Page 43 of The Darkest Gift

"Oh, Iris. Yes, I am hungry. I'm absolutely famished," he croons, using my own words against me.

Elijah suddenly lunges at me with inhuman speed, his eyes wild and feral. I drop the breakfast tray with a resounding crash, fine china shattering across the marble floor as I turn and flee. My heart pounds in my chest as I race down the rest of the stairs, bare feet slapping against the cool marble.

I can hear Elijah behind me, his ragged breathing and heavy footfalls spurring me on. The drug may have heightened his arousal to unbearable levels, but it's also given him a manic energy that makes him terrifyingly fast.

I dart through the foyer, knocking over an antique vase in my haste. It explodes into a shower of porcelain shards andElijah curses as he stumbles over the debris, buying me precious seconds.

I race down the hallway towards my study where I know I have a weapon, my silk robe billowing behind me like wings. As I round the corner, the delicate fabric catches on a protruding door hinge. There's a heart-stopping moment of resistance before the robe tears away completely, leaving me clad only in the lacy black lingerie I'd chosen to tease Elijah with.

The cool air kisses my exposed skin, sending goosebumps racing across my flesh. I can hear Elijah's appreciative growl, the sound sending an inappropriate jolt of heat straight to my core.

"Oh, Iris," he calls out, his voice a dangerous purr. "You shouldn't have dressed up just for me."

I risk a glance over my shoulder and immediately regret it. Elijah is closer than I thought. As he rounds the corner, his shoulder clips the doorframe. One of the knives goes flying, skittering across the polished floor and disappearing under a nearby cabinet.

For a split second, relief floods through me. But then I see the way Elijah's grip tightens on the remaining blade, the manic gleam in his eyes intensifying. He's down to one weapon, but somehow that only makes him more dangerous.

I push myself harder, legs burning as I sprint towards the study. If I can just make it there, lock the door behind me...

But Elijah is too fast, too driven by the cocktail of drugs and adrenaline coursing through his system. Just as my fingers brush the doorknob of the study, I feel his body slam into mine from behind.

We go down hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs in a pained gasp. Elijah's weight pins me to the floor, his heated skin searing against my back. I can feel every hard plane of his body, every trembling muscle. His cock, still achingly hard from the drug, presses insistently against my ass.

In one fluid motion, Elijah flips me onto my back, straddling my hips in a single, powerful movement. The knife gleams wickedly in the soft light filtering through the hallway windows as he brings it to rest against my throat. The cold steel kisses my skin, sending a shiver through my body that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a twisted sort of arousal.

Elijah looms over me, his body a furnace of heat and barely contained energy. Sweat glistens on his golden skin, highlighting the cut of his muscles and the angry red marks left by us last night. His chest heaves with rapid, shallow breaths, each exhale ghosting across my face. The scent of him—an intoxicating blend of masculine musk, soap, and something purely him—fills my senses.

I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between us. The weight of him pressing me into the cool marble floor. The trembling muscles of his thighs as they bracket my hips. The insistent pressure of his cock, rock-hard and leaking, against my stomach. The sharp edge of the blade resting in the hollow of my throat, a hair's breadth away from drawing blood.

Elijah's eyes lock onto mine, a maelstrom of emotions swirling in those icy blue depths. The feral hunger is still there, burning bright and hot, but behind it I can finally see the true predator lurking. The mask has slipped completely now, revealing the cold, calculating killer beneath.

The knife at my throat doesn't waver, but neither does it press deeper.

"You know," he says, his voice rough and strained, "in another life, this could have been so different. We could have met under normal circumstances—exactly like we did at the gala, perhaps. I was drawn to you immediately, captivated by your beauty and that dangerous glint in your eye."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "We would have danced, flirted, played our little games of seduction. Spentour days in bed together—consensually for a change. I could have even stalked you a little. And then, when the moment was right, I would have revealed my true nature to you. Shown you the darkness that lurks beneath this carefully crafted exterior."

His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle. "And you, my dear Iris, you would have understood. You and Mason both. Because you're just like me, aren't you? Monsters wearing human skin, reveling in the shadows while the rest of the world remains blissfully ignorant."

Elijah's thumb traces my bottom lip, his touch feather-light. "We fit together so perfectly," he murmurs. "The three of us. It's almost poetic, isn't it? A trio of beautiful, brilliant psychopaths, ready to paint the world red."

I feel the sharp edge of the blade press ever-so-slightly harder against my throat as Elijah leans in closer. His breath ghosts across my lips, warm and inviting. For a moment, I think he might kiss me.

But then, suddenly, Elijah goes very still. His eyes widen fractionally, and I feel rather than see the new tension in his body. A bead of blood drips down on me from his own throat.

"Well now," Mason's low voice cuts through the suddenly tense silence. "This is quite the predicament we find ourselves in."

Chapter 26

Iris

I crane my neck slightly, careful of the blade still resting against my own throat. Mason is just behind Elijah, fully dressed in his impeccable suit. The missing knife from earlier is clutched in his hand, its razor-sharp edge pressed firmly against Elijah's carotid artery.

Mason's voice remains calm and steady as he speaks, the knife at Elijah's throat never wavering. "I must admit, I'm quite impressed, Elijah. Not many could break free from those restraints, let alone while under the influence of such a potent aphrodisiac. You continue to surprise us at every turn."

His eyes flick to me, taking in my disheveled state and the knife Elijah still holds against my throat. A muscle ticks in hisjaw, but his voice betrays no emotion when he asks, "So tell me, pretty boy. Do you plan to kill my wife, or fuck her?"

Elijah's body trembles above me, fine tremors running through his muscles as he fights against the drug's effects. His pupils are still blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of icy blue around the edges. When he speaks, his voice is rough, strained.

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