Chapter 25 · Who's Really in Control?

"Get your hands off me, Cain."

I didn't move. Couldn't. He had me pinned against the cold marble pillar, his body a wall of heat and muscle that left me nowhere to run. His fingers dug into my wrists, locking them above my head. A grip that promised bruises by morning.

"You think you've won," he whispered. His voice was a low, dangerous rasp right against my ear. "You think because I need your blood to stop the noise in my head, you're the one holding the leash."

I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I didn't let him see it. "Isn't that exactly what's happening? You're shaking, Cain. I can feel it. You're terrified of how much you want this."

He stiffened. The air between us turned electric, heavy with that suffocating pressure that always came before his rage. He leaned in, nose brushing mine. His breath was hot—expensive bourbon and something metallic. Predatory.

"I don't do fear," he snapped. "I do obedience. Now. Tell me what you saw in the archives. Who was following you?"

"Maybe I'll tell you when you let me go.