Chapter 38
Head-to-Head
Elara
I know something is wrong the moment I step into his workspace.
It’s not the smell; acid and metal and cold air always live down here. It’s the silence. The kind that doesn’t belong to an empty room. The kind that means something has just happened.
Lucan told me he wouldn’t kill here anymore. Not while I’m in the bunker. Not where I sleep. Not where I breathe.
I believed him.
Today I’ll find out that was a mistake.
The light over the far table is still on. Not the main fluorescents, just the narrow strip that cuts across steel. I move closer, my pulse ticking in my ears, every step careful like the room might notice me.
And then I see it.
Not a body. Not anymore.
What’s left.
The stains are too fresh. Darker than they should be. The equipment hasn’t been reset, the way he always does when he’s finished. There’s a smear on the edge of the table that looks… human. A glove tossed into the corner like it didn’t matter.
My throat tightens.
He lied.
I don’t think. If I think, I’ll freeze. If I freeze, I’ll stay. And I’m angry, what else could he have lied about?
So I act.
The hatch catches my attention, half-hidden behind a maintenance panel.
I’ve memorized it in pieces: the ladder rungs, the narrow circle of light at the top, the idea of up.
I’ve never touched it without his permission.
Would he chase me? Would he care if I disappeared?
And would that be solely because I’m his hostage?
My feet move before fear can catch up. Maybe it is because I want to provoke a reaction, maybe just because I ache for freedom. My lungs burn. Adrenaline floods me so hard my hands shake. Every sound feels too loud, the slap of my feet on concrete, my breath, the faint hum of the bunker itself.
I reach the ladder and grab the first rung.
Up.
I climb fast, faster than I thought I could. My body doesn’t argue. It just obeys the need to go. The light above grows brighter, closer.
Almost—
Pain detonates around my ankle.
White-hot. Electric. Absolute.
I scream as my muscles lock and my balance vanishes. The world tilts. The ladder disappears. Gravity claims me.
I fall.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the floor.
Lucan, of course.
He absorbs the impact like it’s nothing, one arm locked around my back, the other under my legs, holding me against him as if I weigh nothing at all. The shock still ripples through my body; my ankle throbs like it’s on fire.
I gasp, clinging without meaning to.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his chest. The words tear out of me before I can stop them. “I’m sorry.”
He sets me down.
Not gently. My feet hit the floor and I sway, pain still echoing through me. He doesn’t touch me again. He steps back like he has to force himself not to.
“What were you thinking?” he snaps.
His voice isn’t cold.
It’s worse.
It’s furious.
I’ve seen him lethal. I’ve seen him controlled. This is primal; raw, uncontained. The air around him feels charged, like the moment before something breaks.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Sorry isn’t good enough, Elara!” he counters.
“Okay, then punish me.” My breathing shallows, my ankle feels on fire.
His eyes go dark.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically.
Something inside him shuts off. Any softness we built over the past days, every quiet conversation, every moment of almost-trust, goes up in smoke. It’s like watching a door slam in my face.
And I hate that my chest aches at the sight of it.
“Cute,” he snorts, pacing toward me.
I don’t move.
Not because I’m frozen.
Because I’m not afraid of him anymore.
Not like I was at least.
He is powerful. That hasn’t changed. But I know something now that I didn’t before: I matter to him in a way that disrupts him. I am not untouchable, but I am not nothing.
And if I’m going to survive him, I need to stop kneeling.
And I’ll start with that by facing him head-to-head.
“I said I’m sorry,” I repeat.
He stops inches from me, towering, lowering himself just enough that we’re eye to eye.
“Bring it,” I say. I don’t care about the height difference. I don’t care about the age difference. I don’t even care that he’s a serial killer.
“Perhaps I should,” I add softly.
His jaw tightens.
“Because you said you wouldn’t kill while I’m down here,” I continue. “You said this place was… off-limits.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek.
“We both made a mistake,” I say. “I’ll own mine. Will you own yours?”
Silence stretches between us like a wire pulled too tight.
“Go back to your room,” he hisses. “I’ll be there in a second.”
He turns away from me and strides back toward his workspace.
I follow him.
“I won’t take orders from you anymore, Lucan.”
The words come out steadier than I feel. I square my shoulders, stepping into the acid-scented light of his lab.
He stops.
Slowly.
Then he turns.
A low sound leaves him, something between a growl and a warning. In one swift movement he grips my sweater and yanks me forward until we’re nearly chest to chest.
I know how dangerous this is, but I’m past the point of caring.
“This wasn’t a contract—” he starts.
I rise onto my toes and press my mouth to his.
I don’t plan it. I don’t think about it.
I just do it. The kiss isn’t soft like the one we shared outside by the tree.
It’s not careful. It’s a collision; of anger, of heat, of everything we’ve been circling without touching.
For a split second, the world holds its breath.
Then he reacts.
His hands grip me like he’s anchoring himself. The air shifts. He lifts me with shocking ease, turning us, the room spinning in a blur of steel and shadow. My back meets the cold surface of the metal table.
The same table.
The one I know he used.
The thought should stop me.
It doesn’t.
He leans in, breath hot against my skin. My name leaves his mouth like it’s torn from him. The sound of it sends something sharp and dizzying through me. The world narrows to the space between us. To the way the table chills my spine. To the way his presence feels like gravity.
“Lie down,” he orders.
And this—
this is an order I don’t mind following.
The metal is freezing beneath me. I shiver as his hands move to my trousers and underwear with a precision that isn’t gentle and isn’t careless.
He yanks them down, and tosses them over his shoulder.
Everything in me is hyperaware; every breath, every nerve, every second of being exactly where I shouldn’t want to be.
But I do.
Spreading my legs with his, he steps into me and unzips his jeans. When he pulls his cock out he is already hard, and I wonder if it’s because of me or the body he just dismantled.
“You’re a sickness inside my head,” he hisses. With that he pushes into me, spreading my throbbing pussy wide to accommodate his size. I cry out. His hand comes up and wraps around my throat, cutting off my air.
“You’re so wet for me, little scribe. Did watching me work make your pussy throb?” he asks, his hips slamming into me.
My hands drop, grabbing the table, grabbing the edge on either side of us to hold us in place.
“Yes,” I moan.
His hand tightens around my throat, his fingers digging into either side of my neck, this time cutting off my words and all air.
He looks down at me, an evil smile tugging at his scarred lips. “You’re a fucking drug.”
I’d moan if I was able to, but his hand prevents me that.
He picks up the pace, chemicals filling my nostrils, as he fucks me into oblivion.
My hand falls from the edge of the table, my eyes grow heavy from lack of oxygen.
I let go, giving him full control. He thrusts so hard that my head falls off the edge, and I see the containers filled with acid.
Maybe I’m starting to hallucinate, but I spot a finger sticking out in the open container.
The image becomes spotty as dizziness takes over.
My pussy clenches around his cock. My body floats, and before I know it the dam breaks. That wave of heat rushes over me, and I come all over his dick.
He lets go of my throat, and thrusts into me one final time. I feel him pulsing, and he comes inside of me. He doesn’t retrieve, instead he moves closer. I’m a panting mess; hot, sweaty, and filthy.
He squeezes my cheeks, his eyes fall towards my lips. Licking my lips slowly before parting them for him, wide open. As he leans down, he spits into my mouth.
I close them, and swallow, as he presses his to mine again.
We devour each other, like wild animals.
I don’t recognize myself.
And the world would never recognize him.
Or us.
We’re both breathless by the time we’re done.
He suddenly leans in and tenderly kisses my forehead, then he takes a step back.
And as I lay there on the table where he has ended so many lives, I realize one thing; I want this man to consume me. Take what little pieces I had left, and make them his.