I jump, lungs dragging for air, heart pounding so hard I feel it in my throat. That motherfucker choked me until I passed out!
My eyes get used to light as my brain still spins, and I notice I’m in a massive room. The walls are painted black, swallowing the low light, and old gothic paintings glare from thick carved frames. At the center sits a bed, carved from heavy wood, dressed in red satin sheets that glint wet as blood.
I scan everything, searching for a threat, then my gaze hooks on something in the corner, something I recognize!
The mirror.
I step towards it, the floor cool beneath my bare feet, every inch closer, the memory blooms hotter.
“You looked so beautiful coming in front of it.”
The voice rolls through me, deep and steady, the kind of calm that makes you more afraid, not less.
I turn slowly. He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over that broad chest, face hidden behind thedamned balaclava.
“You almost killed me, asshole!” The words snap out before I can stop them. My hands fly up, needing something to throw, and my gaze catches on a steel plate-shaped ornament on a nearby shelf. My fingers twitch.
“That’s dramatic,” he says, voice steady and cold. His arms fall as he steps inside, slow and controlled. “It was either let you pass out or drug you. I chose the option that didn’t leave a chemical trail.”
His gaze drags down my body and back up. “And for the record… you looked beautiful unconscious in my arms.”
My stomach tightens. I hate that my skin prickles at the sound of his voice.
“You—”
Fuck it. Enough pretending I’m composed, I grab the steel plate and hurl it at his head, but he ducks without effort, making me want to scream.
He doesn’t laugh, just keeps moving toward me. Every step pushes the air heavier into my lungs. I straighten up in defiance, chin high, even as my pulse kicks harder.
“You wanted my attention, didn’t you?” His voice has dropped lower now, a dark heat curling around the words. “That’s why you let that fucker touch you.”
I stay silent.
“You were baiting me.” His voice sinks into a darker place. “I nearly carved that fucker’s face off when he touched you. You don’t get to do that again. Not unless you want someone dead.”
There’s no hesitation in his tone. No humor. Just bone-deep certainty.
My mouth goes dry.
Another step. Close enough I catch his scent: dark cologne underlaid with leather, my thighs tense before I can stop them.
“What do you want from me, Tamsin?” His voice drips with something heavier than lust. “My help? My protection? Or the way I make you come apart without laying a finger on you?”
Shit.
“I want answers,” I bite out, voice thinner than I’d like. “And I want revenge. You and your little posse of Halloween wannabes burned down my building.”
His hands spread in mock innocence. “It wasn’t really your building—”
“It was my hideout.” I take a step back and hate myself for it.
He exhales slowly, leaning against the bedpost. “Too much blood to clean. Bram’s blood. And…” his head tilts, “you dripped all over the floor when you came. I tried to lick it all up from you, but—”
“Oh my God.” My face burns so fastit makes me dizzy. “I was not dripping.”
“You were,” he says, calm as ever. “And I can’t wait to make you unravel like that again.”
He pushes off the bedpost, closing the space between us, making me back up until the wall finds my back. He doesn’t touch me, just places one strong, big hand next to my head and another next to my hips. He cages me against the wall, blocking everything with his massive figure.
