Chapter 24
Rhys reached for me. I flinched before I could stop myself, a small, broken whimper slipping out of my throat as I jerked back.
“D-don’t,” I whispered, the word catching and splintering as it left me. “Please… don’t kill me.”
Something shifted in Rhys’s expression then, like he was forcing himself to rein something in. He slowly lowered the ax still hanging loosely from one hand and let it fall into the leaves beside him with a dull thud.
The sudden movement made me recoil.
“Easy,” he murmured.
His hand disappeared into the pocket of his hoodie, and my stomach dropped all over again as he pulled out a knife. I instinctively tried to pull away, panic surging hot and fast through my chest, but Rhys immediately crouched in front of me instead of moving closer.
“I’m cutting the rope,” he said. “That’s it.”
Only then did I realize there was still part of the snare loop cinched tightly around my ankle.
My pulse hammered violently as he slid the blade beneath the rope. With one quick movement, the remaining cord snapped apart.
Rhys flicked the cut rope aside before finally looking back up at me. Then he stuck his free hand out, making me flinch yet again.
“I meant what I said before,” he said, his voice low and steady in a way that didn’t match the blood streaked across his skin. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m just trying to get you off the ground.”
I stared at his outstretched hand for a second too long, my thoughts tripping over themselves.
Every instinct I had was screaming at me not to trust him, not to touch him, not to do anything except run.
But I couldn’t run, and I couldn’t stay where I was either, so eventually, I let my fingers curl into his.
He pulled me up like I weighed nothing at all. The second I was standing, my knees threatened to give out again, my whole body trembling so badly I had to lock them just to stay upright.
My eyes landed on his blood-soaked shirt, and my throat tightened.
“Are they…” My voice came out thin and unsteady. “Are they all dead?”
His head tipped slightly. “You mean the four who were chasing you?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. I took care of them,” he said, his tone disturbingly casual. “But you did a pretty good job on Chris. He was half-gone by the time I got to him.”
The words hit me in fragments, not quite registering properly.
“Did you…” I swallowed and started again, my voice still shaking. “Were you already going to kill them? Or… was it because they were chasing me?”
A faint, humorless curve touched his mouth. “They were on my list,” he said. “Just not for tonight. So yeah. I did it for you.”
Something twisted hard in my chest at that.
“I don’t let people hurt what’s mine,” Rhys added, softer now. “Ever.”
My stomach dropped at the words, at both the deadly certainty behind them and the way they settled somewhere deep in my core.
He reached for me again, slower this time, like he was giving me the chance to pull away. I still flinched, my shoulders tightening before I could stop them.
A flicker crossed his face. “I really wish you’d stop doing that,” he said. “I told you, I’d never hurt you.”
“How can I believe that when you…” I faltered again, my gaze dragging over the blood covering him. “You’re a killer, Rhys,” I finally managed to get out, voice barely above a whisper.
“I killed for you tonight, Alissa.” His voice turned rougher, deeper. “And I’d do it again. No regrets.”
That lack of remorse should’ve made it easier to hate him, but it didn’t.
Because even as part of me recoiled and screamed that this was wrong, there was something else there too.
Something that fluttered in my core when he looked at me like that; like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.
He stepped closer, and his fingers brushed my jaw. This time, I didn’t pull away, even though my heart was still racing and every rational thought was telling me to run.
“You’re mine,” he said, voice low. “No one else will ever touch you again.”
His hand gripped my chin then, and he kissed me. Hard.
For a second I froze, shock rippling through me.
Then I kissed him back.
My fingers clutched at his shirt, the fabric wet and sticky beneath my hands as everything crashed together at once.
The terror, the chase, the rope snapping around my ankle, the sound of footsteps crashing through the trees…
all of it collapsed into this single, desperate point of contact with the man who’d terrorized Camp Blackpine for days.
The man who’d murdered so many people that I’d lost count.
A broken whimper slipped from me as I kissed him harder.
I honestly didn’t know what I was more scared of right now. The fact that a ruthless killer was kissing me, or the fact that I wasn’t forcing myself to kiss him back at all. I could lie to myself and say it was just a survival instinct, but it wasn’t true.
I still wanted Rhys, no matter how fucked up he was. That was the awful truth.
His grip tightened at my jaw, turning the kiss rougher, more demanding, and a small, broken whimper slipped from my mouth as he pushed me back against the tree, caging me in with his body until there wasn’t even an inch of space left between us.
His hand braced above my head, the other still tangled in my hair, not hurting but not letting me go either.
I kept kissing him with everything I had, like my life depended on it. And hell, maybe it did. But I was too out of my mind with adrenaline and that dizzy, reckless pull toward him to think straight right now.
We broke apart for a split second, just long enough for us to drag some air in, chests heaving, and then Rhys was back, closing the distance like he couldn’t stand it.
Like stopping had somehow been the hardest thing he’d done tonight, even though he’d hacked four people apart in the last twenty minutes.
A breathy moan escaped me, and that was when I felt the shift in him. The last thread of control snapping.
His breathing turned ragged, and the hand in my hair fisted tighter, pulling my head back so he could devour my mouth with even more intensity.
A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he pressed harder against me, like the taste of my surrender had finally pushed him past the point of restraint.
I knew I should’ve been terrified by that.
And I was. But the fear only made my pulse race faster and my body burn hotter against his.
His hand fisted tighter in my hair as he kissed me like he wanted to consume me whole. His blood-soaked shirt pressed against my chest, wet and warm, and the metallic scent of death clung to him. It should’ve repulsed me, but instead it sent a dark, shameful bolt of heat straight between my legs.
He broke the kiss again, only to rip my shirt over my head. My bra followed a second later. Then his hands were shoving my leggings and underwear down my thighs in one brutal motion. The cool night air hit my bare skin as he lifted me, pinning my back against the rough bark of the tree.
My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
His cock was already hard, thick, and pressing against my entrance, slick with my arousal and his precum.
As I felt his wetness glide over my clit, desperation flooded me, and I closed my eyes and let filthy thoughts consume me; thoughts of him claiming me completely, dangerously, irreversibly.
Then I felt the cold steel of his knife dragging slowly down my inner thigh.
My eyes flew open on a sharp gasp. The flat of the blade kept teasing my skin, threatening, promising, and the thought of Rhys cutting me while he fucked me sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through my core.
How did he know?
I’d never told anyone about this particular fantasy. I’d barely even thought about it in the privacy of my own mind, ashamed of how badly the idea turned me on. But now, with Rhys’s cock pressed against me and his blade on my skin, the truth clawed its way out.
I wanted it.
Needed it.
“Rhys…” My voice came out shaky, barely more than a whisper. “Do it.”
His eyes flicked up to mine with raw intensity. “You sure?” he asked, voice low and rough, the tip of the knife pausing against my thigh.
I swallowed hard, heart hammering, then nodded. “Cut me. Please.”
The words felt filthy and freeing at the same time.
Without hesitation, Rhys turned the blade and slowly sliced into my inner thigh. A bright sting bloomed across my skin, followed by the warm trickle of blood running down my leg.
The pain barely registered beneath the adrenaline and raw desire, and a long, dragging moan tore from my lips.
“Again,” I gasped.
He made a low, approving sound in his throat and did what I wanted. The second line burned hotter, pulling a deep moan from my throat, and my hips jerked against him as the pain twisted into something electric.
The friction of his cock against my clit, combined with the fresh cuts, sent shockwaves through me. I surrendered completely then, riding the fucked-up euphoria swelling inside me as he made another shallow mark on my thigh.
After one more deliberate cut, he dropped the knife onto the mossy ground beside us. His hand moved over the stinging wounds with possessive hunger, smearing my blood across my thigh and up over my hip.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice ragged. “Bleeding so pretty for me.”
With that, he lined himself up and thrust into me in one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. I cried out at the sudden stretch, my back arching against the tree.
He was relentless, fucking me deep and rough, each brutal snap of his hips driving me higher into the bark. Every thrust made the small cuts on my thigh sting and throb, sending fresh sparks of pain-laced pleasure through me.
Rhys dropped his head to my neck, teeth scraping over my skin. “You’re mine now, Alissa. Even knowing what I am.” He slammed into me harder. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I moaned, voice breaking. I was soaked, dripping down his cock as he pounded into me. “All yours.”