Eulogia

Chapter 16 #2

I step closer instead. “No. You be careful.” My tone conveys more emotion than I’d like: “I gave you everything last night. I let you inside me, and I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t fight you on the drug, or the control, or the fact that you treat affection like a power play. I let you win.”

My voice is shaking, but my spine is straight.

“So now I want the truth. You owe me that much. I have let you keep so much from me.”

He watches me. Completely still. No reaction, no emotion.

I almost scream.

And then, he says it.

“Yes.”

Just that. One syllable. Flat. Unapologetic.

The silence after it is deafening.

I stare at him, stunned. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, your uncle was unavailable because of something I did.”

My blood goes cold.

I step closer, refusing to let the moment dissolve.

My breath catches. My stomach drops. “You killed him,” I say, the words tasting like iron in my mouth. “Didn’t you?”

In less than a breath, he moves.

A blur of motion, his coffee cup clatters against the marble, and he’s in front of me, too close, his hand wrapping around my throat like it belongs there.

He leans in, voice low, deliberate. “Don’t ever ask me that again, like you have a right to the answer.”

His eyes burn into mine, cold, controlled, deadly. The kind of fury that doesn't shout or break things. It cuts. Precise. Quiet.

I can feel my pulse fluttering beneath his palm. I know he feels it too.

“You think this is a game?” he murmurs.

My lips part, but no sound comes out.

“You’re emotional,” he says flatly, removing his hand from my throat and turning away from me as if nothing happened. “That’s fine. But don’t confuse that with leverage.”

Like we aren't both emotional right now from what we’ve shared.

I stare at him, breath shaky, skin buzzing. “You don’t get to silence me,” I say quietly.

He glances at me over his shoulder, with a look on his face that tells me I know better than to think that. His belt wrapped around my face between my teeth immediately comes to mind, and my cheeks heat.

He notices and steps closer, continuing that war of confusion inside of me, and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“I threatened him,” he says finally. Calm again, like the storm was never there. “He’s alive. For now. And when I have time, I’ll decide what to do with him.”

I say nothing.

Because the truth is, I’m not sure what I want done with him anymore.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing. The cotton robe doesn’t help. My skin’s flushed and raw and too exposed. My heart’s pounding like it’s trying to get out.

I stare at him, his back to me, his spine straight, his shoulders broad and relaxed like he’s just done. Like he’s moved on.

And that’s when it hits me.

He’s never not like this.

Hot. Cold. Devastating. Controlled. Tender. Violent.

How is one person allowed to be so many things at once?

Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them. Not because I’m scared. Not even because of what he did to my uncle. But because I don’t understand him. And I want to. So badly.

“God,” I whisper, the words trembling out of me, “how can you be so awful and so perfect at the same time?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

I hug myself tighter. My voice breaks, quiet and raw. “It’s like I’m constantly waiting to be ravished or destroyed.”

That gets his attention.

His expression shifts into something softer, like he’s studying me for the first time instead of just deciding what to do with me.

“Isn’t that what you want?” he says, voice low. “To never be sure which one it’ll be?”

A tear slips down my cheek.

I shake my head, but the problem is, I don’t know.

I want to scream at him. Hit him. Fall into his arms. All at once.

The silence hangs between us, thick with everything unspoken.

I wipe at my cheek, hating that he can see my tears. Hating even more that part of me still wants him to comfort me, even after everything.

I don’t know why I say it.

Maybe I want to hurt him. Perhaps I want to test him. Maybe I just want to see what version of him answers.

“Don’t you think Archibald wants me?”

The second the name leaves my lips, I feel the shift.

His body stills, completely.

His eyes narrow, sharp enough to cut glass.

“What did you just say?”

I should take it back. But I don’t.

I lift my chin. “I’m his Chosen, aren’t I? Shouldn’t he be worried about where I am?”

Something in Hayden’s face fractures.

And then he lunges.

Not like before, not calculated. This time, it’s fast, raw, unfiltered rage.

His hand slams down on the counter so hard the coffee cup shatters against the marble, shards skittering across the surface. He cages me in, gripping my jaw so hard I cry out.

“I don’t give a fuck whose ‘Chosen’ you were supposed to be.”

His voice is a thunderous, deep, and violent sound, barely controlled. I flinch, but I don’t move.

Hayden’s eyes blaze, full of something dangerous and wild. “You’d be smart,” he says, each word sharp and deliberate, “to never say his name in this house again.”

My breath catches.

“You want to know the truth?” he growls, stepping toward me, each word cutting closer. “You're mine now. Not because someone picked you out of a fucking file, but because I did. Because I saw you, and I decided you would belong to me.”

His eyes shoot down to where the robe fell open between my breasts, at the painful red scab between them. He lifts his hand and presses his thumb against it sharply. Dragging his nail down and forcing a hiss from my throat.

He towers in front of me, eyes wild, teeth clenched. “I don’t care what blood you carry or whose pathetic golden boy was meant to lay claim to it. I don’t care what ridiculous Legacy your family plotted.”

His voice drops, low and lethal.

“Because you’re my wife now. You have my blood inside of you.” He marks the importance of his words with a shove of his finger, pricking open the scab on my sternum.

Tears well in my eyes.

The room goes still.

It takes me a full beat to register what he just said, in a way much more serious than ever before.

Wife.

Wife.

The word isn’t a mistake, reminding me of the dedication we made together, regardless of how much I believe he hates me.

He stares at me, eyes burning into mine. And for the first time, I see it.

He doesn’t want my love.

He wants me to belong to him. And I’m already his, if I wish to be or not.

I say what I feel for once, knowing he’ll understand exactly what I mean, “All of me belongs to you, Hayden, all of it.”

His hand flies to the back of my neck, fingers tangled in my hair, pulling my head back and my body closer to take my lips. I gasp, and he swallows it like he always does. His other hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him like he’s trying to absorb me into his body.

He kisses me like he owns the air in my lungs.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growls against my skin.

I dig my nails into his shoulders, panting. “Good.”

His mouth crashes back onto mine, angrier this time, tongue deep, teeth grazing. He kisses me like a punishment. Like a warning. Like a promise.

Hayden Herron

I hate her.

I hate the sound of her voice when it’s trembling, half defiant, half begging. I hate that she makes me feel things. I hate that she asks questions she has no business asking.

But most of all, I hate that I can’t stop wanting her.

Even now, my mouth still tastes like her. She kissed me like she wanted to crawl inside me.

She’s chaos wrapped in soft skin and big eyes. All fire and feeling, always trying to pull something out of me that I’ve buried so deep, I forgot it existed. She looks at me like there’s something human in here worth finding.

There isn’t.

And yet…when she flinched just now, just barely, like she didn’t want me to see it, it nearly fucking undid me. Not because I care. Not in the way she wants.

But because I can’t stand the idea of her being afraid of anything except me.

She’s mine. That’s not up for debate. She can fight me, hate me, scream in my face, but she won’t leave. And I won’t let her.

I’ll make her forget every name but mine. Every touch but mine. Every version of her life before this.

Because no one gets to have her.

Not Archibald. Not her family. Not the future they built, like she was some bargaining chip.

I’ll ruin her before I ever let someone else touch her.

She turns away from me like the conversation is over.

Not so quick, darling. The second her back faces me, I lunge back to her.

I grab her wrist and spin her around, fast enough to steal the breath from her lungs. The robe flares open at the collar, and she stumbles right into my chest. I cage her against the counter again without thinking, because I need her close. I need her to feel me, to remember who’s in charge here.

I dip my head to her neck, pressing my mouth against the soft skin just below her ear.

Not gentle. Not asking. Claiming.

Her pulse hammers against my lips.

Good.

I growl against her throat. “You don’t go looking for answers, Martine. Not behind my back.”

She stiffens under me, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You start digging,” I whisper, “and you won’t like what you find. And I won’t be merciful if I catch you.”

I feel her chest rise sharply against mine. I drag my nose down the side of her neck, filling my lungs with her sweet scent and the slight tang of her blood from between her breasts.

Unable to stop myself, I dip my head down and run my tongue along her newly opened scab. Loving the taste of her body on my tongue.

She sucks in a breath but then surprises me by allowing her body to melt into me slightly.

And then…she exhales.

Defeated. Or maybe just done fighting.

Finally.

“Good girl,” I praise, loving how she whimpers whenever I remind her how well she’s behaving for me.

But just as I start to pull back, just as I think she’s submitted fully, she speaks.

Her voice is quiet. Controlled. Too calm.

“If I’m a prisoner, who can only attend classes when it fits into your whims,” she says, “I should at least be allowed visitors.”

I freeze.

She tilts her head, eyes sharp as glass. “I want Dale to come by the estate.”

Dale.

The name hits me like ice water to the spine. Of all the things I expected, that wasn’t it.

My grip on the counter tightens. I don’t react. Not outwardly. But inside, I’m calculating a thousand moves at once. She wants Dale here. Wants to see her. Talk to her. Maybe lean on her.

Martine’s not asking for freedom; she’s simply asking for company in her golden cage.

Fine.

But she’ll learn quickly—even visitors play by my rules.

The phone rings once. I don't flinch, but I feel the shift in her energy. How she instantly reacts to the moment rupturing. Her training and sensitivity to me are developing impressively.

Martine stiffens. I can feel her watching me, waiting for me to ignore the phone.

That ring only comes when I’m being summoned, not asked. And when they call, I go.

I cross the room and pick up the receiver. A name. A place.

I hang up.

“You’re leaving,” she says behind me.

It’s not a question, it’s an accusation wrapped in disbelief. I turn toward her. “Yes.”

Her eyes narrow. “Now?”

I nod once.

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course. Of fucking course.”

“Martine.”

“No, don’t ‘Martine’ me,” she moves toward me, arms folded, the cotton robe still hanging off one shoulder. She looks furious. Fragile. Beautiful. “You finally give me something real, and now you’re just, poof. Gone.”

I arch a brow. “You think this morning was real?”

Her jaw clenches.

“You think the way I kissed you wasn’t calculated?” I say, voice low, clipped, “You think I didn’t know exactly what I was doing when I fucked you from behind while you were asleep, wearing my mother’s jewels?”

She flinches, but holds her ground. I have no choice. The moments we’ve shared, I’ve given too much. She’s taking too much. I need to remind her of her place.

“It was real for me,” she says. “More than last night. More than anything. And I need—”

“You don’t need anything but what I give you,” I cut in, stepping closer.

Her breath catches. She doesn’t argue.

“I have to go,” I say.

“Stay,” she says, immediately. It’s not soft. It’s not a command. It’s...bare. There is a crack in her voice that I detest.

I say nothing.

She steps closer again, arms wrapping around herself. “Please, Hayden. Just this once. Ten minutes. Five. I don’t care. Just don’t walk away from me right now.”

Her voice cracks.

And something about that—

It annoys me.

Because she’s getting too close to the part of me that wants to stay. The part I don’t show anyone. I can’t risk it.

“Even if I could ignore them,” I say, quieter now, with more venom in my voice, “I won't.”

She needs to remember the villain I am.

Her lip trembles, and she bites it hard, trying to hold herself together. “Please stay.”

I stare at her, not liking the look on her face. I feel angry at what it’s doing to me.

“You’re being cruel, but I know why,” she whimpers, and all I can do is tilt my head and stare at her. “I know it’s the only way you know.” She says softly.

And she's right. I don’t bend for anyone.

“I’ll be back,” I say instead.

She doesn’t believe me. I can see it all over her face. Just when I think she’s about to fall apart, she straightens. Wipes her eyes. Lifts her chin.

She doesn’t follow me when I turn.

Good.

I head to my room to get dressed and leave. I walk to the edge of the room, grab my coat off the chair, and shrug it on with mechanical precision. My watch snaps into place—knife in my waistband.

Methodical in what I do to avoid menial things like feelings.

When I come back downstairs, she’s still standing around in my robe, but now in the entryway, watching the front door with arms wrapped around herself, staring into space as if she lets herself blink, she’ll fall apart.

She doesn’t speak, and I should leave without another word.

And yet…I turn back.

She meets my eyes. Red-rimmed. Proud. And something else, something that looks an awful lot like punishment. Not for me. For herself.

I step back toward her, slowly, until I’m close enough to touch her, but don’t.

“You asked for Dale,” I say. “Fine. One visit.”

Her breath hitches, but she says nothing.

I lean in, voice low, right at her ear.

“But if she tries to do anything to you, or help you leave me in any way, she won’t walk out.”

I don’t wait for her reply.

I press a kiss to the hinge of her jaw and pull back before she can see whatever expression threatens to rise behind my eyes.

Then I turn, walk out the door, and leave her exactly how I want her,

Shaken. Waiting. Still mine.