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"Your mistake," he says, each word a slow cut, "was thinking I’m the nice one."

Then Bodhi’s there too, kneeling beside us, eyes wild with adrenaline.

“You make it to the gate?” he asks, catching his breath. “No?”

He grins.

“Then I guess that means you belong to us again.”

Chapter 48

Seanna

ItwistbeneathMatteo,every muscle screaming protest—but it’s not fear that lights me up inside. It’s fire. It’s hunger. His grip on the chain doesn’t falter. Neither does the sharp gleam in his eyes. I can’t breathe properly—only in tight, shallow gasps—but it doesn’t stop the slick pulse of heat between my thighs.

"You planning to choke me out or fuck me?" I snarl.

His mouth curves into something dangerous. “Why not both?”

His eyes lock on mine, then drift to where the hilt protrudes from my curled fingers. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t threaten. He justtakes. Two fingers slide between mine, prying them open with maddening slowness until he’s palming the knife like he always meant to reclaim it.

“I said try not to stab yourself,” he murmurs, almost amused. “Didn’t say you’d keep it.”

I snarl. “Give it back.”

Instead, he presses the cool metal flat against the curve of my breast. I freeze. Not in fear—never that—but anticipation. My pulse roars.

“You want to play with knives, little storm?” His voice is low, coaxing. “Let’s play.”

The blade traces the curve, slow and shallow, parting skin with a delicate, deliberate graze that beads crimson. It’s not deep—barely more than a scratch—but itburns, a thin line of pain blooming into heat that pulses straight to my core.

My breath shudders.

“You bleed pretty,” Matteo murmurs. “Wonder if your blood tastes as good as your come.”

Then heleans down. Tongue flicking out, he licks the line of blood from my skin, slow and savoring, like he’s sampling something forbidden. Like he’s starving.

And then—the knife bites again, adding another sting to the other breast. Sharp and deliberate.

My breath hitches. Once again it isn’t deep. Just enough to let blood rise in a delicate line beneath the steel.

He watches it bead. Watches me.

Then he leans in. Licks the blood from my skin again like it’s wine.

Bodhi groans low behind him. “God, you’re so fucking twisted.”

“Don’t act surprised,” Matteo says, not looking away from me. “Besides, she likes it.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Don’t you?”

I breathe hard. Glaring. Wanting.

He shifts backward, sliding between my legs, then flicks open another thin cut just above the waistline of my pants. Sharp enough to send another jolt to my pussy. I gasp, body jerking, thighs clenching.

He drags the blade just below the first line, slow and surgical. Another sting. Another shimmer of crimson blooming in its wake. I flinch—but the pain sharpens everything. Makes me wetter. I hiss through my teeth. Bodhi watches, mesmerized.

Matteo leans down and presses his tongue to the blood, licking a clean stripe along the parallel lines like they belong to him. The bastardgroans.

“You taste like violence,” he whispers against my skin. “Like fucking war.”