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If I walked over there and placed the dagger in her hand, I’d probably be dead within seconds.

It’d be a glorious way to go.

Someone clears their throat. Fuck if I know who. Fuck if I care.

I’m back to pretending the girl with the black hair and wild eyes isn’t here.

No, that’s a lie. As Topher and I level our gazes and I place the tip of the dagger on the spot between his thumb and index finger, I don’t pretend Ophelia means nothing to me.

She takes up too much space in my head for me to do that.

She’s the reason I’m feeling so many goddamn things that I have no business feeling.

Is this her plan? Is this how she wants to get out of this? By ruining me?

By planting poison ivy seeds that, with enough watering and sun, will eat me up from the inside?

Congratu-fucking-lations, then.

It’s worked.

My blood turns molten. My grip around the dagger is too tight.

I’ve grown attached. Distracted.

This isn’t me. Yet it is.

Her fault. And mine.

I’m the one who’s let her do this. Foolishly, I believed that I held all the cards. I barged into her cell, bound her hands. Forced pleasure onto her.

While she was busy infiltrating my head. Taking up residence there.

No, this couldn’t have been her plan.

It happened anyway. It was enough that she wanted me. That she hated me. Her emotions were a mess, and I fell for it.

She did it to me.

Electricity simmers beneath my skin.

Then I make the mistake of pressing the blade to Topher’s skin and nick it before it’s time.

“James?” My name is a question on Oliver’s lips. He’s concerned.

“I’m fine.” It takes everything in me to stay in place. To keep up the charade when the only thing I can think of is whipping Ophelia’s ass for this. How dare she be the thing I never knew I needed. “Time to start.”

A huff. A hushed one from her. I hear it. I resent it.

I want to fuck that sound out of her.

The burning in my lungs is excruciating. I’ve never been this mad in my life.

The power isn’t hers.

It’s mine.

Like she is.