Page 87 of Fury of the Bound
“What are you doing here?” I ask, tugging my towel tighter around my body. His gaze doesn’t meet mine—not at first. No, it drops to the bitemarks Malrik left on my shoulders and chest.
His expression doesn’t change, but his jaw ticks just once. “Does Ronan know you’re fucking the vampire downstairs?”
I don’t answer him; he has no right to know what I do.
Instead, I walk past him like he’s nothing more than a cold draft, pull open a drawer, and grab my underwear.
“The girl I knew hated vampires.”
“I still do,” I mutter, pulling a dress from the drawer without looking at him.
“So why are you letting one use you as his personal whore and blood bag?”
I slam the door shut with a bang that echoes off the walls. My blood surges hot with fury as I turn to face him, towel still clutched to my chest, my glare sharp enough to cut steel.
“You don’t get to call me that.” My voice doesn’t rise, but it lands like a slap. “You lost that right the moment you saw me again and decided to hate me without letting me explain.”
He doesn’t flinch. Of course, he doesn’t. Darian stands like a wall—unmoving, unreadable. But I don’t miss the twitch in his jaw. The subtle clench of his gloved hands at his sides.
“It became my business when my family got involved,” he says, stepping toward me. “I won't let you hurt him, too.”
There it is. The wound beneath the armour. Still raw and bleeding after all these years.
I take a breath and look into his eyes, letting him see I’m not the same scared young girl who used to watch the stars with him. “I would never hurt Ronan. I would rather die.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Darian thinks I vanished on him all those years ago without a word. What he doesn’t know—what I can never tell him—is that the night I didn’t show up, I was too busy watching my mother bleed out in my arms after the vampire soldiers ransacked our home.
The very home I live in now.
I couldn’t save her.
And I couldn’t go back.
So, if he wants to believe that I am the villain in his story, then so be it.
“If you’re done throwing accusations, you can get the hell out before I throw you out.” I square my shoulders, daring him to test me.
His eyes flicker—just for a second—with something softer. Something that looks a lot like pain. It was different to how they looked when the darkness inside him was trying to take over.
But it’s gone as quickly as it came.
He steps back, jaw tight. “You’ve changed.” He mutters.
“So have you,” I say. “And not for the better.”
In a blink, his hand is in my hair, yanking my head back with enough force to make my eyes sting and my scalp burn.
My magic lashes under my skin, clawing to be let loose on him—but I shove it down.
“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” he growls low, pulling me closer. “You’re going to get dressed. You’re going to come with me. Quietly. If you fight me or piss me off, I’ll kill you where you stand. Don’t think the queen cares how she gets you. Alive or not.”
His words are knives. But I’ve survived worse.
And he’s a dick.
I glare at him. “Funny. For someone who used to know me so well, you really don’t know me at all anymore.”
