Page 74 of A Bond in Blood

My tears fell, warming then cooling in the wind on my cheeks. “Of course that’s what you think this is.”

I turned my cheek trying to get away but instead it rested against his chest, soaking his shirt.

“Why did you try to drown yourself,Ursa?” he asked more gently.

I hated the softness of his voice. The care hidden in the question. This feigned desire to soothe my black soul.

“You made me kill him,” I cried.

Ulrich’s body shook beneath me with his laugh. His hand brushed the hair from my face. A strangely affectionate touch.

“I didn’t force you to do anything.”

My mind cleared while my body warmed against him and I stood. “Why?” I cried. “Why?”

I pulled my eyes from the sand, letting out a shout of anger when I found a mask on his face. I ran for him, my hands, determined to rip that stupid fucking mask from him. In his lowered position on the ground, he didn’t have time to clamor away but his hands caught my wrists right as my fingers gripped the edge of the black barrier.

“Brenna,” his voice became a warning.

“What are you so scared of, Ulrich?” I seethed, and my fingers wiggled beneath the ends of the mask.

His grip went firm, attempting to pull my hands off. But I held firm, lowering my body onto his lap, holding him in place. Unintentionally straddling him while I tried to keep control.

“Do not consider it,” he growled.

“Growling like the monster he is,” I replied. “What are you going to do?” I teased, rolling my hips against him. “Kill me?”

My body hit the sand. My gasp was quiet with the shock of the collision, and he pressed his hips back into mine, lifting my hands above my head.

“You think you’ve bested me,” he laughed. “I’m always one step before you, Brenna.”

I could only come up with one response—spitting in his face.

“I’ve warned you enough fucking times,” he grunted.

His hands were replaced with his shadows licking up my body, holding me in place.

“Stop!” I screamed, horrified at the smile across his lips.

He sat up, now straddling me like I had been him.

“No, Brenna,” he said with a laugh, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and revealing the ink on his forearms. “I am tired of you not listening.”

I struggled against the shadows, flailing my legs under him. I was a fool, Gods I was stupid for thinking he wouldn’t punish me for my fit.

“That’s enough,” he said calmly, and his shadows clamped down on my limbs, covering the rest of my body.

His long hair brushed against my cheeks when he leaned over me again. “Is this what you enjoy? Does this get your blood pumping? Does it warm that body in all the right places?”

His hand grasped my jaw, tightening at the bottom.

I kept my lips tight, my cries of protest muffled in my attempt to fight back. But he was too strong.

“You.” He smiled, the strength of his fingers forced my jaw to open. “Will.” He leaned forward, the amusement in his eyes burning. “Listen.”

Then he spit—right into my mouth.

I was in too much shock to respond. To cry out from the pain of him holding my jaw. To stop my body from swallowing out of reflex.

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