Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
SABLE
I freeze as soon as I see him, my heart racing wildly in my chest. Torin stands there in the shadows, leaning casually against the wall like he owns the place. He’s shirtless, of course, because why wouldn’t he be? My gaze flickers over him, and for one fleeting, ridiculous second, I wonder where the hell his shirt is. It’s freezing outside, and yet here he is, all bare skin and confidence. Heat rises to my cheeks, but I push it aside. I can’t afford to let him distract me.
The firelight flickers across the intricate tattoos that snake up one side of his body. They start at his left hand, curling around his forearm in jagged, claw-like marks before spreading across his biceps—thick and bulging with the kind of muscle that looks like it’s carved from stone. The tattoos morph as they ascend, shifting into the jagged silhouette of a mountain range across his shoulder, with streaks of shadow-like ink stretching down his back as though they’re the remnants of something clawing at him .
The design continues up the side of his neck, where dark, angular symbols peek out, sharp and deliberate. They frame his shaved head on one side, like runes that might carry a meaning only he knows. His chest is broad and heaving, every line of his pectoral muscles pronounced and dusted with faint scars that glisten under the firelight. His abs ripple with every subtle movement, each one a testament to a life lived on raw strength. He shifts slightly, and his traps and delts catch the light, emphasizing their power and definition.
There’s something primal about the way he carries himself, his tattoos telling a story I don’t yet understand. They look like they’ve been etched with pain, not magic, each stroke a reflection of something dark and untamed within him. His dark eyes glint with amusement and something far more dangerous—something that makes my stomach twist and my pulse quicken.
Come on, ovaries, get a grip. This is not the time to start appreciating the finer details of a warlock’s gym routine—or his tattoos, or his ridiculously sharp jawline, or the way his abs could probably cut glass. Especially not with him , the unhinged mad one of the bunch. I should be thinking about escape plans, not how his body practically screams sin and violence. He’s my captor, not some dark fantasy brought to life. Get it together, Sable.
“Well, hello, little kitten,” he says, his voice low and rough, a teasing edge to it. He steps forward, his movements unhurried, almost predatory. “Miss me?”
I step back instinctively, my pulse hammering in my ears. “What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the sudden dryness in my throat. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
He grins, slow and wolfish, the kind of grin that promises trouble. “Oh, I know. Finn and Kael said you needed rest.” He shrugs, his tattoos shifting with the motion. “But I know better. Rest isn’t what you want, is it, kitten? You want to play.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, retreating another step. My back hits the bedpost, and I curse silently. Trapped.
He chuckles, the sound deep and full of wicked intent. “Why not? It suits you. All claws and hisses, but deep down…” He trails off, his gaze raking over me. “You’re just aching for someone to tame you.”
My glare stays fixed, but my body betrays me. A shiver runs down my spine under his scorching gaze, my nipples pebbling against the thin fabric of my nightgown. Heat pools low in my belly, an unwelcome ache that only deepens as his eyes rake over me with a mix of amusement and something far darker.
“Get out,” I snap, my voice steady despite the way my body is reacting. “I don’t want you here.”
His grin widens, a predator’s grin, as if he can see right through my bravado. My pulse hammers in my throat, and I clench my fists at my sides, silently willing my traitorous body to stop responding to him.
He steps closer, the air between us charged and electric. His chest, broad and inked with those maddening tattoos, almost brushes mine. The heat radiating from his skin seeps into me, and I feel my breath hitch as his scent—leather, steel, and something raw and wild—wraps around my senses like a vice. It's intoxicating, and I hate that I notice it.
“Oh, I think you’ve been waiting for someone like me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, a purr that slithers into my veins. His lips curve into that unhinged grin as he leans in, his words grazing my ear. “Someone who can take all your scratches and hisses. Someone who won’t flinch when you bare those little claws of yours.”
His body shifts, the barest brush of his skin against mine where the thin fabric of my nightgown offers no barrier. The sensation sends a jolt through me, my nipples hardening into traitorous peaks as they graze his chest. My thighs press together instinctively, trying to stave off the heat pooling between them, but it’s no use. My body’s reaction is instant, primal, and infuriating.
“You’ve got fire,” he continues, his voice a molten thread of mockery and promise. “And I like fire. But deep down, you’re just aching for someone who can match it. Someone who can take everything you throw at them—and give it back twice as hard.”
My heart thunders against my ribcage, my anger battling the unwelcome rush of desire that surges through me. My skin tingles where his brushed mine, and my traitorous body betrays me further, heat coiling low and insistent. I want to shove him away, tell him he’s wrong, but the words tangle in my throat as his dark gaze pins me in place.
“You’re insane,” I manage, my voice trembling slightly. “Stay away from me.”
Torin tilts his head, studying me with a dark amusement that makes my skin prickle. “I like women who struggle,” he says, almost conversationally. “It makes things more… exciting.”
Before I can react, he lunges, his strong hands pinning me to the bed. I gasp, my pulse spiking as he looms over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His tattoos seem to shift in the firelight, the sharp lines and dark swirls mirroring the intensity in his gaze.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear, sending a shiver racing down my spine. His lips are so close that I can feel every word, each one dripping with dark promise. “Struggle. Fight me. I like a challenge.”
His grin deepens, feral and wicked, as he presses just a little closer, the hard planes of his body brushing against mine in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Mark me, kitten,” he dares, his voice a low growl that seems to reverberate through my very core. “Scratch me. Claw me. Do your worst. I want to feel those sharp little nails of yours dig into me.”
He reaches out, brushing a knuckle along my jaw, so light it feels like a tease. “Go on,” he taunts. “Leave your mark. Show me just how wild you really are.”
My hands tremble even pinned above me still, fury and something hotter boiling inside me. I want to rake my nails down his chest, tear through that maddening grin, but the worst part—the part I hate most—is how much my body responds to his challenge. My palms itch to touch him, to lash out, but the heat curling through me is so intense, I can barely focus on anything else.
His grin widens as he tilts his head, exposing his neck. “What’s the matter, kitten? Too scared to leave a mark? Or are you afraid you’ll like it too much?”
I swallow hard, my pulse thundering in my ears as his words dig under my skin, igniting something I don’t understand and don’t want to. My nails curl into my palms, but his scent wraps around me, making my head spin.
“Come on,” he goads, his voice softer now, like a wicked lullaby. “Show me your claws, kitten. Don’t disappoint me.”
The heat of his body pressing against me, the power thrumming between us, and his dark, tempting challenge are suffocating. My heart pounds, my anger and desire warring as I fight to stay in control, but the way he looks at me—with equal parts hunger and amusement—has me teetering on the edge.
My breath comes in shallow bursts. My thighs clench together, and I feel a wetness between my legs that I can’t ignore. Torin seems to notice too, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face .
“There she is,” he whispers, his hand brushing down my side, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “My little kitten.”
His lips hover over mine, his gaze locking with mine as if daring me to stop him. My body arches slightly against him, my hips pressing up into his as his warmth seeps into me. I can feel his hardness through his trousers. I can't stop the moan that escapes my mouth as I think about him slipping it inside of me.
His hand slides to my thigh, gripping it firmly, and I let out an involuntary gasp. My head spins, torn between rage, fear, and a deep, undeniable desire.
"Perfect fucking little kitten," he breathes out.
Just as his lips are about to capture mine, the door swings open with a loud creak.
“Enough,” Finn’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.
Torin stumbles back like he’s been yanked by an invisible force, his expression flickering with irritation as he turns to face Finn. “What the fuck, Ghost?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.
Finn steps into the room, his silver ring glinting as he rolls it between his fingers. His gaze is calm but unyielding as he looks at Torin. “I said, that’s enough. You’ve had your fun for the night.”
Torin’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to argue. But then he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fine,” he says, his tone mocking as he backs toward the door. He glances over his shoulder at me, his grin returning. “Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll play again soon.”
I glare at him, my chest heaving as I try to regain control of my breathing. He winks before slipping out of the room, leaving me alone with Finn.
Finn leans against the doorframe, his dark eyes studying me with an unnerving intensity. “You need to be careful,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “Torin doesn’t know when to stop.”
I sit up, pulling the blanket around me like a shield. “And what about you?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Should I be careful around you too?”
His lips quirk into a faint smirk, but there’s no humor in it. “No need,” he says simply. “I don’t share Torin’s… appetites.”
The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t tell if it’s a relief or a warning. He straightens, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he turns to leave.
“Get some rest,” he says over his shoulder. “You’ll need it.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room. My heart is still racing, my thoughts a chaotic swirl of anger, fear, and confusion. One thing is clear: these warlocks are dangerous, and I have to find a way out of here—before I lose more than just my freedom.