Page 48 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

TWENTY-FIVE

After she’d killed Luciento, when she and Raziel had made love— fucked like animals, to be honest— it had been in a moment of bloodlust and the shattering of the tension between them. Nadi knew that wasn’t exactly what he was…known for.

This was different.

This was premeditated.

This was controlled .

Raziel bowed his head and kissed her temple before shifting his palm to the middle of her back and pushing her two steps forward, making her stagger. “Remove your clothes.” He wasn’t using his hypnotism. She couldn’t feel the weight of his power in the air.

At least he wasn’t trying to control Monica like that. He was a monster. But there were some lines it seemed even he wouldn’t cross. What a strange relief.

Shrugging out of her thin coat, she tossed it to the corner of the room.

Her shoes went next. She didn’t want to rush.

Namely, because her hands were shaking badly enough already.

The whole time, she was afraid to even look at him.

He was simply standing behind her, looming there, his gaze burning into her.

But it wasn’t long before she was naked.

Weirdly, she found herself fighting the reflex to cover herself.

He’d seen it a dozen times or more at this point.

But she hadn’t ever felt this exposed. Even though she was wearing someone else’s body and someone else’s face, she felt like he could see right through her.

“Face me.”

Turning, she did so.

“Look at me.”

It took a split second, but she flicked her eyes up to him.

By the void, he was beautiful . A dark god. He stepped up to her, all in black and crimson, his expression unreadable as he studied her.

She was shivering despite the warmth of the room.

“You’re nervous.”

“Of course I am,” she murmured.

“I’m flattered.” A thin smile graced his features. “But you have no reason to be.” He lifted a hand and stroked his knuckles against her cheek.

“But…” She furrowed her brow.

“This is our…complex understanding. I didn’t seek you out as a plaything.

You didn’t come find me wishing to be broken by me.

That makes this a very particular arrangement.

” He tilted his head to the side slightly.

“The others were easily snapped, like toothpicks. Already small. Already fragile. You? You, I feel would be like using a machete to clean my teeth. I have to handle this with far more care.”

A rare compliment. And one that she found actually meant something to her. Her eyes flicked between his, searching for the joke. Searching for the sarcasm. She found none. He was being sincere.

“Now.” His smile turned just a little devilish. “Shall we see how far this blade is willing to bend without breaking, hm?”

Willing.

Was she willing to bend to him? Bend without breaking.

He didn’t want to shatter her. Could she trust him?

Her first instinct was to laugh. The part of her that had hated him for over eighty years—the part of her who had watched him murder her family, who had despised the Nostroms and vowed revenge—swore at her and declared that he was the enemy. She couldn’t trust him. Absolutely not.

But some part of her wanted to do it regardless. Wanted to put herself in his hands. Wanted to bend, anyway . Wanted to feel what he could do to her.

Screw it.

Literally.

Taking a deep breath, she held it, then let it out in a wavering rush. She nodded.

“Good.” Raziel rested his thumb against the hollow of her chin. His smile made her feel hot and cold all at once. Dread and excitement warred for supremacy. His words were a growl, a promise, a threat. “Kneel for me, my beautiful little murderer.”

All his life, Raziel had collected broken things.

Toothpicks, as his metaphor had gone. Things to be used, snapped, and thrown away. Sometimes, they came to him, sometimes he found them. Baubles. Vampire or human. Men or women.

Things that were already whittled down past the point of recognition. Once-great trees or vines reduced to splinters.

But this creature in front of him? This woman? This killer ? She was no broken thing. She was closer to someone after his own heart than anyone he had ever known. Though young. Impetuous. Foolhardy.

Too naive for her good. She still had a lot to learn, though she clearly believed herself above reproach in that regard.

A lesson he would teach her soon enough.

But he had more pressing lessons to address first.

He had ordered her to kneel. He never used his hypnotism to coerce his partners.

It was what gave him the greatest joy in the world—not having to use his gifts to get others to obey him.

Watching them choose to do it instead, for whatever reason, gave him such pleasure.

And their reasons were as varied as the broken souls he had collected.

Often it was physical lust. Either for him or for what he could make them feel.

Sometimes, it was from a need to make their bodies hurt the way their minds did. To feel something , anything at all, even if it was only pain.

Or, perhaps, it was the need to feel like the center of someone’s universe—even if it was as a plaything and a toy.

More than one of his former “lovers” had come to him, knowing that they wouldn’t survive the ordeal, mentally or physically. He was just a very elaborate form of suicide to them. He despised them for it, every time.

But this one?

It was precisely as he had said. Neither of them chose this. She hadn’t come to him. And he had not sought her out. It would require them both to adapt. And if she was willing to bend for him? He would do the same for her.

“ What if I wanted to be the one in control? ” Her words to him the other night echoed in his mind.

He had never once in his life surrendered control to another.

Never let someone have their way with him .

Even in a menial, superficial sense, let alone anything close to what he was about to try to do to her.

The thought should have revolted him. Or made him laugh, perhaps, at how ridiculous it sounded. Him? Blindfolded and shackled? Please! But this woman—this creature before him—staring into his eyes, searching for something? Was surprising him at every turn.

Including, it seemed, by uncovering things about him that even he didn’t know.

Because he had a hard time remembering when he had been so instantly turned on by an idea in a very long time. The idea of her, knife tip pressed against his throat, his blood staining her hands as she rode them to completion, made his already painful erection twitch inside his pants.

He had replied “ I would love to see you try. ” And he had meant the words. They hadn’t been a threat. They had been an invitation. Catch me off guard with a gun to my head, my little murderer, and I will kiss your feet and obey your every word.

But that was if destiny allowed them to last that long.

Now, he was the one in command.

The one that she warred with.

Would she surrender? Would she cross the point of no return? Or would she back down?

It wasn’t a matter of whether she would enjoy it. They both knew she would, deep down.

It was a matter of trust.

Did she trust him?

Not in politics. Not with his family. Not with her life. The answer there was a clear and understandable “no.” But in some way, this trust was more important than that, wasn’t it? This kind of intimacy?

The moment stretched on for another beat, and he was certain she would retreat. But she had one more surprise in store for him. The tension fled from her shoulders as she committed to her choice. And slowly, cautiously…his little murderer knelt at his feet.

Nadi couldn’t believe what she was doing.

Had she lost her mind?

She was kneeling at the feet of Raziel Nostrom. Naked. Trembling. Eager for what he was going to do to her.

His hand stroked the top of her head, gently, almost soothingly. “We will take it easy on our first time truly playing together. Sorry if that’s a disappointment.” He walked behind her and out of her field of view.

The floor of the suite was carpeted, which made his footsteps silent. She had no idea where he was. That made her more nervous. And made it so, so much more intense. She was almost shivering in need.

“Spread your knees. Sit on your ankles.” He was standing right behind her.

She did as she was told.

A pair of leather straps dangled over her shoulder from his hand. “Put these on your wrists. Cinch them tight. I will know if they’re loose. But keep from cutting the circulation. That’s my job.”

He…wanted her to do it? Why did that feel so much worse? He wants me to tie my own noose and put my own head in it. This wasn’t about making her do anything. This was about her doing it to herself. With a shaking hand, she took the straps. Her fingers kept slipping as she put them on.

If he was getting impatient, he said nothing.

He stood behind her, waiting in silence, letting her do the task.

She did exactly as he’d said. She made sure they were tight, but not so tight she’d risk cutting off the blood to her fingers.

She tested them, making sure she couldn’t slip her hands out.

This was dangerous. She was literally placing herself into a trap.

But this was exactly what she knew was going to happen!

Cussing herself out for being an idiot, she debated getting up and making a running leap for the balcony.

If she jumped overboard, she could drop her glamor and escape. She could just swim for freedom.

This might be her last chance.

A larger leather strap with the same kind of attachments dangled into her view. “For your throat.”

A collar. Shit. Oh, lords below. What had she done? What had she gotten herself into?

When she hesitated, he hummed. “Do you want to stop?”