The bastard shackles my wrist in his grip.

  Fury sparks at the base of my spine, licking up. Memories flash—being dragged by the hair into a room and finding out I’m to be married.

  “Let go of me.” My voice is steel now.

  No more nice princess.

  “Or what?” he mocks, thumb circling my pulse. “You’ll scream? Run to Daddy?”

  Shkelzen steps up, his whiskey breath assaulting my senses. I grit my teeth.

  “Oh right,” he murmurs. “You can’t. You want to protect them.”

  I grab his meaty wrist with my free hand and dig in my nails.

  He winces, his face mottling.

  “You need me as much as I need you.” I twist his wrist sharply toward the thumb joint. “Let go of me. Or you’ll regret it.”

  “You bitch!” He raises his hand and—

  Click.

  “Drop her hand, or you won’t have one.”

  A lethal whisper. Vetiver. Smoke. The lighter.

  Elias.

  Relief crashes through me. I snap my gaze to the man ascending the staircase, stepping into view.

  Elias is a vision of wrath and power—dark hair, all-black suit aside from a flash of green—his handkerchief. His eyes glitter with unholy intentions and his jaw is tight.

  He flicks open his lighter. A flame appears. The flash of light clashes against the severe scar carving up his face.

  “Now,” he commands.

  He snaps the lighter shut.

  Shkelzen drops me and staggers back. Sweat beads on his forehead.

  “The frigid bitch, you can have—”

  Elias arches his brow, unhurried. In a split second, he unholsters his gun and points it at the man’s face.

  “You sure you want to finish that sentence?” he rasps. He cocks his weapon.

  There’s a lethal calmness to him, the violence promised in his words sparking a fire between my legs, licking, swirling up my body.

  Madness. This is madness.

  Blood drains from Shkelzen’s face. His eyes dart to me. What a coward.

  I think about the men nearby, what I overheard. If Elias killed him, everything would go to hell.

  “Last words?” Elias murmurs.

  I grab his arm. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

  He ignores me, his deadly gaze still leveled at the man.

  “Not worth it,” I repeat, softer. “Assholes are a dime a dozen. I’m fine. Please, Elias.”

  After a long beat, Elias slowly lowers his weapon. He still doesn’t address me but steps up to the slimeball.

  A hiss cuts through the air.

  He grips Shkelzen’s hand—the one he used to touch me—and burns it with his lighter. The asshole emits a strangled howl.

  A charred smell reaches my nostrils. My stomach roils.

  “No second chances.” He tosses the man back, who’s clutching his injured hand as if he were permanently maimed. “Tell your cousins if they’ve got a problem with me, they can find me themselves. Don’t gossip like high school girls.”

  Without another word, he grabs my hand and drags me down the stairs.

  “Slow down.” I stagger down the steps. “Elias, seriously. I was fine. I could’ve handled him. You think he was the first asshole to touch me that way?”

  He stops dead in his tracks and spins around. I slam into him.

  “Names,” he seethes, his eyes murderous, “give me their names.”

  “What?”

  “Who touched you that way? They won’t live to see another day.”

  I gasp, a deep pulse throbbing in my core. My senses finally register the six-plus-feet of powerful, muscular male in front of me, anger rolling off him—a thunderstorm threatening to wreck anything in its path.

  “Why do you care?” I whisper. “You loathe me. That’s what you said. You shot my brother. Pointed a gun at me. I’m a means to an end.”

  My ribs tighten, fury singeing my insides. I jab his chest, angry at the situation just now, the marriage I’m in, the dreams lost. “Why do you care, Elias?”

  His eyes flash and nostrils twitch. Without answering, he hauls me down the rest of the stairs at breakneck speed, yanks open the first door he finds, pushes me inside, and closes it behind us.

  Our breaths tangle in the dark room, an office of some sort. Only a sliver of light seeps under the door.

  But I feel him—all of him—crowding me in.

  He shackles my wrist above my head against the door.

  Unlike the revulsion I felt earlier when the asshole assaulted me, Elias’s touch only sparks heat.

  “I don’t care,” he seethes, venom dripping from his words. “Remember, I hate you.”

  His poisonous words sound like love sonnets to my twisted heart.

  Elias tightens his hold and presses his body against me, letting me feel all of him.

  Rock-hard muscles, barely tethered control, fire and brimstone.

  I should shove him away. I hate his guts.

  But instead, I moan. My body sings, my mind going dark. “Yes.”

  Elias’s breath hitches. He buries his nose in my neck, just like he did in the office.

  Another guttural groan. A desperate inhale.

  “Roses,” he mutters, “sweet motherfucking roses.”

  He lets out a masculine growl of satisfaction. My thighs clench, my pussy aching. I want to wrap my legs around him and dig my heels into his back.

  Wetness slicks from my core and I arch my back, needing friction and his touch, needing more angry words and frenzied grunts.

  I moan again.

  “Fuck!” He smashes his fist against the door. It rattles. I flinch.

  Elias’s face is inches away from mine. I drag my gaze down the dim silhouette of his strong nose, over his raised scar, resting on his full lips.

  Everything aches.

  Another needy whimper slips out of me.

  “Lana,” he growls, and bears down, finally giving me all his delicious weight and heat, letting me feel his coiled muscles and the weapon between his legs.

  “I thought you hated me,” I whisper.

  I need more. Pressure builds inside my core, frustration climbing inside my chest.

  I lose my battle and rub my tits against him, my eyelashes fluttering from the sharp pleasure zinging my nipples. Yes. My body begins a soft rhythm, a feminine twist, chasing the sparks to an inevitable ending.

  Too many clothes.

  My nipples are so hard, they hurt. I want to claw off my top and bare them to him so I can rub my naked body over this virile, dangerous man.

  Slowly, I drag one heel up his leg.

  He freezes and does the thing where he remains still as a statue, not even breathing.

  Emboldened, I drag my heel up, up, up, until I curl it around his buttocks.

  Then I cinch it tight against him, pressing my pussy against his cock.

  His thick, throbbing cock.

  “It doesn’t seem like you hate me that much.” My words come out slurred, the pressure sharpening in my core. I’m drunk on everything that’s Elias Kent.

  With a growl, he hefts me up with one hand, drags up my skirt, and clamps his fingers hard into my ass.

  He sinks his teeth into my throat, and I scream, the sting morphing into sharp pleasure.

  “My wife is a slut, isn’t she? You want pain? Pleasure?” He laps at his bite mark, his hips grinding a tortuous rhythm against me. “Want to come all over my cock like a good fucking girl?”

  White light sears behind my eyelids. I twitch and tremble, my body entirely held up by his firm grip on my wrists and his weight pinning me against the door.

  He moves harder, digging his pants-covered cock into my soaked thong, letting the rigid outline saw through my pussy before pressing against my clit.

  My heart thunders, an electrical storm building between my legs. Lightning prickles my nipples as he grinds and grinds.

  “Elias.” I don’t recognize my lust-filled, throaty voice.

  The turbulent storm grows, lashing my core that suddenly feels too empty, pulsing, needing him inside me, filling me up, ripping me apart.

  A whine tears out of my throat as we move faster and harder against each other, our bodies simulating the most erotic sex I’ve ever had. The pressure condenses into a tight, tight point.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I moan.

  Let me fall over the cliff, fall into the flames of hell with him.

  “My zemër,” he grits out, his tall frame trembling, his lips still sucking my tender neck. “Let me hear those sounds. Let me hear you coming for a man you hate.”

  He bites me again.

  I explode, my cry echoing in the dark room. A gush of wetness streams out of me as ecstasy I’ve never felt before blinds my senses until all I can see, smell, and hear are him.

  Elias Kent, the Shadow King, my unwanted husband.

  He drags one hard grind of his cock between my legs.

  Then he drops me.

  I slide to the ground, boneless.

  “No one disrespects me or anything I own.” Fabric rustles and shoes squeak against the floor.

  He opens the door, the club music bellowing in my ears.

  Holding my gaze, he slowly cups his groin, gripping his hard-on through the confines of his pants. He hasn’t come.

  He tugs it, and I whimper, remembering how good it felt against me.

  “And you’re mine, wife. Whether I like you or not.”

  He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it to me. “Cover yourself up and tell your friends goodbye. We’re going home.”

  He stalks off.

  My heart pounds as I sit on the ground, my body deliciously thrumming yet unsated, wondering what the heck just happened.

  It’s twisted. So damn wrong.

  And yet, why does it feel so right?

  Chapter 31: WORDS BETWEEN SHELVES

  The timer ticks down. Twenty-eight minutes start now.

  I rake in a deep breath, the air thick with roses that’ll forever remind me of her, and stare at the monitors in front of me.

  Fifteen screens—one for each room in the house. But currently, my focus fixes on the top right feed.

  The library.

  She just tried to break the unbreakable lock on the third floor. Then she cursed, lifted her leg to kick at the door, only to stop herself.

  Then she stomps across the hallway to her favorite room here—the one filled with books, of course.

  When will she learn she’ll only win this game if I let her?

  A wry smile tugs at my lips.

  Lana frowns and stuffs a bobby pin back into her luscious hair, one wavy strand curling at the base of her throat.

  The exact spot I kissed her that night at the club a week ago.

  My fingers twitch as I relive the memories. The needy sounds she made. Her pussy grinding against me. How I bet if I slid my fingers underneath that tiny scrap of underwear, she would be soaked.

  I could barely stop myself from coming in my pants like a reckless boy.

  Like Kian.

  Lana mutters something, moves to the shelf on the right, and pulls down the dark-red volume I knew she’d choose.

  Greek myths. Hades and Persephone. I have to admire the irony that her favorite story mirrors her real life.

  Married to the man she hates, someone with a soul darker than the king of the underworld.

  Sometimes I tell myself I’m protecting her. The truth is, I just can’t stop watching.

  I used to tell myself I hated her, that I kept her at arm’s length because of the role she played in my family’s deaths.

  The reason tastes bitter and shallow.

  Now…I just keep her.

  My chest pinches and I sit up, waiting for her to find the surprise tucked within those pages. It’s a risk. One that might give me away. But I want to know. After all, Christmas is in a week and a half.

  It’s her favorite holiday.

  Did Kian leave a permanent imprint on her mind the way Elise did on mine?

  Will she finally solve the puzzles I’ve left for her over the years?

  Her lips tip into a smile as she thumbs the leather volume. I’ve memorized every line.

  When the Dark Learned Her Name.

  My mind slips into another fragment of the past.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Dad’s hammering in the hallway again, the sounds giving me a migraine, but Elise doesn’t seem to care.

  Ding dong.

  Dad freezes at the doorbell. He and Mom exchange worried glances.

  “Everything okay?” Elise asks. “Are you guys expecting someone?”

  I scoff. “We never get visitors. In fact, my parents forbid it…except you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I told them you were my tutor. They figured out I was lying, but it was worth it.” Grinning, I cup her cheek.

  “Is that why they have those rules?” Her brows furrow, obviously as confused as I was. I’ve stopped trying to figure out my parents.

  “Yep. ‘Don’t bring strangers to our door. Don’t open the door for strangers. Be careful because there are bad people in the world.’” An exasperated sigh heaves out of me. “They’re paranoid. Who knows, maybe we owe money to loan sharks or something. But yeah, better safe than sorry.”

  The hammering resumes.

  Dad just tore the number plate off our front door. He’s muttering something about a reno we have no budget for.

  I don’t buy it; it’s sketchy, but I couldn’t care less with Elise here.

  She stretches happily on my twin-sized bed and points to the words she wants me to read.

  “How do you focus with that racket?” I grumble, staring at the letters swimming in front of me. I’ve practiced so much, but I’m still far behind.

  The damn glare on the page. Why is reading so hard?

  “I’m tired.” Closing my eyes, shame curls inside me and heats my face.

  Why would a girl like her waste her time on someone like me? Penniless, with no future.

  Soft lips brush my cheek, and my groin flares to life. My eyes snap open, finding her dove-gray gaze, framed by long lashes, dipping to my lips then back.

  My chest burns.

  “How about this?” she whispers, the scent of her roses filling my lungs. I can survive on her scent alone. “We try one more thing, and if you do it right, I’ll let you kiss me.”

  My heart stutters.

  “Yeah?” My voice is hoarse.

  I’ve been dying to kiss her ever since I told her I loved her a few weeks ago.

  She nods.

  She points to the page again, and this time, she slides a transparent pale-blue plastic sheet over it. “Try again.”

  The glare softens. The words still.

  “Better? I’ve read that could help.”

  I swallow, a glimmer of something gathering in my gut, then rushing up my chest. Pride.

  “They’ve stopped swimming, the letters.” I place my finger on the page.

  “When the Dark Learned Her Name: A Tale of Hades and Persephone,” I slowly read. It’s working. The words are staying. “Your favorite story.”

  “You did it!” She grins, sets down my book, and climbs onto my lap.

  My heart batters against my rib cage. My lungs forget how to breathe.

  Slowly, Elise trails her fingers along my jaw, my face. Her thick brown hair falls like a curtain, hiding a shy smile. She leans in and hovers before me.

  I close the last inch between us.

  My fingers tangle in her hair, the lush strands wrapping around my heart, my mind, her scent of roses forever ingrained into my soul.

  Maybe this is when my soul became hers.

  I taste her. Her sweetness. Her beauty.

  I vow never to kiss anyone else for as long as I live.

  My lips tingle as the present rushes back.

  Her happy sigh draws my attention back to the screen. She plops onto the navy blue chaise lounge in the corner by the main arched window. It’s her favorite spot. Time and time again, I find her asleep there, waking in shock because someone covered her with a blanket. She cracks open the spine of When the Dark Learned Her Name. It’s a first edition, hand-signed by the author.

  A sad smile tilts her lips as she begins reading.

  The clock ticks, grains of time sliding through the hourglass.

  Lately, it’s getting harder and harder to keep to twenty-eight minutes.

  Outside these walls, the Berishas are stirring, the cousins still fuming over our meeting at the club. The Benefaction looms. I should be preparing.

  Instead, I sit in the dark watching her, the voracious hunger clawing deeper.

  The monster wants more.

  My phone buzzes.

  Geraldine’s Chocolates

  Good intel on the audio, but we need more. Keep me posted.

  I bite my lip as I stare at Special Agent Tristan Clarke’s text message. After the incident at the club, I sent him my recording.

  A pinch of guilt niggles behind my rib cage.

  This is the right thing to do. Partner with the Feds. But why does it feel so…wrong? I can’t possibly be having feelings for the devil. No way.

  I set down my phone and eye the black dome in the corner of the ceiling.

  The red light blinks at me.

  Damn bastard. Voyeur.

  This is how he gets his secrets, by spying on everyone.

  But anger doesn’t burn hot at the thought. Instead, a perverse pleasure sifts through me—the idea that the Shadow King finds me interesting.

  How he almost lost his precious control at the club.

  Heat unfurls in my lower belly, curling down low. Since he made me come, I want it again. But I can’t seem to get there myself.

  Late at night, when the house stills and my thoughts go dark, images of him barrel into my mind—his ragged breathing, the power in his body, his hard cock grazing against me just the right way.

  I’d squirm, my hand snaking under the covers to play with my slickness, swirling it around my clit. The pressure would build, but ecstasy was always out of reach.

  It’s like I’m addicted to him.

  “Ugh,” I grumble, my face hot and mouth parched.