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He holds the tip to the front of my bodice.

“May I?”

“Do it,” I pant, equally desperate to feel his skin on mine.

He’s so fucking careful as he drags the point of his blade down my sternum, slicing through satin and lace. My breasts spill out, nipples hard, as he hovers over me. I expect him to sheath his dagger, but he doesn’t. The tip of it lingers just below my naval as he slowly, so fucking slowly, drags the point up between my breasts.

“Could this be a yes, little witch?”

His tone is hot, curious, as he traces each nipple with the tip of the blade.

Cool metal on warm skin.

Liquid pools between my thighs.

He sets the dagger aside and rips open the rest of my dress in one exaggerated tear.

Then he picks up the dagger and continues his sweep, lower and lower, until he tucks it under the lacy fabric on my hips and slices open my underthings.

“Much better.”

I sit up and swipe the blade from his grip, using all my body weight to push him flat on his back. He tumbles over with ease, and I refrain from rolling my eyes. There’s no way I would’ve made him budge if he didn’t want to move. He allows it because he wants to see what I’ll do.

I press the blade to his throat.

“I already know this is a yes for you, grandsire.” My hair curtains our faces. “I saw it in your eyes the very first day we met when I held your own blade to your throat just like this.” My mouth hovers just above his. “You liked it.”

“You’re wrong.” He lifts up, kissing me hard. “I fucking loved it.”

He flops backward, the movement jostling the bed.

Crimson wells against silver.

My stomach lurches. With a flick of my wrist, I toss the dagger aside, far away from the bed.

“It’s just a knick,” Riven says reassuringly. “It’ll heal.”

He tucks my hair behind my ear, fingers grazing the exposed scar along my throat, and I go rigid.

“Oh, fuck.” He shakes his head like he’s mentally reprimanding himself. “I’m so sorry, Gwyn. I wasn’t thinking when I brought out the dagger.”

“Is it strange that I enjoyed it when you used it on me?” I ask quietly. “But holding it to your skin…” My throat constricts. “I never want to see you bleed, Riven.”

“Never again,” he promises. “Will you tell me who hurt you?”

Not how it happened. Not why.

But who.

Who did this to me?

Hurt me. Scarred me.

“You just want to know so you can hunt them down and turn them inside out,” I tease, but my voice is strained.

“Your imagination never ceases to amaze me.” He chuckles, patting the mattress several times until he finds what he’s looking for—the ribbon.

He winds it around his wrist and climbs from the bed.