Page 18 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

“Cowgirl from the outer cities. The daughter of a wannabe gangster who got on the wrong side of my mother. Sacrificial lamb sold off to make amends and pay a debt.” He hummed, moving his lips closer to her ear, his voice dropping low even as he was slowly killing her.

“You’re supposed to be small. Immaterial. Uninteresting at best.”

Fuck you.

Lips ghosted against her cheek, just at the corner of her mouth, a faint impression of a kiss, but nothing real. He lifted his head to watch her eyes.

Fuck. You. Her vision was going spotty at the edges. She didn’t have long.

“A little mortal human, lost in the metropolis, surrounded by politics she can’t possibly understand…

engaged to the most dangerous murderer in all of Runne.

And yet? When you look at me?” Brow furrowing slightly, he was looking at her like she was the most intriguing puzzle he’d ever seen. “Your eyes hold no fear. None at all.”

All at once, he let go of her throat and sat back, releasing her wrists. He stayed straddling her legs as she coughed and wheezed, turning her head to try to desperately fill her aching lungs with air. Her head was spinning.

“You aren’t afraid of me. Just there, you looked at me with nothing but defiance. I could kill you in a thousand ways, a thousand times over, every second you’re near me.” He caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him, even as she was wheezing. “Why?”

When she felt like she could speak without coughing, she answered him, her voice quiet and hoarse. “Because I’m already dead.”

Raziel sat back on his heels, watching the girl beneath him.

Because I’m already dead.

He laughed. Oh, pretty thing. There were far more things to fear in this world than death. But even as he had been slowly robbing her of life, there was nothing in her eyes but sheer contempt .

The image of her atop him, naked in the moonlight, hairpin pressing into his throat, flashed into his mind. By the two moons, he had never been aroused so quickly and so intensely as he had been right then.

In her eyes in that moment, in that honest place between sleep and awake, he had seen that same contempt—but he had also seen desire .

“I snuck into your bed tonight to see if I could scare you.” Reaching down a hand, he stroked his knuckles along her cheek. To her credit, she didn’t pull away. Just watched him, wavering, angry, and uncertain.

“Why”—she stopped to cough—“do you want me to be afraid of you?”

He lowered himself down to her again, loving the smell of her.

Not the shampoo and the soap, but the scent that went deeper than that— her smell.

Monica. She smelled like the sea, of salt spray, and something he couldn’t name.

He placed a slow, gentle kiss against her cheek before climbing off the sofa and letting her up.

“You should be. Because everyone else is.”

Fetching his cigarette from the floor near the railing, he leaned back against the stone balustrade.

Would she stay? Or would she go back to her room and sulk?

Monica crouched to pick up the glass that had once contained her drink.

Kicking an ice cube off the balcony, she headed to the bar and made herself another. A double, by the looks of things.

“I’m not an idiot,” she snapped at him. “You can stop treating me like one right now .”

Her anger was somehow a relief. “No. That much is becoming very clear.” He stretched, cracking his neck. “What sob story did Azazel give you? Who sold him into the flesh trade this time? Was it his aunt, his big brother, or his lover? I can never keep his lies straight.”

“Hm.” She leaned up against the railing, some two feet away from him. Not close, but still within arm’s reach. “He spared me the details.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I wanted to.” Pausing, she stared down into her drink. “And I suppose I did. This world is full of enough tragedies like that.” That was an honest answer from her. “Which means I’m not as smart as I claimed I was.”

Curious cowgirl. Curious, strange, fascinating, infuriating cowgirl. Far more interesting than he could ever have expected. He watched her for a moment. “Aza is a manipulator. That’s what he does.”

“I guess you’re right.” She sipped her drink.

“Did he give you some ‘let’s be friends’ line?”

The flinch of pain that crossed her features was almost a visceral slap. It was as much of an answer as he needed.

“Word of advice, lost, pretty thing.” Facing her, he stepped in close.

She held her ground and didn’t turn to meet him.

Stroking a hand over her hair, he decided he liked the feel of it.

It was so very soft. “You may be smart. You may be more capable with a blade than I had expected. But in this, you are a novice. The games we play…Trust no one in my family. Trust no one who works with us or for us.”

“Including you.”

“Especially me.” Leaning down, he kissed her temple. “Good night.”

“Not much left of it,” she grumbled under her breath.

Laughing, he headed for the stairs. “Don’t disturb your sleep, lest it make you cranky. Noted. Well, sleep in. One more day until the big day. Oh. Don’t worry about your throat for the dress fitting tomorrow. I know how to not leave a bruise.”

She kept from rolling her eyes at how cocky he sounded. “You never answered my question.”

One foot on the stairs, he paused. “Which one?”

“You’re going to kill me on the night of the wedding, aren’t you? How long until it’s my blood on your knuckles and staining your teeth?”

Studying his hand for a moment, he pondered her question. He hadn’t cut himself. His flinch had been simply for humor. He wondered if she’d noticed. “It depends entirely on how breakable you turn out to be.”

With that, he left her to her own devices.

He had enough to think about.