Page 7 of A Debt of Darkness

My hands mirror his and tuck inside my elbows. “This isn’t a fucking transaction.”

Rage flashes through Ryan's eyes again. “Your father made it one.”

I've reached my limit and I don't care what the fucking consequences are anymore. I curl my face up and glare with pure disdain as I slam the door in Ryan's face.

“I'm not my fucking father.”

I wait again, anticipating the tirade. For a second time, I'm shocked that all that happens is the door locks into place. My hands start to shake and my legs tremble as I break apart, staring at the lock as if my will alone could turn it.

I'm overwhelmed and it's far too fucking much.

And if Henry is watching, then I can't let the asshole see he's broken me already. So I do the only reasonable, sensible thing I can and turn slowly, kicking my shoes off as I put myself to bed.

3

A NEGOTIATION

HENRY

“Get her.” I stare at the video feed, watching her slump on a sofa. “Now.”

Ryan nods and he’s fucking furious.

I’m livid too. She’s been here less than a day and she’s become a pain in my ass. This is the third time she’s refused to eat with me and her petulance grates. She’s destroyed any sympathy I had for her. I gave her time after her less-than-ideal journey, but this is beyond the limits of my tolerance.

The girl ought to have fallen into line by now. She’s my mate and that means she her needs should meet mine, as I meet hers. Ivy should want to obey me, want to submit to me. She should want to be my play thing and instead the little human is daring to defy me.

“I don’t think she knows, Henry. Please remember that,” Ryan says as he leaves the room. “She’s in the dark. This isterrifying for her. Be patient.”

She tucks some hair behind her ear and I wonder how soft it is. The small gesture is endearing and I dislike it. It’s adorable and I wish it wasn’t. I didn’t want her in my life, but she’s here and we’ve got to find a way to co-exist. It would be better if she learned her place, but everything she’s done so far suggests she’s as stubborn as her father.

I’ve tried. Genuinely, I’ve tried.

My invitations were ignored. Meetings were canceled at the last minute. The excuses became laughable and I didn’t push. I assumed she needed more time. I gave her space. I realize now that was a terrible mistake.

She pouts and stares at a window, breaking my fucking heart. I thought it died long ago, but it’s bleeding for her. I haven’t even met her yet, except at a damn awful gala two years back, where the sight of her turned my world upside down. Her room should be perfect. It should more than meet all her goddamn wants. Even the flowers were chosen based on her preferences. And the only thing she’s said is she hates the painting I spent a small fortune buying her.

I watch as Ryan walks in. Ivy barely lifts her head in acknowledgment. She looks like something I don’t like—sad—and I loathe myself for doing this. If Ryan’s right and she doesn’t know why she’s here, then she’s holding herself together remarkably well. It’s almost admirable. It’ll hurt me to break her.

She shakes her head as Ryan tries to persuade her to see reason. I sigh and rest my head in my hands, watching the scene play out. He says something. She shakes her head. He says something else and waves his hands. She shakes her head again. He steps forward and she inches back, and every instinct in me screams I should protect her.

Ryan waits and I grip the desk, clinging to it and prayingI won’t have to witness what will inevitably follow. Ivy refuses to move. Ryan tries again before moving quickly, decisively and aggressively, hauling her over his shoulder and carrying her out of the room. She’s kicking and punching and her screams echo through the house as Ryan carries her to my office.

She’s still screaming when he dumps her in the chair in front of me. Her eyes burn with anger and they’re fucking breathtaking. They’re so green they dazzle me and I almost abandon all sense and lose myself in them. They contrast with her long blond hair which appears less well-groomed than normal. She hasn’t washed since she left L.A. and I can smell the stench of her journey on her instead of her.

Ivy takes a deep breath and her breasts heave. Fuck me, they’re perfect. Her tits are big enough to play with and they’re pert, and the nipples threatening to poke through her thin top are almost too tempting to resist. She catches me staring and fidgets, revealing more of her curves and letting me see how long her legs are.

I want her.

I fucking need her.

I hate her for being weak, but I can’t be without her.

It’s been seconds and I’m resisting the urge to fuck her on my desk and damn the consequences.

Gods, she’s fucking perfect. I hoped she wouldn’t be. I hoped I’d find salvation in some flaw. But there’s no escape and I hate that I can’t bear the thought of losing her. We met two minutes ago, we haven’t said a word and I’m devoted. Inextricably devoted.

It’s disgustingly nice.

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