Page 81 of Buried in Blood

I grip her hips.

Hard.

“You’re not a weapon,” I whisper.

“Yes, I am,” she says, lips brushing mine. “You made me one.”

I drag her mouth to mine and kiss her like it’s the last thing I’ll ever taste. Her hands thread into my hair, tugging just hard enough to hurt. She bites my lip. I dig my nails into her back.

We don’t undress. We tear.

Shirts pulled. Pants shoved. Skin on skin, like we’re trying to crawl inside each other. Like touch can erase everything we’ve seen. Everything we’ve done.

She grinds down on me, breath shaky, nails dragging across my chest.

“Say it,” she gasps. “Say you need me.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

“Liar.”

Iflip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head.

Her legs wrap around my waist.

“Say it,” she whispers again, eyes burning.

And I do.

“I need you like water.”

I know water is her second favorite thing on this planet.

She breaks beneath me—body arching, voice cracking, heart wide open. I sink myself into her. And I follow her into the dark.

We don’t come up for air.

We don’t speak after.

Because the war is already here.

And this?

This is the only peace we’ll ever get.

25

Harmony

The quiet in the main house is unnatural.

Not peaceful. Not still.

Just wrong.

Like the air’s been emptied of oxygen and replaced with the weight of something waiting. Something watching.

I’m trying to move normally. Trying to act like I belong here. Like I’m just another obedient little puppet in Damien’s world. But my hands betray me. They shake when I reach for a glass. My breath is too shallow. My heart, too loud.