Page 64 of Hunted to the Altar

"Don’t you dare," I cut in, my voice sharper than I intended. "Don’t you dare act like you care about the thing inside me when you put a bullet in the body carrying it."

A flicker of something moved across his face—regret, guilt, pride? With him, it was always hard to tell.

"You were going to run," he said quietly, crouching in front of me, bracing his hands on the armrests of the chair. His face was too close to mine. His presence wrapped around me like rope. "You’d already decided to leave. You gave me no choice."

"You had a choice," I hissed. "And you chose violence. Again."

"I chose survival."

"No," I whispered, the emotion building in my throat like rising bile. "You chose control."

We were so close I could see the flecks of steel in his blue eyes, the faint scar above his brow. I hated how familiar he was to me now. How much of my life was carved into the lines of his face.

His eyes dropped to my abdomen. Then back to my face.

"You’re still carrying my child," he said.

The pressure in my gut spiked like lightning.

"Not for long," I said under my breath, though I wasn’t sure if I meant it as a threat or a prophecy.

He stood, and for a moment, I saw him struggle. Just for a breath, his face cracked. But then the mask fell back into place.

"You’re mine, Nina," he said.

And then he left.

Just like that.

The second the door closed, I doubled over.

Another cramp. Deeper. Hungrier.

I inhaled sharply, pressing my palm to the place where life was supposed to be blooming.

But it didn’t feel like blooming anymore.

It felt like dying.

I shifted, trying to ease the pain—and that’s when I felt it.

A gush of heat. Wet. Wrong.

My breath caught in my throat.

Slowly, trembling, I reached down between my legs. My hand came back slick with blood.

Dark. Viscous. Already beginning to clot.

"No," I whispered.

Another wave hit me—full-bodied, like my organs were turning to molten iron.

I screamed.

The chair jolted as I gripped the wheels and tried to push myself across the room, but the pain was blinding.

I didn’t make it far.