of rage, Matthew wrapped one of his huge hands around a fistful of my hair and smashed his mouth down over mine. He outweighed me by a lot, and his body pinned me to the wall...I could feel his erection digging into my stomach.
When I started to struggle, it wasn’t fake. His kiss was brutal, all teeth and force and anger, and I could’ve used it against him later and filed it away to get revenge for instead of fighting it, but it didn’t matter, it was wrong, and it hurt…
The next second he was halfway across the room again, panting for breath, his claws half extended. I leaned against the wall, my lips tender and bruised and the rest of me aching with some kind of pain I couldn’t define and didn’t understand. And at the same time, my whole body felt stronger, more alive — as if the spell was rewarding me for doing what it wanted.
“I’m not going to rape you,” he gasped. And again, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. Which was the opposite of reassuring. “I’m not.” A little more confidence, that time. And then he added, “I’m sorry.”
That shocked me into speaking without thinking. “Why?”
He looked up and stared at me. “Why aren’t I going to rape you?”
Well, that too, but… “Why are you sorry?”
“Why am I…sorry.” His eyebrows drew together. “I came really close to — why am I sorry? Aren’t you supposed to apologize for something like that? What kind of fucking question is that?”
“Nothing’s stopping you.” And nothing was. I didn’t get it. Maybe he had too much self-respect to fuck someone like me, or too much human decency to get off on forcing me, but apologizing? For thirty seconds of taking advantage of me? “I’m a prisoner. And you only kissed me.”
“I wouldn’t apologize for kissing you if you weren’t a prisoner. You have enough magic to fend me off. Usually,” he said, with a nod to my manacles.
“So take them off and kiss me again.” I extended my arms, cocking my hips provocatively. It was worth a shot.
Matthew shuddered, and his claws dug into his wrists as he clenched his fists. “You should lock yourself in the bathroom,” he said, slowly and evenly. “Right now.”
“A lock won’t stop you —”
“It’ll slow me down enough to get it together. Fucking now!” he growled, and his eyes were glowing again.
I dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut right as his body thudded against it hard enough to rattle the hardware and knock a few bits of chipped paint off the wall beside it. I pressed myself back against the opposite wall, breathing hard. Silence.
No, not quite silence. I could hear him breathing too, deep rasping pants that could’ve been used as a movie sound effect for the part where the ingénue was hiding in a closet with the serial killer heavy-breathing right outside.
Those scenes could go on for what felt like hours, with the tension ratcheting up until everyone, from the director on down to the moviegoer, wanted to scream.
Nope, this was going to drive me insane. “Matthew?”
“Yeah?” His voice was thick, like his fangs were showing.
“Are you going to break the door down?”
A long pause. “Jury’s still out on that,” he said ruefully, and I laughed a little despite myself. “Look. I hate you. You got my pack members killed. And I’m fucking crazy in love with you. I hate myself. I want to tear the door off its hinges and fuck you through the wall, rip you to pieces and then tuck you in bed and hold you all night while I tell you how beautiful you are.”
My lower lip hurt. I realized it was because I was biting down on it, hard. How the fuck was this making me…hard. I was getting hard, my cock thickening and pressing against the fly of Nate’s stupid tight jeans.
Oh, gods, there was something really, really wrong with me.
There was a thump against the door. His fist? Or maybe his forehead. “You asked, Jonah,” he said in a low almost-growl.
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t trust him, and I didn’t trust him. But I could at least give him something, one true thing that might make him let his own guard down a little.
Besides, I really, really hated that fucking name.
“Arik.”
“What?”
I sucked in a deep breath. It shouldn’t have felt as meaningful as it did to tell him my name, but maybe the fairies had something, with their