Chapter Seven
Anya
He’s alive.
That’s the first thing my mind manages to register when he steps into my apartment—broad shoulders filling the doorway he just kicked off its hinges, blood dried at his collarbone.
My fingers dig into the peeling paint of the wall because anything else will collapse.
I didn’t kill him.
Thinking back, there hadn’t even been much blood. And I was tied to a chair—of course the blade didn’t go deep.
Relief floods me, but it lasts one heartbeat.
Because Cassian shuts the broken door behind him, and the click of the lock slices through the room. His eyes find mine.
I take a step back.
He takes two forward.
I try to breathe around the panic clawing up my throat, but my heel hits the edge of the mattress and I fall backward.
He comes down over me in the same second. A rough sound escapes me as the air leaves my lungs. His hand captures my wrists and drags them above my head, pressing them into the worn fabric of my blanket. His thigh pins my hip. He lowers his face to my neck, inhaling like he’s memorizing my existence with nothing but breath.
“Cassian… what do you want from me?”
“You ever craved something,” he murmurs, voice low, “until your ribs felt too tight to hold your lungs?”
I shake my head.
“You ever felt swallowed whole by wanting someone?” he continues.
“No,” I whisper truthfully.
“That’s what I feel for you.”
Heat and fear twist inside me until they blur together. “You didn’t even know I existed until days ago,” I say.
He winces. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t sense you sooner, little doll.”
I try to pull my wrists free, but he doesn’t let me move. “Cassian, let me go,” I breathe. “We’re toxic for each other. You… killed someone. Because of me.”
“Don’t think about him. Especially when I’m near you.” He snaps.
He drops more of his weight onto me. My spine sinks into the mattress. A thin, involuntary sound slips from my throat, and his whole body tenses like it's wired to the slightest noise I make.
“What do you want?” I whisper. “One night? Is that it? Will that fix whatever this is? Then take it. Take the night and be done.”
“No,” he says. “I need you every day for the rest of my life.”
Horror crawls up my spine—horror at his words, and horror at the way something inside me reacts to them.
“That’s not normal,” I hiss.
“Neither am I.” His nose brushes my cheek. “But I’m giving you something I’ve never given anyone.”
“What?” My voice is barely a breath.
“An out.”
I stare at him. “When have you ever given anyone an out?”
“Never. But you’re not anyone.”
He’s not right in the head—I’ve known that since the moment I met him. But I still wait for his so-called proposition.
“A week,” he says.
“A week?”
“One week with me. Seven days. If at the end of it you’re not as drawn to me as I am to you…”
A pause.
“…I’ll let you go.”
On the surface, it’s simple. Seven days. Who falls for someone like him in a week? No one sane. But what if—
“And if I am?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
His lips curve into something too dark to be a smile.
“Then you’re mine,” he murmurs. “Completely.”
A week isn’t forever. A week isn’t a vow. A week is nothing.
But I know myself.
I know what proximity does.
Seven days with Cassian Morelli might twist me into something I don’t recognize.
“So?” he says softly, though he already knows the answer.
“Fine. A week.”
He’s off me instantly. He reaches under my bed, yanks out my old half-broken suitcase, and flips it open.
“What are you doing?” I snap as he starts tossing my belongings inside.
“What does it look like? You think I’m letting you stay in this place another second? Not happening.”
“I didn’t say you could just—Cassian, stop!” I move toward him, but he turns, and the wildfire in his eyes freezes me.
“You said yes,” he growls. “That’s all I needed.”
As if a no would’ve stopped him. I grab his wrist, trying to pull him back. “You don’t get to bulldoze me—”
“You’re mine. That means I do whatever is necessary. You’re mine. Mine.”
I shove at his chest. “You don’t own me!”
“Debatable.” He snaps the suitcase shut. The latch barely clicks—then immediately pops open, spilling half my clothes across the floor.
He curses under his breath.
I glare. “Maybe if you weren’t acting like a deranged—”
“Enough.” He cuts me off. He grabs my waist, hauls me up, and throws me over his shoulder.
“Cassian!” I pound my fists into his back.
He strides toward the doorway, every step solid and unmovable. My hair falls around my face as I squirm, but he only tightens his hold.
When he yanks the door open, Mr. Devlin is already peeking out. His eyes widen at the sight of me upside-down.
“Do you—uh—want me to call the cops?” he asks.
For one hopeful second, I think maybe there’s some justice left in the world. But then he looks at Cassian’s face—and recognizes him.
“Ah. Never mind.”
He ducks back inside so fast I hear the wind from the door.
Cassian huffs a laugh. “We’re leaving.”
I’m terrified. Terrified of what seven days with him will do to me.
Terrified of how hard I’ll fall.