He lunged to grab the papers I was holding to for dear life and the impact knocked the wind out of me with a humiliatingwhoosh.
I braced for the crack of my skull against the flagstones, squeezing my eyes shut and mentally cataloging which potions I’d need for a concussion: arnica, willow bark, perhaps a stiff drink. But the crack never came.
A large, calloused hand slammed against the back of my head milliseconds before the stone did, cradling my skull even as the rest of his body pinned me to the floor.
Fenrik sprawled over me. His hips ground mine into the stone, locking me in place so effectively I couldn’t have squirmed even if I’d had enough air in my lungs to try. He was heavy. And Gods help me, he feltgood.
I gasped, my eyes flying open. His face hovered inches above mine, sweat glistening on his skin where the silver veins pulsed. His claws had bypassed my head and dug into the stone floor on either side of my ears, screeching like nails on a chalkboard as the rock splintered under his grip.
“Well, this is certainly one way to win an argument.”
He didn’t laugh, nor blink. He lowered himself further until his nose brushed the tip of mine. His body trembled against mine, a vibration that started in his chest and rattled straight through my bones, waking up nerves I hadn’t known I possessed. My thighs were firmly pinned beneath his, and the friction was agonizingly, inappropriately electric. I was being assaulted by a cursed lord in a secret room, pinned to the floor by a creature capable of tearing out my throat, and my traitorous body was wondering if he intended to bite.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said. His silver eyes were wild, the pupils blown wide. “You never should have come here.”
The air left my lungs for a second time, but not from the weight. He wasn’t talking about the room, he was talking about the manor. The whole marriage affair. Me.
The sketchbook was still trapped between our chests, a corner digging into my ribs, reminding me of the words I’d read in his own handwriting.A chore.Of course. I was a mistake he was trying to correct, an interloper in his curated misery.
“Because I’m inconvenient?” I choked out, staring up at him, fighting the insane urge to buck my hips against his just to see if his control would snap. “Or because you prefer your victims to stay in the dark?”
“Because—“ He cut himself off with a snarl, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His nose trailed a line of moist heat along my pulse, and I arched my back involuntarily. He froze, and I froze.
“Because,” he whispered against my skin, “it isn’t safe.”
“Then get off me,” I said, though my hands had somehow found their way to his shoulders, gripping the bare, fever-hot skin there. My fingers curled, risking the cut of his emerging scales.
“I can’t.” The words came out as a pained groan. His hips pressed harder against mine, a heavy drag of friction that made my vision spot with stars. “I can’t let you go.”
“You have strange definitions for your words, my lord,” I managed, staring up at the vaulted ceiling and trying toremember how to perform basic arithmetic to distract myself. “‘Mistake’ implies you want distance, not... whatever this is.”
He lifted his head, those storm-silver eyes burning into mine, and for a second, I thought he might kiss me or kill me. I wasn’t sure which one the House was rooting for, but the floor stones beneath us were definitely getting warmer.
“I am trying,” he grated out through clenched teeth, his claws scoring deeper grooves into the stone by my ears, “to save you from myself.”
“Well, you’re certainly devoted to the task,” I choked out. “If you put this much effort into your estate management, the roof wouldn’t leak.”
I shoved the crumpled ball of paper between us, jamming my fist against the wall of his chest. It was a pathetic barrier, the wadded parchment against muscle explicitly designed to withstand dragonfire—but it was all I had.
“Explain this,” I demanded, and to my horror, my voice broke, transforming the command into a plea. “Right now. While you’re using me as a rug.”
Fenrik flinched, not at the insult I guessed, but probably at the traitorous tears I couldn’t stop from leaking out of the corners of my eyes. He looked down at the parchment trapped between his pectoral and my knuckles.
“What is—“
“Read it, you absolute bastard.”
He shifted his weight—a movement involving a roll of his hips that elicited a groan from me that I would deny until mydying day, and snatched the paper. He smoothed it out against the stone floor one-handed, his claws nearly shredding the fiber, while his other arm remained braced beside my head, keeping me caged.
I watched his eyes scan the words.
...a chore I endure...
...necessary for the debt...
Fenrik’s face went slack. It was a terrifying expression on a man whose features were warring between ‘aristocrat’ and ‘apex predator.’ He blinked, his brow furrowing as he stared at the ink.
“I...” He swallowed hard. “This acts... This is my hand.”
