Chapter 6 · The Breaking Point

"Give it back, Cain. Now."

I didn't scream. I didn't have to. My voice was a low, shaking blade. I stared straight into the eyes of the man who'd just dismantled my entire world.

Cain didn't flinch. He held the blood-stained letter between two fingers, dangling it like trash. He was still looming over me, his heavy frame blocking the light. His scent—sandalwood and something metallic, like old coins—filled my lungs.

"You're awfully demanding," he murmured. He stepped closer. The toe of his polished boot brushed my bare foot. "Especially for someone whose life is just a line item in my ledger."

I lunged.

I didn't think. I just snapped. I reached for the paper, my fingers grazing his wrist. The second I touched him, it hit. That surge. That forbidden, humming heat in my marrow leaped from my skin to his.

Cain gasped. It wasn't pain. It was *need*.

He slammed me back against the wall. Not enough to break bone, but enough to knock the wind out of me. This time, his hand didn't go for my throat.