Page 6 of Beautifully Damned
My brows knit together. I don’t get it.
“I’ll talk to them. Try to find out what they’re planning. Maybe even convince them to let you go.”
Before I can stop myself, I lean in and wrap my arms around her tight. I can’t hide how grateful I feel.
She freezes. Her hands hover, unsure. Then one awkward tap. Two. That’s all.
“I’m sorry for calling you a coward,” I whisper. “And thank you.”
She guides me gently to the bed and sits me on the edge like I’m glass. “I’ll get you something to wear,” she says. “And give you space to breathe. Just… hold on a little longer, Ayla.”
I nod, biting my lip until it stings.
Please God, please, don’t let this be another trap.
I need a miracle to save me at this point. I lie down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. What am I going to do? I’m living out a nightmare, cornered by a man worse than the devil.
The whole underground talks about how crazy he is. In fights and conflicts, he rarely uses a gun. Instead, he uses knives, says it’s more “Primal”. I’m under a sociopath’s roof, and I’m going to be torn apart. I just know it.
?Chapter V ?
Roman
The day bleeds into the night. Still, I come home starving for something I can’t pinpoint, even though I’ve been hunting the whole day. There’s something wrong with me. I know that much. The hunger doesn’t quiet like it used to, and the blood doesn’t settle the noise in my head. I need more of it.
Sometimes I wonder—how long before I lose whatever part of me is still human? Or did that part die years ago?
I step into the mansion. It smells of lemon polish and roasted meat. The table is already set. As usual, Elena, the live in maid, doesn’t look at me when I come home with blood under my nails, shadows under my eyes. Most people are terrified of me, even those who work in my home.
The words crawl, bitter, from my throat. “Did she eat?”
Thesheis upstairs. My hostage. Collateral.
Elena smooths her apron. “Nyet, Pakhan. I offered many times. She no eat.”
Refused?
Refused food inmyhome? Under my roof. With a stomach that’s been empty since the morning. White-hot fury tears through me. My boots slam the marble as I take the stairs two at a time.
She wants to play defiant? Fine. Let’s play.
I slam her door open without knocking. She startles violently, jerking up in the bed. A sound catches in her throat. She’s showered, wearing one of the hoodies and a pair of sweatpants Elena must’ve given her. Hair damp. She scrambles back until her spine hits the headboard.
“Eat,” I command.
“I’m not hungry.”
I step forward. She shrinks into herself. Arms pulled tight to her chest.
“Stay back,” she croaks, lifting one trembling hand between us.
I climb onto the bed instead, letting her see there’s nowhere else to go. My hand finds the back of her neck, and her breath stutters.
“No one goes hungry in my home, Ayla,” I growl. “Not even the ones I plan to break.”
“I said I’m not hungry,” she snaps, eyes locked on mine. “And I don’t want your food.”
My gaze drops to her mouth. Pink. Parted. I drag it back up to her eyes. Sharp green, even when filled with fear. My hand tingles where it touches her.
