Page 74 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

I’m dangling before him an object every monster covets: ownership. Does he want it?

His expression reveals nothing.

Robert would laugh at such an ultimatum. Then he’d drag me from the bath and show me just how many ways he fuckingownedme.

Mischa? He meets my gaze and I shiver despite the steaming water basting my limbs. Four days have changed him almost as dramatically as they’ve affected me. Something cut his cheek, leaving three slender red lines slashed into the flesh. My fingers burn as if in guilt. Did I do that to him?

Darker stubble coats his jaw, contrasting with the sun-kissed gold of his hair. Dark shadows taint the skin beneath his eyes. From exhaustion? No… From brooding, smoldering rage. My punishment lurks behind those dangerous eyes. Soon, I’ll feel it. Our dynamic of master and captive will be restored.

But for now?

He doesn’t drag me from the tub. He doesn’t say a damn word to me at all. He turns on his heel. He leaves, and he lets me have the one thing even my mother never gave me.

He lets me have one single round all to myself.

He lets me win.

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