Chapter 32 · Forbidden Quiet

"Get your hands off me!"

I snapped it, but my voice betrayed me. It lacked the bite. It sounded like a plea.

Kane didn't budge. He had me pinned against the cold stone of the hallway, his chest crushing mine. He wasn't touching me anywhere explicit, but the heat radiating off him felt like a brand. His eyes were that dangerous shade of molten gold—the kind that meant something was about to break.

"You're shaking," he murmured. The voice was a low vibration I felt in my own ribs. "Is it fear, Elara? Or are you finally realizing who owns you?"

I glared up, my breath coming in shallow hitches. "I'm not a piece of furniture, Kane. You can't just decide I'm your property because my blood stops your head from exploding."

He let out a short, dark laugh. He leaned in. His nose brushed mine—a slow, deliberate friction that made my stomach flip.

"You aren't furniture," he whispered. "You're a drug. And I've never been good at moderation."

He shifted. His thigh slid between mine, forcing me to arch my back against the wall. The power imbalance was suffocating.