Chapter 10
TEN
“Show me.”
The door had barely shut behind Raziel before he pushed Nadi onto the bed, climbing atop her and straddling her legs to pin her down. Her instinct had been immediately to fight him tooth and nail—she wasn’t used to her enemy manhandling her like it was nothing out of the ordinary.
But when she saw the look on his face, she froze.
The desire in his expression was gone. At least for the moment. Instead, it was a strained, almost panicked look of desperation.
Fear.
His eyes were wild, his movements frantic as he loomed over her. Instead of the predatory lust she’d come to expect, his expression was raw and unsettled.
“Let me see,” he demanded, his voice rough.
“See what?” She pushed herself up onto her elbows, confusion momentarily outweighing all else.
“Your throat.” His hands were already reaching for her, fingers hovering just above the place where Braen’s had wrapped around her neck. “The bruises. Let me see them. Drop this hideous illusion of yours and let me see.”
“They’re gone.” She tried to worm out from underneath him. “I heal quickly, the bullet proved that.”
His hand pressed down on her shoulder, once more flattening her to the bed. “Show me anyway.”
There was something in his tone—something that went beyond just his usual obnoxious commands—that made her pause. She tilted her head back, baring her throat to him in a gesture that felt far more vulnerable than it should have.
And dropped her glamor. At least far enough that she still had her legs.
His fingers traced where the bruises should have been, featherlight and searching. When he found nothing, some of the tension seemed to bleed from his shoulders, though his expression remained tight.
“What is this about?” She almost didn’t dare ask. “You’re acting like—”
“Like what?” he snapped, drawing back.
“Like you care,” she finished, holding his gaze.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You’re not his to touch.”
The words should have enraged her. To a certain extent, they did—a flare of indignation burned inside her chest. But there was more to it than simple possession.
“Is that what this is? Your property was touched by someone else, and now you need to make sure it’s unmarked?”
“No.” The denial was quick, forceful. Almost desperate in its vehemence.
“Then what?”
“I know what he does—” Raziel turned away, running a hand through his hair. The usually composed vampire looked utterly undone. “When you told me—”
“You’ve seen me nearly die before,” she reminded him. “You’ve watched me get shot.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Because it wasn’t personal then.” He met her gaze again, his eyes blazing crimson. “Because it wasn’t someone putting their hands on you with the intention of taking you for themselves.”
There it was again—that possessiveness. But beneath it, something else lurked. Something that made her breath catch.
“I am not yours to own.” The words came out far weaker than she’d intended.
“No.” He leaned in closer, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face. “You’re not. You’re something much more dangerous to me.”
The confession hung between them, neither quite willing to define exactly what she had become to him. What they had become to each other.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, her throat tight. “I came here to fucking kill you.”
“And you were meant to be a foolish little human girl that I was going to break and discard in the span of two weeks.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “Yet here we are.”
“Where exactly is that?” she asked, hating how she leaned into his touch despite herself. “What are we doing, Raziel?”
His answer came in the form of a kiss. It wasn’t the calculated seduction she’d come to expect from him, nor was it the rough claiming of previous encounters.
This was raw, searching, seeking—an embrace from a man deep beneath the waves, clawing for the surface, trying to find a lungful of air.
When he pulled back, his eyes seemed to search her face for something. “Tell me you hate me,” he demanded.
“What?”
“Tell me you still hate me.” His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head from the mattress. “Tell me you still want me dead.”
“First you want me to admit there’s more to this than just lust, now you want me to admit that I hate you?”
“Just say it, Nadi,” he snarled, his fangs extended.
She opened her mouth to reassure them both that nothing had changed. That despite everything, she was still the vengeful fae who had infiltrated his life to destroy him. That her mission remained intact.
But the lie wouldn’t form.
It just wouldn’t.
In the silence, something between agony and relief crossed his face before he kissed her again, harder this time. She responded in kind, pouring all her confusion and frustration and unwanted desire into the contact.
Their kiss turned hungry, desperate, his hands roaming over her body as if trying to confirm she was whole, unharmed, and still there with him. She found herself returning the gesture, fingers tracing paths over his chest, his shoulders, as if reassuring herself of the same.
It was then that she realized she had never actually touched him. Not meaningfully. Not in any way that mattered.
When he tried to catch her wrists to press her back onto the bed, however, she resisted. “No.”
He pulled back, confused.
It was reckless. Dangerous. She was playing with fire. She licked her bottom lip. “Not this time.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flicker of hesitation. Then, startlingly, a smile. It was sharp and dangerous, but with a hint of something that might have been anticipation.
He laughed, low and sinister. For a moment, she was worried he would snap and lash out. The Serpent was notorious, and she’d experienced his proclivities firsthand. His control was just as much a part of him as his fangs. The idea that he’d surrender it? To her? It lit a fire in her.
Slowly, carefully, like a stalking predator, he rose from the bed. “Very well, Nadi…”
The words sent a jolt through her. She almost didn’t know what to do at first. Was this real? Or was he toying with her? Waiting for her to let her guard down, only to turn the tables.
But he only stood there. And waited.
She climbed from the bed to circle him, like he’d so often circled her—feeling for once like she was the predator, if only for the moment. Never once had she been able to explore his body. He’d always been in control. Always calling the shots.
Running her hand along his back, she felt his muscles tighten. Delicious. She pulled his shirt out from under his pants. It’d be easier to tell him to undress, but where was the fun in that? She wanted to take her time. She wanted to feel every inch of his body. She wanted to savor it.
Besides. The last time someone had told him to strip… The memory of Volencia’s cruelty lingered in Nadi’s mind.
No, this was going to be her hands doing the deed. She undid his tie and tossed it aside. His coat went next. Then his vest. Raziel helped with what she couldn’t get undone on her own.
Crimson eyes watched her every move, expression unreadable. There was no shame in him, no hint of the vulnerable discomfort most would feel. There was a tension to his frame that spoke of restraint—of power deliberately held in check.
Soon, he was fully naked in front of her. Letting her hands roam, she bit back a groan at how much she loved how it felt. Stepping closer, she trailed her fingers down to his hips. His muscles twitched and tensed beneath her touch.
Now came the real risk. “Kneel.”
This command met with the briefest pause—the barest flicker of resistance in his eyes—before he lowered himself to his knees before her.
The Serpent, kneeling at her feet.
Her enemy.
The man who murdered her family.
Who she had sworn to kill.
The thought sent a thrill of power through her that was intoxicating.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, tilting his head back to look at her. “How does it feel?” she asked, genuinely curious. There was no haughty ego in her voice, just a kind of breathless awe. “Not to be the one giving orders?”
“Strange,” he admitted, voice rougher than usual. “But not… unpleasant.”
Oh, she could very much get used to that. Smiling, she traced her thumb along his lower lip. Slowly, deliberately, she began to undress herself. It wasn’t a seductive performance, not in the way she might have expected herself to play the role as she had so many times for her targets.
Instead, it was methodical, almost clinical—a display of control that she knew would torment him more than any teasing ever could. When she was as bare as he was, she stepped behind him.
“You’re not allowed to move. Not until I say so.” Running her hands along his back, she hummed thoughtfully. “You do, and I sleep in another room for the rest of the night.”
After a pause, he nodded once, though his shoulders were tense.
She circled him again, trailing her fingers over his shoulders, his back, his chest. Taking her time to explore what had always been out of reach. She felt him shudder under her touch, saw the way his hands clenched at his sides as he fought to obey.
Glancing down, she was impressed. And honestly, a little surprised. “You’re enjoying this,” she observed, a hint of wonder in her voice. “You actually like not being in control?”
“I like it with you.” He grimaced.
The distinction was the same thing he had demanded of her in the alley.
Why did she enjoy his hand at her throat but not Braen’s?
The admission was one she didn’t want to examine.
Couldn’t examine. It was too much. Too tangled.
She pushed it into a box and put it in the corner with everything else. “Get on the bed.”
He did so without question, lying on the bed flat on his back. She followed after him, straddling his lap. It was so similar to how they had been in the church, only the circumstances were so very, very different.