I jerked my head away from his touch as bile rose in my throat. His hand instantly transformed, fingers digging into my jaw as he wrenched my face back toward his. The slap came before I could brace for it—open-handed and sharp, the sound cracking through the air like a gunshot. My ears rang with the impact and the taste of copper flooded my mouth where my teeth had cut the inside of my cheek.
"That wasn't nice." His voice had dropped an octave, disappointment threading through the words. "I've waited so long to meet you, Cecelia. Ever since that college performance. The Tempest. You played Ariel, and you were..." he sighed, a dreamy quality entering his tone, "transcendent."
College. Holy shit, he'd been watching me since college? Terror clawed its way up my throat, threatening to paralyze me. But beneath that fear, something else burned, rage. Pure, incandescent rage that this man had been stalking me for years, that he'd invaded my home, hurt people I cared about, and now thought he could claim me like I was a fucking prize.
I bucked my hips violently, using all my strength to throw him slightly off balance. My hands flew up, nails raking across his face with every ounce of forcefulness I could muster. He reeled back with a howl of pain, hands flying to his cheek where four bloody furrows marked his skin.
That momentary distraction was all I needed. I wriggled out from beneath him and scrambled to my feet, kicking off my heels for better traction as I sprinted toward the front door. Behind me, I heard him curse and then the sound of movement as he lunged after me.
Almost there. My fingers stretched toward the door handle. Just a few more steps—
Pain exploded through my ankle as his hand closed around it, and he yanked me backward with vicious force. My momentum carried my upper body forward even as my leg was pulled from under me. I crashed into a side table, the sharp corner catching me just below the ribs hard enough to drive a strangled cry from my lungs. The impact sent a crystal decanter and tumblers flying and more glass joined the destruction scattered across the penthouse floor.
He was on me in an instant, flipping me onto my back, his face twisted with a fury that transformed his unremarkable features into something monstrous. Blood from the scratches I'd left dripped down his cheek and spattered onto my chest. But I wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.
"Get off me!" I snarled, driving my knee upward with every ounce of strength I possessed. Years of dance training had given me thighs powerful enough to leap across a stage, to hold positions that made untrained muscles scream in protest. Now I used that strength for a different purpose, aiming squarely for the juncture of his legs.
My knee connected with satisfying force. He doubled over with a grunt that was half pain, half surprise and finally,finally, his grip on me loosened just enough. I shoved him sideways and scrambled back to my feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in my side where the table had struck me.
For one beautiful moment, hope flared. I was up. He was down. The door was right there. I could make it. I could escape.
But then he was moving again, faster than I'd anticipated, hand shooting out to grab a fistful of my hair. The yank was so sudden, so brutally forceful, that I felt strands tearing from my scalp as my head snapped backward and I landed on my ass again. Stars burst behind my eyes at the pain.
"We belong together," he hissed, his earlier calm completely evaporated. Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke, flecking my face. "That man doesn't deserve you. That rich boy playing at being your husband. He doesn't see you like I do. Doesn't understand your gift."
His hand twisted tighter in my hair, using it like a leash to drag me toward him. My scalp screamed in protest, but through the pain, my fingers found something on the floor—a shard of the broken vase, long and wickedly sharp.
"You don't know anything about my husband," I spat, then slashed wildly with the makeshift weapon.
The shard caught him across the forearm. Blood welled immediately, dark and shockingly red against his pale skin. For a heartbeat, we both froze, staring at the damage I'd inflicted. Then his face contorted with rage that transformed him into something barely human.
"Fucking bitch." He backhanded me with his uninjured arm, the force of it snapping my head to the side and sending me falling backward. Before I could recover, he was on me again, grabbing my wrist and slamming it against the wall so hard I felt something crack. The glass shard dropped from my suddenly nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor.
Pain shot up my arm in electric waves. My wrist. He'd broken my fucking wrist. The realization barely had time to register before his hands were around my throat, squeezing with murderous intent. My back and head hit the floor hard, black spots danced across my vision.
"I gave you a chance," he growled, his face inches from mine, blood from the scratches I'd left smeared grotesquely across his cheek. "I was going to be so gentle with you. So good to you. But you had to fight. Had to be difficult."
His fingers tightened. I clawed at his hands, his arms, his face—anything I could reach—but the lack of oxygen was alreadymaking my movements weak and uncoordinated. My lungs burned, desperate for air they couldn't reach.
In the distance, muffled by the blood pounding in my ears, I heard a sound. The elevator. The soft, mechanical ding that had always been so innocuous before but now sounded like salvation.
My stalker heard it too. His head whipped toward the sound, then back to me, indecision flickering across his face for a split second. Then his hands tightened even further with a renewed determination in his eyes. The darkness at the edges of my vision began to close in, the world narrowing to a pinpoint of light centered on his face. I fought with everything I had, lungs screaming for air, but I could feel myself weakening with each passing second.
This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when I'd finally found something real with Rafe. Not when I'd finally admitted to myself how I felt about him. The unfairness of it crashed through me with my fading consciousness.
Rafe's face filled my mind as the darkness rushed in to claim me. Rafe, with his rare, genuine smile and gorgeous dimples. Rafe, with his gentle hands and fierce protectiveness. Rafe, who I'd never told that I loved.
My last conscious thought was his name, a prayer and a plea as my world finally went black.
Chapter 35
Rafe
My lungs were on fire, each breath a knife between my ribs as I rounded the corner toward my building. Fifteen fucking blocks at a dead sprint, and I still might be too late. The thought drove me forward even as my body screamed for rest. People scattered from my path, their startled faces blurring into meaningless smears of color as I focused on a single, devastating truth: Cecelia was in danger, and I wasn't there to protect her.
The familiar glass facade of my building loomed ahead, its mirrored windows reflecting a perfect blue sky that seemed to mock the hell unfolding inside. A black sedan screeched to a halt at the curb and the driver's door flew open before Mac emerged, moving with the controlled precision of a predator. His eyes met mine for a split second and I saw in them the same murderous intent that burned in my own chest. No words passed between us, just a single, sharp nod that carried more meaning than language could convey.
Together, we sprinted through the lobby, ignoring the startled calls from security personnel. I jabbed the private elevator button and cursed when the doors didn't immediately open.Finally, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open with infuriating slowness. We stepped inside, and I punched the code for the penthouse, then repeatedly hammered the close door button as if the force of my desperation might somehow speed our ascent.
