Page 34

Zev

A low guttural sound rumbles from Zev’s throat.

It’s a primal release of his newfound freedom, no matter how fleeting it’s looking to seem, because for some reason, he can still feel Lucan’s presence.

He’s lurking, like a lost ghost. He is still close by, too fucking close.

But it doesn’t matter. Let him lurk. Let him watch.

Let him seethe in silence. Tonight belongs to Zev.

Zev rolls his neck, slow and deliberate, feeling the pull of stiff muscles as he stretches, and works his shoulders. He takes a little joy in savoring the moment where he is no longer a shadow, but a man with a flesh, the hands to do and undo.

He catches the reflection of himself in the mirror, and a smirk materializes on his lips.

Still as deathly handsome as ever. Man, it’s so good to be back.

He smooths a hand over his hair, his fingers threading through the half-bun Lucan has so carefully and predictably put the hair in.

Boring. Always fucking boring, that brother of mine.

“Really, Lucan?” he muses, pulling at the band that holds the bun, tugging it loose until the hair joins the other one let loose, cascading down his back in silken waves. “Can’t you think of something else?”

He clicks his tongue, tilting his head from side to side, waves of icy lurks following his movement. His own preference is much more expressive, not this boring thing his brother has refused to part ways with.

Zev prefers a half-braid on one side, while the rest of the hair spills free on the other side.

A bit of chaos, a bit of control. The contrast suited them well.

Lucan is still water, a calm wind, and Zev is a raging tide, the storm that comes violently and takes away your peace, your home, and tilts your balance, upends your world.

He is Anarchy, after all. He’s war.

Using his forefinger, he parts the hair at the center. He’s about to start working on the next side—braid about five halfway and leave the rest free when her voice cuts through the moment.

“A-are you okay?”

Her voice is soft and hesitant. The uncertainty in it makes his pulse hum. He knew she was there the moment he took over, alright. Not reacting to her was part of the thrill.

Slowly, he turns, a grin curling slowly across his lips until it turns sharp, wicked…meant to be seen. And when she takes her first step backward, her eyes widening with the first flicker of fear, Zev feels something very close to delight—powerful, coursing through his veins like a shot of heroine.

“Well, hello there, ladybird.” As he takes another step after her, a flicker of recognition settles in his mind like a serpent coiling tight.

He knows her. No, not just the girl his brother has been keeping him locked away for.

No—he remembers her. The girl from the train station who kept blowing into her hideous green sweater.

The same girl from the coffee shop—Fitz’s Lit and Brew—who came to ask if he found her book.

She’s like a ghost from a past encounter, a memory unburied.

Once upon a time, she had been his perfect prey.

But the timing had been so fucking wrong and he had to let her go.

Oh, he had wanted to crush her under the weight of his fingers then make her crumble. Make her his.

What are the odds that the girl who unknowingly fell into the edge of his cruel fascination that day is the same one his brother has been desperately trying to smother his existence for?

Wait, what if she’s his after all? What if Lucan was just the tool the universe used to bring her to his doorstep?

Oh, this is perfect.

“Seriously, you’re kinda really scaring me right now.” Her voice shudders as she stumbles out of the bathroom. And he follows her, his steps slow, calculated, like a wolf savoring a hunt before he pounces.

“I have been dying to meet you, you know,” he murmurs. Just one more step and he will invade her little space. “I should have taken control faster if I knew you came all the way here just to see me.”

Her brows furrow. “W-what are you talking about?” she demands, but her voice betrays her. The fear is no longer a flicker. It settles in her wide green eyes, coiling in her throat.

Zev sighs, shaking his head as he leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, watching her.

“You’ve been so mean to me, you know. Letting my brother lock me away for weeks like that.

” He tuts, tilting his head as if visualizing the best gradient to break her from.

“I’ve been tired, ladybird. I’m sure you know what it feels like to be caged.

I have…” he leans off the door and takes another imposing step until he’s standing next to her.

He drags his gaze over her, slow, indulgent, heat curling in his voice. “I have been hungry.”

He watches with mild amusement as she stiffens the moment the realization clicks into place.

“I have been starved for so long, thanks to you,” he murmurs, power roaring in his blackened blood as the fear settles deep in her beady eyes. “The least you can do is…” he lowers his head, his lips just mere inches away from her lips. “Satisfy this hunger of mine, hmm?”

“S-stop,” she stutters and before he can blink, she turns around, ready to bolt. But she’s not fast enough. Because one step, and she’s caught—small, fragile, his to break.

“Come on now.” Zev’s head lowers, his face burying between the curve of her slender neck, inhaling her scent. Flowery. Just the way he remembers it.

“Don’t try to run away now.” His fingers lock around her throat, just a little squeeze, not a muscle used and she will fall limp in his arms, eyes rolled back in, lungs empty of air.

“Let go.” She forces out, writhing helplessly in his arms.

“Not tonight, ladybird.” His free hand trails down her exposed arm, and she shivers. She screams no, but her body gravitates toward his electric touch, nonetheless.

Her face darkens, tinged with purple as she thrashes against his grip, the artery in her neck pounding beneath the press of his thumb. He can feel the frantic rhythm, the desperate fight for oxygen. But he won’t let her die. Not yet.

“Please,” she whimpers, a sound caught between a plea for mercy and a desperate cry for more.

He knows her type quite too well. She acts like a fragile little thing, but she doesn’t want soft touches and careful restraint. He bet in the solitude of her darkest thoughts, she craves this—the danger, the forceful taking, the weight of command pressing her down.

She wants to be helpless beneath him, to have no choice as he uses her body the way he pleases. And instead of running, resisting, she will keep coming back. Again and again. Because she can’t get enough of this darkness.

“Tonight.” His voice is a low whisper, a promise laced with something dark. His hands roam freely, unbothered by her half-heartedly attempts to stop him. The resistance she offers is weak, as if deep down, she knows it won’t change a thing.

His fingers, firm and knowing, map out the curve of her body, slipping over silk and skin with a confidence that makes her breath hitch.

She gasps when his large palm squeezes her ass cheek through the silk material of her skirt. But her gasps and whimpers are like fuel to him. They could be protests of fear for her, but in his mind, they’re an invitation, a plea for more.

She wants it. Forget the tear brimming in her eyes. Deep down, she wants to be unraveled by his hands.

She’s so easy and Lucan is so pathetically blind. He sees her as something delicate, untouchable—a saint in a world of sinners. But Zev knows better. Girls like her are usually the darkest.

“What’s wrong with you?” she chokes out, her body shuddering in his hold, pulse erratic beneath his fingers.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Instead, he bends in close, the heat of his breath caressing her skin before his teeth sink into the tender curve of her neck. Hard. Sharp. A vicious claiming bite that has her crying out, her body jerking against his.

“Tonight,” he murmurs, his lips grazing against the bloodied indent he has made. “It’s just gonna be you and me.”

“Please—” Her plea is cut shut when he flips her, her world titling as she crashes onto the bed.

The impact has her bouncing once, twice, her lilac skirt riding up, a careless thing bunched around her waist. A scrap of lace is what remained between her and him, black and soaked through, betraying the heat pooling between her thighs.

He inhales deeply, as a slow predatory grin curls at his lips.

“You’re so wet, ladybird.”

His words slither into her ears, thick with satisfaction, with hunger. Because whether she wants to admit it or not, her body already has.

He climbs onto the bed after her, and she instinctively scrambles backward, retreating inch by inch as if there’s anywhere in this house she can run to.

A slow, devious smile stretches across his lips as he reaches for her. One sharp tug, and she’s yanked forward, dragged beneath him with a startled gasp. His weight presses her into the mattress, his presence swallowing the space between them, until all she can see and feel is him.

“Running?” he murmurs, brushing a finger down the side of her face with a deceptive softness. “Cute. But I’m afraid there will be no running tonight, ladybird.”

A gasp breaks out of her lips when his free hand pushes her thighs apart, his hand wandering deeper until it’s hovering just over her throbbing pussy.

“Don’t touch me.” She is panting, her chest heaving.

“But you’re soaking wet.” His voice is low, taunting, curling around her like smoke. Two fingers slip between her thighs, sliding over the slick evidence of her betrayal, and a sharp breath shudders from her lips. She doesn’t want this.

But truly, she does.

A whimper escapes as he pushes in, fingers curling, dragging a moan from her throat that she fights but fails to bite back.