“He’sours,” I finish weakly.
Bastian stops moving.
For a long moment, he just stares at me. Blood dripping. Chest heaving. Those dark eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to read my soul.
“Ours,” he repeats.
It’s not a question.
But it’s not quite agreement either.
He’s close enough now that I can smell his cologne and sweat and the coppery hint of blood. Close enough that I can see the pulse jumping in his throat, the way his hands are trembling at his sides.
Because even now, even with Kai unconscious on the floor and Bastian looking at me like he wants to devour me whole, some sick part of mewantsthis.
Wantshim.
“If he’s ours, then you’re mine, Haven.” His hand closes around my throat—not squeezing this time, just claiming. “Say it.”
“Fuck you.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
His grip tightens. “Wrong answer, my pretty little slut.”
I bring my knee up—hard.
He twists away, the impact landing on his thigh instead of his balls, but it still throws him off balance. I shove at his chest, ducking under his arm, scrambling toward?—
Where? The door? Kai? There’s nowhere to go, nowhere safe, and he’s already recovering, spinning to face me with a snarl that shows too many teeth.
I grab the oil lantern from its niche and hurl it at his head.
He dodges. The glass shatters against the wall behind him, oil splashing across the granite, the flame guttering but not dying.
“That could have started a fire,” he states dryly.
“Good.” I’m panting as I scan the crypt for anything else I can use as a weapon. “I hope it burns this whole fucking place down with you in it.”
One second Bastian’s across the room, the next he’s got my wrist in a crushing grip, spinning me around and slamming me face-first down on the sarcophagus. The granite is cold against my bare stomach, my cheek, and my palms as I try to push myself up.
He presses his full weight against my back, pinning me.
“I’ve been patient with you.” His breath is hot against my ear. “So fucking patient. But even I have my limits, girl.”
“Get off me!”
I buck and writhe against him, but he’s too heavy, too strong. My nails scrape uselessly against the stone as I try to find purchase.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His hips grind against my ass, and fuck, I can’t believe how hard he is. “All that fighting, all that running. Just wanted someone to catch you.”
“No—”
“Liar.” His hand snakes around my hip, sliding between my thighs. “You’re soaking wet.”
I am.
Fuck me, I am.
