Page 175 of The Devil's Thorn

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. Just watches me like I’m some equation he’s trying to solve…or break apart.

My elbow rested against the edge of the couch, hand near the med kit still open, but I haven’t moved for minutes. His eyes dragged down the line of my throat, my chest, not hungrily—but knowingly. Like he already knows how I’d fall apart in his hands. And that pissed me off more than it should.

Finally, he broke the silence, voice low and rough. “What are you thinking about, Isabella?” Not soft. Not curious. Just enough gravel behind it to sound like a warning.

My jaw tensed. “Trying to decide if I should regret not poisoning you while I had the chance.” I say it too evenly, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he liked it. Like he liked me like this.

“Is that what you want?” he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine. “To kill me? Or would you rather I tie you down and fuck every ounce of hate out of you until you’re begging for more?”

My heart punched my ribs, but I didn’t let it show. Not in my eyes. Not in my breath. Just a slow inhale. A slower smirk.

“You mistake me for someone who begs,” I said. “That’s your problem, Rafael. You think wanting something is the same as needing it.”

He leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his thighs, eyes glowing with fire and ice.

“No, Isabella. I don’t think you beg. I think you’d claw. Scratch. Bite. I think you’d fight me the entire time… just to make sure you still hated it. And yourself.”

The silence is electric. I can hear the blood rush in my ears. “You think sex is just that easy?” I ask. “That simple?”

He didn’t flinch. “It’s not supposed to be complicated. Not for people like us. We don’t fall in love. We fall into control. Pain. Power. We take. We give. We destroy.” He let that hang in the air before he added, quieter, darker—“Pleasure’s just the cleanest kind of pain. The only thing I feel besides blood.”

I stared at him, and I hated how much I believed that. How much I recognized it. “…You think hate makes it better?” I asked.

He smiled then, but it was hollow. Crooked. “No. But it makes it real.”

I looked at him, really looked at him—and for once, I couldn’t find the line between threat and truth. And that’s what terrified me most.

He didn’t look away. Not when I blinked. Not when I exhaled. Not even when my hand shifted slightly closer to the dagger on the table between us. And I hated that it thrilled me—that he doesn’t flinch. That if anything, he looks like he’swaitingfor it.

I watched the shadows flicker over his face, the flicker of the stitches beneath his skin, the slight clench of his jaw that reminded me that pain is still a very real thing sitting right here with me. And so is he.

Still shirtless. Still bleeding in ways I can’t see. Still the one man I can’t read as easily as I want to.

I leaned back slightly, resting my arms against the edge of the couch, my legs crossed, the weight of his stare pressed thick against my skin like a bruise I don’t remember earning.

“What is it?” he finally asked, his voice rasped, quieter now, as if the storm between us just dropped to a simmer.

I tilted my head, studying him. Then, slowly, I speak. “Why me?”

I let the question hang for a second, before adding, “Why keep circling me when you don’t even know if my next move will be to bury a blade in your throat?”

His eyes flickered—barely. But I caught it. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to surprise on Rafael’s face.

Then he shifted. Leaned forward again. Elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them, fingers flexing slightly like he’s either restraining himself—or preparing to pounce.

“Because I’m tired of women who fall at my feet with one glance,” he said, voice gravel-dark.

“They don’t interest me. They never have. They’re easy. Predictable. Forgettable.” He lifted his gaze back to mine. “But you?” He leaned in closer. “You’d slit my throat with one handand steady my fall with the other. And maybe I’m a masochist, but that kind of danger…” His voice dropped a note lower. “That’s the only thing that’s ever felt alive.”

My breath slipped out between my lips, and I hated that I felt the weight of his words curl through me like smoke. “You’re insane,” I murmured.

“You’re not the first to say that.”

I watch him. Let the silence stretch again, pulsing between us. “…And what are you looking for in me, Rafael?” I asked after a beat. “A new kind of obsession? A pretty pawn with sharp teeth?”

He huffed a laugh, low and cold. “If you’re a pawn, then I’m already losing the game.”

I felt the twist in my stomach. The confusion. The heat. The warning bells that won’t stop ringing. “You want me to destroy you?” I whispered, more to myself than him.