Page 29 of Hunted to the Altar
I tilted my head, studying her. “You’re alive because of me. That should count for something.”
She scoffed, setting the fruit down. “I’m alive despite you. Don’t twist it.”
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the counter. “You can spin it however you like, Nina. But the fact remains: you’re here, and you’re mine. That will not change.”
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she might throw the plate at me. Instead, she stood abruptly, pushing the stool back with a screech. “I’m not your possession, Samuel. And I never will be.”
I rose slowly, my movements deliberate. “You can fight it all you want. But the sooner you accept it, the easier this will be.”
She glared at me, her chest heaving with barely contained rage. “You don’t own me. You don’t control me.”
I stepped closer, towering over her. “Oh, Nina,” I murmured, my voice low and dangerous. “You do not know how much I control. How much I’ve already claimed.”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, the fire in her gazedimmed, replaced by something else. Fear. But she quickly masked it, her defiance flaring back to life.
“You’re insane,” she whispered.
“Maybe,” I admitted, a smirk tugging at my lips.
She turned away, her shoulders trembling. I watched her retreat, a strange mix of satisfaction and frustration churning in my chest. She was fighting me every step of the way, but I wouldn’t let her win. Not this time.
Later that evening, I found her by the window, staring out at the city below. The lights reflected in her eyes, making them shimmer like molten silver. She didn’t acknowledge me as I approached, her focus fixed on something I couldn’t see.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Freedom,” she whispered. “What it would feel like.”
Her words stabbed at something deep inside me, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I leaned against the wall, watching her. “Freedom’s overrated. It’s just another illusion.”
She turned to me, her expression unreadable. “Spoken like a man who’s never had his stolen.”
I stepped closer, my gaze locking onto hers. “You think I’ve never felt trapped? That I don’t know what it’s like to have your life dictated by forces beyond your control?”
Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of curiosity. “Then why do this to me? Why keep me here?”
“Because I won’t lose you,” I said simply. “Not to them. Not to anyone. I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you from me.”
Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her hands trembling. “You’re impossible,” she muttered.
I smiled, a dark, twisted thing. “And yet, here we are.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and charged. For the first time, I felt the weight of her presence settle into something deeper, something I couldn’t name. And I wondered if I’d already lost more of myself to her than I was willing to admit.
Nina had a way of getting under my skin. She was precise—like the way she’d always leave the door to her room just a fraction open, even after I told her to keep it shut. Or how she never looked me in the eye for too long, but just long enough to let me know she wasn’t afraid the way she should be.
Tonight, it was a glass. A cup balanced at the very edge of the counter, a hair away from tipping over. She had done the same thing last night. The exact same way. As if daring me to notice, to react.
I did. And she knew it.
Then there were the pillows. She rearranged them after I had just fixed them, a habit I recognized now—undoing the things I did, shifting the control in small, almost imperceptible ways. The first time, I let it slide. The second time, I watched. The third? That was when I understood.
Nina didn’t fight with fists. She didn’t scream or beg. She fought with patience. With a predator’s kind of patience, the kind that made you question who was really in control.
And maybe that was the worst part.
Because it was working.
"You like pushing, don’t you?" I asked, my voice low and steady as I approached her.
