Page 1 of Infinite Darkness (The Artmaker Trilogy #2)

The kitchen felt too small all of a sudden, the air too thick, like it had been waiting for me to say that word “Master” that had just fallen from my lips, and change everything. My pulse stuttered, shame clawing up my throat like it wanted to choke me from the inside.

Atticus didn’t move right away. He just crouched there, eyes burning into me, his hand still resting over mine like a brand I couldn’t wipe away. The warmth of his skin sank deep, invasive and heavy, like possession made tangible. My breath hitched, too loud in the silence.

I wanted to take it back. To swallow the word whole and pretend it had never escaped. But I could feel it hanging between us, dangerous and alive, like I’d just given him something he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of my ear, his breath a sinful promise against my skin. “You can’t unmake it now, Bluebell,” he murmured, voice low, velvet lined with steel. “Once you name a man Master, you don’t get to pretend you’re free.”

A shiver rippled through me, every nerve betraying me while my mind screamed to pull away. I stayed frozen in place, heart hammering against my ribs as his fingers traced down the inside of my wrist, slow and deliberate, brushing over the faint outline of last night’s bruise.

“You don’t want to take it back,” he said, tone soft enough to sound like truth instead of manipulation. “Not really. Because you like the way it feels, don’t you? That little word on your tongue. That weight off your shoulders, knowing someone else gets to decide what you are.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, the lie poised but unable to leave my lips. My hands clenched tight around the mug, as if that single fragile thing was the only anchor keeping me from drowning in him.

His other hand slid under my chin, tilting my face up until I was trapped in his gaze. Green eyes, sharp and unrelenting, holding me there like he owned me already. “Do I make myself clear, Bluebell?” he asked, each word deliberate, dragging over my skin like a slow cut.

I hesitated, my lips trembling, but my voice betrayed me in the end. “Yes, sir.”

The smile that spread across his face wasn’t kind. It was victory disguised as tenderness, a wolf laying claim to its prize. He brushed his mouth over mine once, slow and possessive, as though sealing a pact neither of us could undo.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered against my lips, a dangerous edge hiding beneath the sweetness. “And now that you’ve given me the word, Bluebell…” his fingers tightened ever so slightly under my chin, “…you’re never taking it back.”

Atticus pulled back slowly, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip as though he owned the right to touch me like that now.

Maybe he did. My heart hadn’t stopped hammering since the word slipped out, but I couldn’t take it back—not when he’d already claimed it, claimed me, with that quiet, terrifying certainty.

“Eat,” he said simply, standing and taking his plate with him, as if the last two minutes hadn’t cracked something wide open between us. “We’ve got things to do before lunch.”

My fork felt foreign in my hand, my stomach knotted tight, but I forced down another bite. Because that’s what good girls do. They listen to what they had been commanded… since when did I go along with stuff like this?

The sky was a muted gray by the time he led me out to the pasture.

The air bit at my skin, sharp and clean, carrying the earthy scent of frozen grass and the musky weight of animals nearby.

Horses moved like shadows beyond the fence, their breath fogging in the cold, hooves crunching on frost-bitten ground.

I hadn’t even known they existed until he mentioned them over breakfast, like a man casually offering candy to a child. Be good, and I’ll show you my secrets. My secrets. My cage.

The largest stallion lifted his head as we approached, dark eyes glinting, a pale scar slashing his flank like a warning sign. I stopped just short of the fence, hesitant, every muscle in my body coiled tight.

Atticus came up behind me, his presence a solid wall of heat, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans like he was relaxed. But I could feel the coiled tension underneath. He always carried it, like a storm waiting for permission to break.

“You like them?” he asked, voice smooth, quiet. Not really a question. More like an order to agree.

“They’re…” I swallowed, eyes fixed on the stallion. “They’re beautiful.”

His hand settled on my lower back, deceptively gentle, the weight of it anchoring me in place.

“See that one?” He nodded toward the scarred horse.

“Mean bastard when I found him. Wouldn’t let anyone close.

Kicked, bit, fought like hell.” His thumb pressed into my spine, a subtle reminder of where I stood.

“Took time, patience… and a firm hand before he learned who he belonged to.”

The horse snorted, pawing at the frozen earth. My breath caught, a chill racing through me that had nothing to do with the cold.

Atticus leaned down, lips grazing the shell of my ear, his tone low enough to curl around my ribs and settle there.

“Funny thing is, Bluebell… once he learned it, once he knew he wasn’t going anywhere, he got tame.

He got happy.” His fingers flexed against my back, just shy of a grip. “You’ll learn that too.”

I stood frozen, staring at the horse and wondering if I was supposed to feel like one of them. Wondering if that was what he saw every time he looked at me—an untamed thing waiting to be broken in.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, pulling me just a fraction closer to the fence, the pressure of his hand making refusal feel impossible. “Touch him. Let him smell you. Learn what trust feels like, Bluebell…”

I reached out slowly, my fingers trembling from more than the cold. The stallion’s ears flicked forward, breath huffing against my skin as I stretched my hand over the rail. The coarse strands of his mane brushed my palm, warm and alive in a way that made my chest tighten.

For a fleeting second, I felt safe. Separate from Atticus, from the cabin, from the warped thing growing between us. But the illusion shattered the moment his hand slid over mine, pressing it firmer into the horse’s neck.

“There you go,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that skated along my spine. “See how easy it is when you stop shaking? When you stop fighting and just… let go.”

My breath stuttered. I wanted to snatch my hand back, to put distance between me and both of them, but Atticus’s body boxed me in, his heat seeping through the borrowed coat, his scent— pine, smoke, and something darker—wrapping around me like a snare.

The stallion shifted, head dipping as if weighing me, and Atticus chuckled softly. “He likes you,” he said, his lips brushing just behind my ear. “Smart animal. Knows a girl who wants to be handled when he sees one.”

I turned my head sharply, ready to snap something, anything, but the words lodged in my throat when I met his eyes. Green, intense, utterly unreadable—and yet they saw everything. My fear, my trembling, even the flicker of heat in my stomach I tried to ignore.

“You think I don’t see it?” he asked softly, tilting his head, studying me the way a sculptor studies stone.

“That ache you’re trying to hide. The one that screams louder every time I get close.

” His thumb brushed the back of my hand, slow, deliberate.

“You can lie to yourself, Gennie girl, but you can’t lie to me. ”

The stallion blew out a hot breath, startling me enough that I jerked slightly, bumping back into Atticus’s chest. His arm closed around my waist instantly, holding me there, caging me between him and the fence.

“Easy,” he whispered, his lips grazing the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

Something in his tone—soft, unshakable, terrifyingly certain—made my heart slam against my ribs. It felt like a vow, a trap, a promise I wasn’t sure I’d ever escape. My body leaned despite myself, drawn into his heat, into that dangerous calm that made resistance feel impossible.

The stallion’s head lowered, brushing against my arm, and Atticus smiled, a slow, dark curve I could feel without even seeing it. “See, Bluebell?” he murmured. “Even the wild ones understand when they’ve found their master.”

I stood there frozen, staring at the horse, feeling the weight of his words sink into my bones.

And for one terrifying, traitorous moment, I wondered what it would feel like to stop running inside my own head…

and just let him tame me. I needed to have a psychological evaluation… that was the only thing I could figure.