Page 89 of The Serpent's Bride
This wascontrolled.
Raziel bowed his head and kissed her temple before shifting his palm to the middle of her back and pushing her two steps forward, making her stagger. “Remove your clothes.” He wasn’t using his hypnotism. She couldn’t feel the weight of his power in the air.
At least he wasn’t trying to control Monica like that. He was a monster. But there were some lines it seemed even he wouldn’t cross. What a strange relief.
Shrugging out of her thin coat, she tossed it to the corner of the room. Her shoes went next. She didn’t want to rush. Namely, because her hands were shaking badly enough already. The whole time, she was afraid to even look at him. He was simply standing behind her, looming there, his gaze burning into her.
But it wasn’t long before she was naked. Weirdly, she found herself fighting the reflex to cover herself. He’d seen it a dozen times or more at this point. But she hadn’t ever felt thisexposed.Even though she was wearing someone else’s body and someone else’s face, she felt like he could see right through her.
“Face me.”
Turning, she did so.
“Look at me.”
It took a split second, but she flicked her eyes up to him.
By the void, he wasbeautiful. A dark god. He stepped up to her, all in black and crimson, his expression unreadable as he studied her.
She was shivering despite the warmth of the room.
“You’re nervous.”
“Of course I am,” she murmured.
“I’m flattered.” A thin smile graced his features. “But you have no reason to be.” He lifted a hand and stroked his knuckles against her cheek.
“But…” She furrowed her brow.
“This is our…complex understanding. I didn’t seek you out as a plaything. You didn’t come find me wishing to be broken by me. That makes this averyparticular arrangement.” He tilted his head to the side slightly. “The others were easily snapped, like toothpicks. Already small. Already fragile. You? You, I feel would be like using a machete to clean my teeth. I have to handle this with far more care.”
A rare compliment. And one that she found actuallymeantsomething to her. Her eyes flicked between his, searching for the joke. Searching for the sarcasm. She found none. He was being sincere.
“Now.” His smile turned just a little devilish. “Shall we see how far this blade is willing to bend without breaking, hm?”
Willing.
Was she willing to bend to him?Bend without breaking.He didn’t want to shatter her. Could she trust him? Her first instinct was to laugh. The part of her that had hated him for over eighty years—the part of her who had watched him murder her family, who had despised the Nostroms and vowed revenge—swore at her and declared that he was the enemy. She couldn’t trust him. Absolutely not.
But some part of her wanted to do itregardless.Wanted to put herself in his hands. Wanted to bend,anyway. Wanted to feel what he could do to her.
Screw it.
Literally.
Taking a deep breath, she held it, then let it out in a wavering rush. She nodded.
“Good.” Raziel rested his thumb against the hollow of her chin. His smile made her feel hot and cold all at once. Dread and excitement warred for supremacy. His words were a growl, a promise, a threat. “Kneel for me, my beautiful little murderer.”
All his life, Raziel had collected broken things.
Toothpicks, as his metaphor had gone. Things to be used, snapped, and thrown away. Sometimes, they came to him, sometimes he found them. Baubles. Vampire or human. Men or women.
Things that were already whittled down past the point of recognition. Once-great trees or vines reduced to splinters.
But this creature in front of him? This woman? Thiskiller? She was no broken thing. She was closer to someone after his own heart than anyone he had ever known. Though young. Impetuous. Foolhardy.
Too naive for her good. She still had a lot to learn, though she clearly believed herself above reproach in that regard.
