Page 12 of Obsession & Oath

I blink as my pupils adjust to the sudden onslaught of evening light and, perhaps, more annoyingly, Dante’s face glaring down at me.

“I’m going to give you one last opportunity to behave yourself,” his dark eyes offer no room for compromise. “You might be nothing more than a spoiled, naive little princess who probably deserves it. But I am not the kind of man that goes around tranquilizing women.”

“Just the kind of man that kidnaps them from their own homes, is that it?” I spit right back. “You’re still a fucking creep.”

Something hardens in his expression as the grip on my shoulder tightens. He moves forward, crowding me so that our faces are mere inches apart.

“Let me make one thing very clear to you,” his voice is no louder than a whisper, but its sheer dominance sends a shudder down my spine. “I am already so fucking close to gagging you until Leon decides you’re worthy of his time again.”

I feel a breath catching somewhere in my lungs, not quite able to escape under the ferocity of his gaze.

“That could be weeks. It could be months. So don’t push me, princess. Keep your cheeky little remarks to yourself because it’s just me and you. There’s no one left to protect you, now.” He finally lowers his gaze to grab something I can’t quite see.

There’s a retort on the tip of my tongue until he looks at me again, and I’m entirely frozen in fear.

Then I feel it.

The sharp prick in the side of my neck.

Dante withdraws the syringe quickly, discarding it and pressing something firmly to the entry point.

Immediately, darkness begins to creep into the corner of my vision, and my dramatically racing pulse begins to slow. Vaguely, I’m aware of my mouth opening and closing. I can hear someone gasping, but it feels so far away.

My sole focus is on understanding the next words out of his mouth.

“You don’t want me as your enemy.”

* * *

Delirium is a funny thing.

Biologically speaking, I know what’s happening to my body. But up until this point, it’s always been theoretical.

The drug suppressed my nervous system, but now the tranquilizer is wearing off. The return to awareness is slow—like trying to swim through syrup. My muscles are stiff, and my body feels heavy, almost disconnected.

Everything seems to be trying to reboot; it just can’t seem to figure out how to do it all at once. It’s disorienting, like flipping the power back on after a blackout, except it’s still foggy outside.

The first thing I’m aware of is the vibrations beneath my body. The low hum of an engine that seems far deeper and louder than a car.

A plane.

I’m on a plane.

The second thing I’m aware of is a body next to mine.

It smells like amber, which is nice. Amber is nice, it’s safe. It’s ballroom dancing and giggles on my mother’s knee as we make faces in her vanity mirror.

Only this amber is from someone else.

Through cracked eyes, I can make out a jaw. A strong jaw. A nice, strong jaw. With stubble. Dark and thick, either several days old or groomed to appear so.

It suits him and his pretty face. His pretty, manly face.

I’ve met men before. Obviously. But men usually have better things to do, like grovel at my father’s feet or address my father when they’re talking to me. My body has always belonged to the Cartel, and men have learned not to covet it.

There were boys at my college, of course. Lots of them, and lots of them interested in the bioengineering major with the grace of a ballroom dancer who liked riding horses and rejecting romantic advances.

But it was always important that I stayed a virgin. The only reason I could attend college in the first place was because I swore I would remain pure during my entire tenure. It was expected. It’s always been expected.

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