Page 54 of Chain Me
It came, uttered in a tone as cutting as a blade. “Dead. Or at least hewillbe once I’m through with him.”
“Please don’t.” I stepped forward without thinking, reaching for his hand. “It’s my fault. He didn’t mean—”
“He didn’t mean what?” Dublin growled, snatching his hand away. “To lie in wait to ambush you? To carry out his orders like a willing little pawn? You’re lucky he didn’t run a stake through your chest—his kind are foolish enough to believe in that myth.”
“He helped me,” I insisted, fighting to keep my voice level. “And I’m sorry—”
“Sorry?” He threw his head back and laughed more deeply than before. “You, the innocent, naïve, selfish Eleanor Gray, are sorry. Tell that to those women who will be sucked and fucked because Raphael likes toying with me! Isn’t this the part where you cringe in haughty indignation and call me a monster for allowing them to be sold in the first place?” He paused as if waiting for that very argument.
It stung to realize that, in another world, I might have lived up to that expectation. I would have blamedhim.
“No? Well, I couldn’t do a damn thing without presenting you to him on a silver goddamn platter anyway. So, congratulations. Once again, you’ve made me look weak before that creature. Once again, I’ve gone against my better judgment to save your life. And all you can say is you’re sorry?”
My lips parted, but instead of another apology, a cry escaped. And I broke. Tears spilled from my eyes as sobs ripped from my chest. I swayed, bracing my hands against the wall in a fight to stay upright, but my knees buckled, depositing me onto the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though he could have been gone for all I knew. Still, it had to be said, if only to cement my own horrid sense of guilt. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry—”
“Don’t cry for them.” Dublin grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. Without allowing me to find my own balance, he pressed me against the wall, trapping me there with one hand on either shoulder. His eyes a burnished silver, he resembled the “old friend” Raphael referred to more than ever. Someone utterly devoid of humanity.
But then he frowned, brushing his thumb along my cheek. Yulia must have missed a spot, somewhere hidden behind my ear, because his finger came away red with blood that should have been dried by now. He eyed it like it was the most alluring and repulsive thing in existence.
“You should be crying for yourself,” he hissed while swiping his hand along the side of his suit jacket. “Those women will suffer their pain. They’ll reconcile their choices with whatever price they bargained their souls for. In the end, they’ll convince themselves it was worth it. But you?” He caressed my throat with a single finger, tracing my surging pulse. “You sold yourself for nothing. You sold yourself tome—and I am not like those other fools who take their orders from Raphael. Do you think you’re any different from them? Those women?” He cradled my windpipe, forcing my head back until I met his gaze. “Do you think I wouldn’t take any single one of them over you? I would.” He stepped into me, lowering his head until our foreheads touched. “I would.”
The fabric of my dress bunched at the waist, captured in his fist. I shivered as he tugged. With a violent rip, the material gave way altogether.
And with every bared inch of me, Dublin stiffened further, tracking the gown’s descent until it reached the floor.
“Your body affects me no differently than theirs,” he growled, his voice thicker. “You don’t appeal to me more. This pale, thin, shapeless body doesn’t fucking haunt me.” He found my nipple, grazing it with the tip of a fingernail until I jerked as if yanked on a string. “You meannothingto me.”
His mouth brushed mine and my lips parted. Ruthlessly, his tongue swept inside, harsh and punishing. I could feel the prickling tease of his fangs even as they protruded, catching the edge of my tongue. All the while, his body caged me in, rough through the fabric of his suit. Repelling me even while providing strength. When my knees buckled, holding on to him was the only way I managed to stay upright.
The harder he kissed me, the more my thoughts spun, senseless. There was no seductive method to this madness. Just him gripping my waist, pulling me into him, grinding his body against whatever part of me he could reach.
Until he stopped, leaving me balanced on a precipice.
“This is the part where you agree, Eleanor,” he hissed, drawing me into his arms.
The interior of the suite blurred and distorted until I found myself shoved onto the bed in that emerald room, bathed in the multicolored glow of the city lights.
“This is the part where you reinforce that I couldn’t possibly have any interest in fucking you.” As he spoke, he tugged my legs apart, easily slipping between them.
Fabric swished and fluttered through the air, so quickly I barely registered it. His jacket. His shirt. His pants. All shed within seconds.
My eyes were still on the crumpled pieces of fabric when he slid his hand between my legs, easing the tip of a finger inside me.
“And this is the part where I pretend like you’re wet for me alone,” he continued as I gasped at the intrusion. “That deep down you relish what I do to your body. That you crave it. That the naïve, prudish innocence is just an act.” He ventured deeper, and my nails caught at the silk beneath me, scrambling for purchase. “I convince myself every goddamn time.” He groaned as my body quaked, gripping him in trembling waves. “I make myself believe it, even though I know it’s a lie.”
Another finger. Too much—but the pressure was nothing compared to his expression. Eyes narrowed with hatred even while I writhed, full to the brim with him.
“Women like you are more evil than I even would ever claim to be. It’s why you hide through life pretending that you have no appeal. It’s why creatures like Raphael try to replicate you. It’s why five hundred years of fucking life hasn’t tormented me like you do.” He drew his hand away, slamming his full length into me instead.
I moaned, my back arching, eyes closing as every nerve came alive with awareness of him.
“The way you feel is sin,” he hissed, rearing back for another sharp, punishing thrust. “It’s hell. And he made you, didn’t he?” He captured the back of my throat as if to coax the answer from it, but I was too far gone to speak. “He made you. To tempt me. To make me crave you. To the point of madness, I crave you…”
God, I didn’t even know if he was referring to Raphael or some other creature. I was beyond coherent thought. Fire built within my blood with every burning bit of friction—and his words were gasoline. My spine lit the match, curling and driving me into each pass of his hips.
And then ignition.
