Chapter 10 · Forbidden Breath

"Get your hands off me, Kane."

I didn't just say it; I spat it. He had me pinned against the cold marble of the kitchen island, his palms flat on the surface on either side of my hips. He wasn't touching me—not yet—but the heat coming off him was like a physical wall.

"You're shaking, Selah," he murmured. His voice had that low, velvet quality that made the public adore him. To me, it sounded like a trap. "Is it the cold, or are you finally realizing how much you need me to keep your heart beating?"

I glared up at him, my chest heaving. Every breath I took felt like it was being stolen from his own lungs. That was the hell of the parasitic contract. We weren't just linked; we were mirroring. I could feel the steady, arrogant thrum of his pulse in my own wrists.

"I need you for the battery pack, not the bedside manner," I snapped. I tried to shove him back, but he didn't budge an inch. He was a wall of muscle and expensive cologne, and I was running on a half-empty tank of stolen life force.

Kane leaned in. Just an inch.