Page 4 of Hate Mates

I go to yank my hand back—try to, at least. However, the momentum pulls him closer instead. Our bodies collide with a bump that steals my breath.

On impact, he lets out a guttural grunt of approval, his hand moving to my waist to steady me. The sound, rich and primal, sends a flush of heat through me that I utterly despise.

“Careful,” he says, amused. “You might give me the wrong idea.”

I glare up at him, the vein in my neck throbbing and a flush of warmth spreading up from my chest. Why the hell does he have to smell so amazing?

“The only idea you should have is how much I despise you.”

His fingers dig into my waist, and he tugs me just a fraction closer.

“Despise me all you want, wife.” His full lips curve into that hot smirk of his. The one that dimples his cheek. “It doesn’t change the fact that you belong to me now. You recited the vows and here you are. In my arms.”

I shiver, and his eyes darken, his gaze dropping to my lips before lifting to meet mine again.

“Where you belong.” He adds.

I swallow hard, holding his gaze. “I don’t belong to you, Kingston, or with you, for that matter.”

That smile of his slips to a grin so dark and wicked I almost fear for my sanity.

“That’s adorable, sweetheart. But let me make one thing clear—everything under my name belongs to me. Including you.”

Heat blooms in my chest. Equal parts rage to fascination. I push against his chest, but it’s like shoving a concrete pillar.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to play the role of your obedient little mafia wife.”

“Good.” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “I have enough dogs that are obedient. A challenge is more fun, right? Keeps the marriage alive.”

The air crackles between us. For a second, I stare up at him. Like really take in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls messily across his tanned forehead and how his inky pupils are wide. I can’t tell if his eyes are pure black in this light, but I sure as hell sense the way his body seems to hum with restraint.

“You don’t scare me,” I whisper.

He dips into the side of my face, his lips brushing against my ear as he murmurs, “Then why are you trembling, Livvie?”

I jerk away, glaring at him with every ounce of fire I can muster, but he won’t back up.

“Because you’re infuriating. And you’re not listening to me.”

Kingston scrubs his jaw, smirking like he’s already won.

“Oh, I hear you, sweetheart. Loud and clear. Your Irish accent is quite charming.”

For a moment, neither of us speak, the silence stretching thin and taut. The wind plays with a few flyaway strands of my hair, and the cool night air seeps into my skin, but all I can feel is him—his heat, his presence, his suffocating intensity.

“You want your freedom, right?” he asks, and I nod. “Well, I want my wife to live in our marital home, which is my place, by the way. Unfortunately for you, I always get what I want. And tonight, that’s you.”

I laugh under my breath. “You don’t want me, Kingston.”

He tilts his head, his thumb brushing the lace at my waist in a way that feels both possessive and tender.

“Don’t I?”

“You’re just a typical Viacava trying to take control.”

“Well, you’re a stubborn Viacava who looks really fucking gorgeous in white.”

His eyes burn into mine and the monster I know lives within him seems to hide in the shadow of his gaze. The world falls away—the party, the families, the blood-soaked vows that have bound us together.

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