Page 45 of Amethyst and Iron
“What? You—”
“I already knew you had a strategic mind? Of course. You see, Iamall-knowing when it comes to my prey.” He pushed against my hand, and I gritted my teeth as I fought against it, but he just dragged it down, overriding my strength.
I called my claws, my hand shaking against his sheer fucking power. And then he shoved them into his chest, driving them deep and holding my hand there as he bled, as they sank into his flesh.
“Mmm… invigorating and highly arousing.” His gaze flicked to mine. “Much appreciated.”
I tried to yank my hand back, but he held fast. “Kneel.”
“What?”
“Kneel and I will release you.”
“No,” I ground out, with a swing of my fist.
He batted it away with such force that he snapped my fucking wrist, making me howl at the brutality of it.
Then he grabbed my jaw in a vise grip.
“Such a pretty face,” he said, making me shudder as he stroked my jaw with the pad of his thumb. “Such a pretty body. What a shame it is to destroy it. And over and over at that, as per my plan. Especially when all you need to do, at least for right now, is kneel at my feet.”
He drew his thumb over my lips and I tried to jerk my head away, but he held fast.
“Or would you rather open for me?”
“Burn in hell, motherfucker.”
His eyes flashed and he squeezed, forcing a cry from me as he cracked my jaw.
He wrenched my other hand from his chest, then forced my own fingers to my face, dragging his blood all over my cheeks, my nose, my chin, my lips.
“Mmm… I’m loving the degradation for you… being marked by another against your will… you look spectacular.”
“I’m a…bornhybrid,” I eked out with the broken fucking jaw really compromising my ability to speak. “You think I… haven’t been… degraded… before?”
That eye twitch happened again.
And then he roared and tossed me into the diner.
There was so much power behind it that I crashed through the front windows, shot right through to the counter, slammed into the fucking drywall behind it—then blasted through the kitchen, scraped a metal fridge, and careened out the back door, the entire thing disintegrating under the impact.
I landed in a heap on my stomach, choking up blood, bleeding from every fucking where, bones shattered, lungs wheezing again from what was definitely severe internal damage.
Rubble, dust, and glass covered me—shards of that sharp shit slicing my throat, my hands, my legs, even puncturing right through my leather jacket.
This was the worst day not to be wearing my tactical gear.
My ears were ringing, but I felt his approach.
Not a moment later, he fisted the back of my jacket and hauled me up, then slammed me against a tree, getting in my face again.
I choked up more blood as I wearily noticed he had a length of twisted rebar clutched in his hand, torn from the diner’s wreckage.
He pulled something from inside his suit jacket—this time the other side.
He grinned as a vial came into view, a swirling white liquid.
And then he poured it over the sharpest end of the makeshift weapon.
