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So much like Mikael…

He stares at me with a cool gaze, devoid of any emotion. I’m left lying in his bed, mesmerized by the V-shaped muscle of his thigh.

He tilts his head. “Get on your knees.”

I twerk my head and arch a brow. If he wants to play games, then we’ll play games. I’ll show him his hypothesis is bullshit.

I cross my legs defiantly. “Actually, I think it’s time for me to leave.”

He arches his brow, and his eyes…they are serious.

And not his…

A wave of nausea fills my stomach as a sickening realization hits me. I’m not going anywhere. He’ll never allow me to leave, and I’m not even certain I can do so without his explicit permission. This nauseousness is the same as when I thought about turning him in.

I’m a prisoner, just as much as Cali is.

“Please, let me go home, Lincoln.”

He licks his bottom lip, and I don’t even recognize him at this moment. He sounds like Lincoln—his intellect, memories, his essence—but it’s not Lincoln. Not the way I understand him…

It’s that third alter, the one that scares me even more than Mikael does.

“Does it hurt?” he asks with genuine curiosity. The nausea comes in waves, contracting every muscle in my belly, my head dizzy with the sensation like I’m going to pass out.

I whip my head to face his steady gaze. “Does what hurt?”

The nausea.

It’s awful—crippling. My hands curl into fists, and I press them on either side of me just to steady myself. This isn’t him doing this…it’s impossible. He can’t control my physical reaction like this. He’s fucking with me.

“You’re not supernatural. You’re just smart and contrived, and somehow, you planned this.”

I pull up to my knees and sink into the soft duvet. After a few seconds, the nausea subsides completely, as if it never existed. The pain and waves, everything stops, and I can breathe again.

Lincoln’s on his knees facing me. All that’s in my periphery is his toned torso. When I meet his gaze, he’s smiling, then grabs my hands, intertwining his fingers with mine. “All better?”

This is impossible.

I stare at him incredulously at how soft his hands are, at how he’s mirroring the emotions I’m giving him like he’s so good at doing. Like he’s normal. I can’t deny what I just experienced isn’t normal

“How did you do that?” I ask him.

The look he’s giving me is unholy. “I am a god, pretty girl. I can do anything I want. I’ve been working on controlling your mind for years, from the moment of my existence.”

All this time I thought Mikael was the dangerous one, but now I’m thinking Lincoln is worse. At least Mikael is what he is. He doesn’t hide.

Lincoln is…supernatural. I have no other way to describe him, and he’s completely unpredictable.

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Lincoln?”

His hands find my hair. “Yeah, baby.”

I shift in front of him, my lips caressing his abdomen with my teeth and tongue as he looms above. “You just called me pretty girl.”

He shrugs and stares down at me with those swirling eyes. “I did, didn’t I?” He pushes his cock in front of my face and gently swipes my hair. “Let’s keep playing our game. Bend down a bit.”

I freeze, refusing to move, wanting to see what happens. Slowly, the nausea starts up again. It’s subtle at first, but the longer I wait, the worse the sensation gets.