Page 16 of Enemies By Fate

Under normal circumstances, I would have taken the stairs to the third story, but I don’t trust her not to flee. I want to keep her directly in my line of sight, within reach and ready to seize if she tries anything sudden.

“An elevator!” she breathes, impressed. “You have an elevator in here?”

Scowling, I press the button and the door immediately opens, allowing us entry, but I don’t give her the benefit of an answer. Suddenly, I consider that maybe this is some kind of shake-down.

I bet she’s going to ask for compensation for this so-called killing of her mysterious father.

“Get in,” I order her.

Swallowing thickly, she ambles into the elevator, and I inadvertently catch the curve of her upper thigh as she moves, the sack dress barely covering her long legs entirely. We have to do something about her attire if she’s going to stay on the estate. She can’t dress like that, even if she is still technically a prisoner.

The realization irritates me more. She doesn’t deserve nice clothes, even if she is staying in our home. Everything about this arrangement bothers the hell out of me.

I press the third-floor button angrily and lean back against the railing, folding my arms over my chest to glower at her. She bows her head, trying not to look at me, but it’s hard to do when I’m staring right at her.

“I didn’t go to the party to cause trouble,” she mumbles.

Her words infuriate me more. Before I know what I’m doing, I press the emergency stop button and bear down on her, hands dropping on either side of her slender waist to rest on the rails. Wincing, she bows her head more, not looking at me at all. Long tendrils of hair hide her face.

“Oh, no?” I drawl sarcastically. “What did you hope to accomplish, Lost One? Were you just going to sneak in and stealwhat you could? Try to make a grab for some gold watches or rings?”

Her scent intoxicates me, subtle hints of sage and lavender teasing the edges of my mind, stirring a memory that feels just out of reach yet thrillingly familiar.

I hate this effect she has on me.

Her head whips up, denial painted all over it. “What? No!”

“What then?” I taunt her.

“I just want answers about my father,” she insists. “I want to know why you killed him. I was trying to figure out if you fit the vision I’ve been dreaming about. I… I wasn’t even sure I was going to talk to you. You just happened to see me first.”

I scoff. The heat of her uneven breaths stirs me more, and I move my hand cautiously over her face, roughly cupping her chin.

“This father, whose name you don’t know?” I mock her. “That guy?”

She meets my eyes steadily. “Yes,” she answers, her voice clear and unwavering. “The dreams have been showing me the truth all along. Now that I've seen you all transform—the black dragon, the white wolf, the lion—I believe the dreams are real.”

My fingers trace her jawline with reverence, and surprisingly, she leans into my touch.

She stifles a sigh, but her pupils constrict as my hand lowers over her collarbone, her heart rate increasing. I wait for her to stop me. She doesn’t, but instead, she arches into me.

Fuck… I shouldn’t be doing this.

I hesitate, not allowing my hand to move lower, but the swell of her breast is teasing me. Her pulse throbs, and I nuzzle my nose roughly against her neck.

She puts her hand on mine, moving it lower, and my fingers graze her nipple through the thin material.

A soft gasp escapes her lips, encouraging me.

“And what if you’re wrong? What if you’re just delusional?” I laugh, licking over the curve of her throat.

She should hate me, and I don’t trust her at all. Yet, there’s an undeniable pull between us, whether we want it or not. I can see it in her eyes, the way they flicker with the same conflicted fire burning inside me. Whatever this is, she feels it, too. And despite every instinct screaming at me to stay away, I can’t resist her—won’t resist her.

Goosebumps explode along her skin, and heat surges between my legs as I allow my hands to travel lower, raising the hem of her prisoner attire.

Her ass cheeks fit evenly into the palms of my hands, and I massage her apart, nipping at the tender skin of her neck as she moans lightly. “I’m not wrong!” she murmurs.

Her argument is weak, and I snicker again, dropping to my knees, wanting to taste her.

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