Chapter 21 · Black Under His Skin

"Get your hands away from me, Mira."

Silas didn't just say it; he snarled the words, his palm slamming against the stone table between us. The impact rattled the surgical tools, sending a scalpel skittering across the surface. I didn't flinch. I stepped closer, the scent of ozone and old blood clinging to his heavy coat.

"You're shaking," I said, my voice flat. "And you're pale. Paler than a corpse in a winter frost. Let me see your arm."

"I said no."

I didn't listen. I lunged. It was a surgeon's instinct—fast, precise, aimed at the wrist. But Silas was faster. He caught my arm mid-air, his fingers locking around my wrist like a steel cuff. He jerked me forward, slamming my back against the cold dampness of the infirmary wall. The air left my lungs in a sharp wheeze.

"You think because I gave you a knife, you own me?" he hissed. His face was inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a feverish, unnatural warmth that didn't match the chill in his eyes.

"I don't want to own you, Silas.