Chapter 24
ASHER
Most people hate the silence. Me? I revel in it.
And if one listens hard enough, sometimes it’s louder than any spoken word.
Maeve picks at the skin around her fingernails, her eyes glassy, distant, fixed somewhere far beyond the window. Dried blood clings to her pale skin, an artwork meant for my eyes only.
The corner of my mouth twitches.
She was perfect tonight.
The way she held the scalpel. The way she sliced through Sterling’s flesh without hesitation once I showed her the way.
It was a thing of beauty.
I pull the car into her driveway and kill the engine. She remains completely still, her hands limp in her lap, covering the folder from Sterling’s house. I climb out and circle the hood, opening the passenger door for Maeve.
Still, she remains motionless, unseeing.
Shock, perhaps.
Or, she’s simply meeting the darkness she’s carried all along. The same one that’s always belonged to me.
“Home sweet home.” Bending, I slide an arm around Maeve’s waist and haul her from the car, setting her on her feet.
She sways, her legs unsteady beneath her, just like a newborn doe. This is going to be painful. With a sigh, I wrap an arm around her waist and guide her up onto the porch, and into the house.
The silence deepens, interrupted only by the soft drag of her footsteps on hardwood. Shadows bleed into every corner, stretching across the walls as I lead her to the bathroom.
Maeve lets me guide her without protest, hollowed out and pliant. I sit her on the edge of the tub, snatching the folder from her hand, and dropping it onto the tiles. She blinks up at me, her eyes tracking my movements, though she’s not really seeing me. Her pupils are blown wide, as if she’s still lost somewhere back at Sterling’s house, scalpel in hand.
I expected fire tonight. Resistance. Instead, she bled herself dry for me without question.
Crouching, I curl my fingers around her knees. “Maeve.” Her name lands softer than I intend, something foreign slipping through the cracks. Caleb. Of course. “You need to get cleaned up.”
Her eyes remain unfocused on my chest, empty. “I can do it,” she whispers, the words barely audible even in the small room.
Standing slowly, she reaches for the hem of her shirt, her fingers trembling, her movements sluggish.
Groaning, I scrub a hand over my face. “You can barely stand. Let me.”
I peel the blood-stained fabric away from her body, piece by piece, letting it fall to the tile, like she’s shedding her skin. Jeans next, then her bra and panties.
Her muscles twitch involuntarily, but she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cover herself. Just stands there, arms loose at her sides, her eyes vacant.
She’s beautiful like this. Bare and broken. Streaks of dried blood against her porcelain skin are a stark reminder of what we did tonight.
Pride swells in my chest. I can’t look away. She’ll be a weapon soon enough. Emotions are messy. They’ll get her caught. Or killed. And I won’t allow that.
Maeve shivers, her skin pebbling under the cool air.
I steady her with a hand on her waist. “Into the shower,” I say, turning the handle.
The pipes groan, water sputtering to life, steam unfurling into the small, dim room.
Her gaze flits to mine, searching for something. Permission?
I give her a nod.
Like a marionette, her limbs are stiff and graceless as she steps beneath the spray. Steam envelopes her curves, and the water cascading over her turns pink, washing away the evidence of what we did. What she did.
She stands motionless, her head lowered as if the weight of tonight is finally pressing down on her.
My jaw tightens. She’s unravelling.
Groaning, I strip off my own clothes and step in behind her. The water scalds, burning a path across my skin. I welcome the pain. Relish in it. I deserve it.
Maeve falls back against me like I’m her security net, her body soft and pliant, her trust a razor against my throat. She exhales, each breath a surrender to her darkness.
She’s not afraid of me. That’s the most dangerous thing.
I reach for the soap and lather her body, my touch methodical. Efficient. Every swipe of my fingers chases away the stains, though I can’t scrub her clean of what she’s become. Of what I’ve made her.
I don’t want to.
The darkness inside me coils tight, straining against the leash I’ve bound it to. It wants me to take what’s mine. To claim. To sink so deep into her she forgets who she is and remembers only me.
Instead, I force myself to remain still, in control. It’d be too easy to break her now. She’s already bleeding for me in ways she doesn’t even understand yet.
But if she begged me . . .
Perhaps, I’d have to reconsider.
“You did well tonight,” I say, my lips grazing her temple, my voice low and smooth. “Better than I expected.”
Her breath hitches, stuttering in her throat. I glide my hands over her curves, slow and deliberate, mapping every inch of her trembling body. Her skin flushes beneath my touch, her pulse skittering faster.
A tell. She can’t hide from me.
“Asher,” she murmurs, so quiet I almost miss it over the hiss of the water. “I need . . . I need to feel something. Anything.”
A plea. She’s begging.
It shatters my restraint, and I grip her hips, pulling her back against me until there’s no space left between us.
“Careful what you ask for, Little Shadow.” I nip at her earlobe. “You might not like what you get.”
With a tilt of her head, she exposes the delicate curve of her neck, inviting the wolf to tear it open.
“I don’t care.” Her voice is raw, desperate. “Just make me feel alive.”
My fingers dig into her soft flesh, my control waning. If I had a rational part, it would know this is unwise. Maeve is unstable, teetering on the edge of destruction. But the predator inside me yearns to claim her. To mark her. To ruin her so no-one else ever can.
I don’t fight him.
A growl rumbles from deep inside my chest, and I spin her around and pin her to the shower wall. Her eyes widen, but there’s no fear there. Only trust. And something far more dangerous.
Desire.
I lean in, my lips brushing against hers without giving her quite what she wants. “I can’t be gentle,” I say, my breath hot against her face. “I’m not Caleb. You need to understand that.”
“I don’t want gentle.” She slides her hands up my chest. “I want it to hurt. I want you , Asher.”
Fuck.
I drag in a breath, inhaling her scent. Soap and the metallic trace of blood clings to her skin, an intoxicating mixture.
Maeve stares up at me, dark eyes searching mine, water cascading like small waterfalls from her erect nipples.
My hands clamp around her waist, fingertips digging into soft flesh, and I crush my mouth to hers. Hard. Punishing. She’ll know what it is to belong to me by the time I’m done with her.
My hands roam possessively over her body—hips, waist, breasts.
Claiming. Branding.
“Mine,” I growl against her lips. “Say it.”
“Yours,” she breathes, her voice breaking. “I’m yours.”
That’s all I need.
I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist like she belongs there, like she was made to fit against me. Her chest heaves as I nudge inside her, slow and unforgiving, until there’s nothing left between us but hot water, and slick skin.
I sink my teeth into the tender flesh between her neck and shoulder. A reminder. My personal brand.
We’re even now.
Maeve cries out, her body trembling against mine, her pussy clenching around my cock. “More,” she pleads, her voice ragged. “Make it hurt more.”
I’ll oblige.
I snake a hand up her body, closing it around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. The flutter of her pulse against my palm cracks me open, a primal roar exploding out of me.
It would be just as easy to end her as it would be to make her scream my name. Both urges pull at me, threatening to tear me apart.
Her wide eyes find mine, desperate and unflinching. A smirk tugs at my lips, and I press in, nipping at the curve of her jaw.
“Is this what you want?” I murmur against her cheek, never slowing my punishing rhythm. “To be used? To be broken?”
Maeve nods frantically, a sob tearing from her throat. “I’m already broken.” Her voice cracks open, her fingernails digging into my shoulders.
Her tears stir at something deep inside me. Something I don’t want to name. I rip my gaze away, tilting my head back, eyes squeezed shut.
Emotions are a weakness. They’ll only get us both killed.
I shove the feeling down and release my grip around her throat. She shudders, gasping for air, and every tremble of her body squeezes me tighter.
Should I shatter her right here? Break her so completely she’ll never be put back together again?
Do I even want her that broken?
After all, there’s a fine line.
Maeve sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, her chin trembling.
Each thrust drives us closer to the edge. Closer to oblivion.
She clings to me like she’ll drown without me, her cries growing louder, more desperate. “Asher,” she whimpers, arching into me, needing me like oxygen.
Her mouth finds mine, her nails raking down my back, her thighs squeezing tight around my hips as I pound into her without mercy.
She’s a drug I’ll never kick. Her scent, her taste, every inch of her is unravelling whatever self-control I have left.
I want to break her. To ruin her.
Her back arches off the shower wall, her body moving with mine, her pussy tightening around me as she teeters on the edge.
“Please,” she begs, her voice raw, bleeding. “I need?—”
“Silence.” I wrap my hand around her throat again, applying just enough pressure to make her pulse flutter against my palm, like a butterfly pinned to a wall. “You’ll take what I give you, when I decide to give it.”
A whimper breaks free, but she obeys, biting her lip to stifle her cries. Her obedience is intoxicating. Addictive.
I pull back slightly, trailing my fingers along her jaw, taking her in—hair plastered to her drenched skin, lips swollen, eyes glazed with need.
Mine. Every piece of her.
She shudders at the contact.
“Such a good fucking girl,” I whisper, rewarding her with another sharp thrust.
My thumb brushes her lower lip, and she parts them instinctively, her warm tongue darting out. I press the digit into her mouth, her lips closing around it.
A groan vibrates in my throat. “Suck.”
Without hesitation, she complies, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue swirling around my thumb. Heat rushes through me, my balls tightening painfully. But I keep my composure. I won’t let her see how completely she unravels me.
I drag my thumb free, trailing it down her throat, letting it linger over the fluttering pulse beneath her skin.
She’s so fucking compliant. And so fucking mine.
“Tell me what you want.” My voice is rough, hungry.
Her eyes flutter open, piercing straight into mine. “You,” she breathes. “I want you, Asher.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. So eager. So easy to ruin.
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I tilt my head, trailing my fingers down her throat to her collarbone. “And what would you do to have me?”
She swallows hard. “Anything. Everything.”
I lean in, my lips grazing her ear. “You have no idea what you’re asking for,” I murmur, letting the darkness seep into every syllable. “I could break you, Little Shadow. Shatter you into a thousand glittering pieces.”
A shudder convulses through her, fingers tugging at the hair at the back of my neck, pulling me closer like she’s starving for the destruction she knows only I can give her.
“Then break me.”
She crushes her lips to mine, and I snake a hand between her thighs, finding her swollen, sensitive flesh. She bucks against my fingers, a strangled cry tearing from her throat.
“That’s it.” I work her over with slow, punishing precision. “Let go. Show me how well I’ve ruined you.”
Her body locks up, taut as a bowstring. A second passes. Two. She sucks in a stuttering breath . . .
And shatters, her inner muscles clenching tight around me, her cries bouncing off the tiles, raw and perfect.
I follow, burying myself deep as I roar to life, emptying every piece of myself inside her. Marking her in the most primal way.
Chest heaving, Maeve presses her forehead to mine, the water now cold as she trails her fingers down my neck, my shoulders. Her hand stills against my bicep, hovering over the faint, crescent-shaped scar she left there.
A brand burned into my fucking soul.
She frowns, something flickering behind her eyes. Recognition or regret, I don’t know. Finally, she lifts her gaze to mine, and it’s like she sees me for the first time.
And fuck me, it almost undoes me.
That scar belongs to her. So do I.
I pull out slowly, lowering Maeve to her feet. She winces, her legs shaking beneath her.
“Look at you,” I say, trailing a finger down the centre of her chest. “So beautifully ruined.”
She makes a soft, incoherent sound, her eyelids heavy, exhaustion clearly setting in. A small smile ghosts across my lips.
Mine.
Maeve’s legs give way, and I move fast, scooping her into my arms, and shutting off the cool spray. She nestles against my chest, trusting and pliant. That trust hits something unfamiliar in my chest.
My heart thumps against my ribcage.
Jesus Christ. I really am turning soft.
With one arm supporting her limp frame, I reach for a white towel and wrap it around her shoulders. My gaze snags on a set of bruises marring her upper arm. They’re faint, but they’re there.
How the fuck did I not notice?
I snatch her arm, a snarl curling my upper lip. “Who the fuck did this?”
Maeve glances down and sighs like she’s too tired to lie. “Terry.”
Is that so?
Terry, Terry, Terry. Seems my last warning wasn’t clear enough.
Soon. Maeve needs me right now.
She grips my hand, nails digging in. “He wants to hurt me, Asher.” Her voice is small, barely there. “Stay with me?”
“Quiet,” I say, running my fingers through her tangled hair. “Sleep now. I’ll be here. Always.” I press a kiss to her forehead.
A soft, almost imperceptible sound escapes her parted lips, almost like content. I trace the curve of her cheekbone, her skin warm and fragile beneath my touch.
Fear isn’t something I’ve ever known.
But the thought of losing Maeve?
That cuts deeper than anything I’ve ever felt.
I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.
And Terry?
Terry’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.