Page 48

The way his body tightened back in the masquerade, the flicker of something unreadable in his expression before he forced me to leave.

The way I have felt it before—the strange, unnatural stillness, the fleeting moments when his fingers tense as if they want to tear into his own skin.

Something lurks inside him.

It is surfacing.

I should go. Leave while I can.

But the thought of never knowing?—

Never finding out what, exactly, is inside him, unraveling?—

It twists inside my ribs like a knife.

Before I can decide?—

A shadow moves behind me.

Too fast. Too close.

Cold, unyielding steel clamps around my wrist before I even have time to breathe.

I lash out, twisting, snarling—but he’s already there, behind me, against me, a wall of heat and muscle and damning cruelty.

He hisses near my ear, smooth and mocking.

"Going somewhere, little fox?"

His grip is iron, his fingers wrapping around my pulse, pressing, claiming, branding.

I snap, fighting, shoving, but it only makes him tighten his hold, only makes his breath dip lower, the bastard savoring every second.

"You really don’t learn," he murmurs.

I don’t waste time snarling a response—I move.

My knee jerks up, aiming for his gut, but he’s expecting it.

He catches my leg midair, turning the momentum against me.

I crash into him, his arm snaking around my waist, yanking me flush against his chest. The silk of my dress is too thin, the heat of his body pouring into mine.

The bastard chuckles, low and pleased.

"You're predictable," he says, voice edged in dark amusement.

I buck against him, but he doesn’t let go.

Not until I feel the way his fingers brush over the collar at my throat, the chain still tucked beneath the folds of silk, his fucking mark on me.

"You think you can just leave?" he murmurs. "After everything?"

His breath is warm, infuriating, too close to my jaw.

I stay rooted on the spot.

I see it now.