms, providing the only physical anchor keeping me tethered to the earth.
Pregnant.The word is a phantom, a heavy, suffocating ghost that wraps its cold, invisible fingers entirely around my throat.
I drag a ragged, jagged gasp of air into my burning lungs. The heavy scent of tropical jasmine and sea salt makes my stomach pitch violently. I swallow hard, fighting the dark, rolling wave of nausea that has been plaguing me for the last four mornings.
I am carrying a child.
I am carrying the heir to the Thorne Syndicate.
A profound, terrifying psychological war completely entirely shatters the fragile peace I had built on this island. The ghost of Evelyn Vance steps out of the shadows of my memory, her face pale, her eyes wide with the exact same terror that used to dictate my own existence. My mother tried to save me from the monster. She bought plane tickets. She packed bags. She died on a dark, rain-slicked highway because she dared to try and pull me out of the devil’s reach.
And now, her daughter is standing in a multi-million-dollar cage, completely insulated from the world, breeding with the exact same monster who ordered her execution.
