I stood stiffly in the middle of the room. The thought of touching anything in here made me want to vomit. Fury bubbled in my stomach.
Tonight I had gained and lost so much. Although I was afraid for Opie and Bitzy, I believed they could get away easily. It was my father who sat heavily on my heart.
I was an orphan. I never knew my mother and had nothing of my father’s to hold on to. Finding his journal meant more to me thananyone could know. For a brief moment, I had a piece of him again, his inner thoughts, his findings about me, what he learned and saw. How he felt.
I held his heart and soul in my hands.
I wasn’t even sure I cared so much about what he learned about me; it was more about having something of my dad’s. He was my world, my everything. He was my mother, father, best friend, and protector. I missed him so much it tore me into pieces, pain so deep it engraved scars across my soul. Before I even opened the pages of his journal, it was taken from me, like both he and my mother had been.
I was heartbroken . . . andfurious.
Now I was stuck in a small room with a man who traded me to the Seelie lord, who tried to kill me, who fucked me relentlessly, then screwed my one friend here just to prove a point. I had been gassed, shot at by my ex-best friends, punched, attacked, and robbed.
I was fucking done.
Angry.
Volatile.
Warwick strolled to the dresser, dumping the container of food and clothes on it. Grabbing a label-less bottle from the bag, he took a chug of the liquor. The cheap, acidic, grainy smell of whiskey tingled my nostrils. He slammed it back down, wiping his mouth and leaning over the bureau, his muscles tensing, flexing under his skin.
He didn’t look at me, but I knew he was aware of every inch of space between us as I was. My gaze drilled into the back of him, the tension growing thicker with each beat of silence, weaving the room in snares.
So much had happened since he turned me over to Killian. Even if I understood the reason for his actions, the betrayal still sat in my gut, darkening with revenge the longer I pushed it away. I had never really let it out, our lives taking such sharp turns and becoming so hectic, it seemed like a frivolous thought to keep harping on.
But what he did then was only one layer.
He didn’t even try to go after the journal. He could have. They were human. He was supposed to be a god on Earth. The book meant nothing to him, so why would he care? I was the fool. Pampered and protected. This world was not meant for trust or emotions. It was brutal. Cruel. Pitiless.
I thought I learned my lesson in Halálház, not to trust, to becomejust as feral as them, but I hadn’t even come close. I let them all in. Believed. Rage filled me, shutting off anything resembling sentiment.
“Want to say something, princess?” Warwick snarled, his fingers drumming the table. “Just fucking say it.”
No words slid off my tongue, my lungs sucking in more fury.
A low growl came from his chest before he slowly turned around to face me, pulling himself up to his full height. The notion he thought he could possibly intimidate me sparked my muscles, my own hands curling.
He could have said a million cruel things, and I might not have broken. It was the slight smirk on his lips that did it, the smugness, belittling my anger as if it were “cute.”
A cry belted from my lungs, my body moving in a blink. I slammed into the wall of muscle, my fist cracking against his chin, slicing over his mouth.
My hand pulsed with agony at the impact, the pain making me even more enraged. A guttural noise thundered from my gut as I struck again, the sound of bone hitting bone cracking in my ears. He stumbled back into the dresser.
His smirk deepened, and his tongue swiped over his broken lip, tasting the blood. “Feel better?” he snarled, his eyes flaring.
“Not even a little.”
“Good.” His shoulders rolled, lurching for me. He was faster. His body slammed into mine, tossing us both to the floor with a painful blow. Instinctively, my knee drove up, ramming into his crotch.
“Bazmeg,” he groaned, tipping to the side, his hand clutching his balls. Scrambling out from under him, he grabbed my leg, trying to yank me down.
Kicking, I wiggled the boot off my foot, freeing me from his grasp. Tossing my shoe, he jumped up, barreling for me. I didn’t even try to shift out of his way. Fury galloped on my shoulders, needing to be released.
I wanted this fight.
Adrenaline and wrath pumped in my veins. My punch dug into his throat. Warwick’s mouth curled up into a malicious grin, his hands wrapping around my arms, slamming me back into the door. My head whacked into the wood, spurring flames up my spine. His body pressed into mine, forcing my hips to widen, to feel him. Hard and hot, his cock throbbed against my abdomen, heating my bones with violent ire and desperate need.
“I can feel you, Kovacs.” He pressed into me harder, blood dripping down his chin from his lip. I ignored the urge to lick it, turning my head away. “Fighting the need to either fuck me or kill me.” He rolled into me, my pussy pulsing,beggingto feel him.
