Page 45 of Happily Ever Bitten (Underworld Royals 2)

“I miss you,” I told him, my voice a rasp of sound and a startling reminder of my true location in the cells deep inside his dungeon. “You left me here to die.”

“I didn’t know,” he said, his expression darkening. “I told Byron to put you in holding, not in a damn cell.”

I lifted my hand to his face, my fingers tracing his cheekbone. “I can feel your warmth,” I marveled, enthralled by his presence. “I’ve missed our dreams.”

“You’re awake, Zaya.”

I smiled. “Okay.” I didn’t believe him, of course. How could I possibly be awake and clean?

“I gave you my blood.”

Mmm, his blood. Yes. It heated me even now, keeping me alive instead of allowing me to wither and die.

What if this is my last dream of him? I wondered. What if I never see him again after this?

“Zay,” he whispered. “Don’t do that. Please. You’re killing me.”

A little laugh threatened to bubble out of me. I was the one dying here, not him.

“Zay,” he repeated, more sternly now. “Stop this.”

But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted more instead. I wanted to feel one last time. To live. I leaned into him, my hand skimming up his side. So strong. Hot. Hard. I explored him the way I wanted to, without a care as to whether or not he agreed. Because this was my dream, not his. My will, not his. My fantasy, not his.

“Zay…” His tone had deepened to a bedroom-appropriate level, exciting me inside.

“Grigory,” I replied, ignoring the hoarse quality of my voice. “Kiss me.”

“This isn’t a dream.”

I hated that phrase. It was meant as a trick, a way to subdue my mind, and I no longer wanted to play. I n

eeded control. I needed him.

“Kiss me,” I repeated, pressing my lips to his in a gentle brush meant to entice more from him. “Kiss me, Grigory.”

“Fuck, Zay,” he breathed.

“Yes.” I arched into him. “Make me feel.”

His palm against the back of my neck squeezed, his body tensing against mine, causing the air to still in my lungs.

If he rejected me now, I’d break. I could feel it in my very soul. This was my fantasy. He couldn’t refuse me unless my mind had truly broken.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Grigory.”

“This isn’t a dream, Zay.”

I wanted to scream. To cry. To demand his submission.

This was a dream. My dream. And he kept fighting me in some wicked form of torment. Was this supposed to represent my final moments? Had I been trapped in that cell so long that I’d well and truly lost control of my mind?

I refused to believe that.

I was a fighter. A warrior. I’d survived so much. I had to survive this, too.

My fingers drifted up his neck to his hair, locking in his thick, dark strands and forcing his mouth to meet mine.

He didn’t kiss me back, but I didn’t care.

---