Page 68 of Immortal Bastard

Her emotions were stronger than usual yet harder to read than ever before. She despised him for doing this to her, yet she recognized a strange connection to him, potent and overwhelming. Her instincts goaded her to trust him, but her mind could not accept what he’d done.

And her heart? The ache was still too tender to evaluate. When she considered all he stole and everything she’d lose because of his selfish actions, the heartbreak consumed her. But just as that overwhelming moment of despair set in, so did unfamiliar relief. Her debt would not follow her here. This could be a fresh start. A do over. Or was it? Was this how anyone would ask to start over? Confusing hope remained tucked away, hidden beneath all the resentment and anger.

She could not possibly harbor gratitude for him, could she? He did this to her, yet some part of her believed she was safe with him, safer than she’d ever been on her own. It made no sense. She preferred to hate him.

Visions of his beautiful face played in her mind, aggravating and thrilling her. Her belly tightened and her eyes narrowed, irritated by her memories of the possessive way he rocked into her earlier that day.

He intended to prove his virility. He had, and now she was deeply torn between attraction and revulsion. Pride forbade her to go easily into the night. She couldn’t come this far only to surrender to a man who abducted her and held her against her will.

Yet something baited her to trust him and let him lead. It was an unfamiliar and inexplicable instinct. A complication.

Her mind was changing and that frightened her more than the undeniable evolution taking place throughout her body. Her body was just the packaging. If she lost her mind, she lost all of herself.

Was she losing her mind? What if none of this was real and she was tied up in a padded room and straightjacket somewhere?

Her brain tested every theory from Christian’s explanations of legends and fables to the possibility of alternate dimensions. But there was no way of telling which version of the truth was her actual reality.

The sheer volume of new information she needed to process paralyzed her. Incidentally, the overwhelming carnal memories of his body buried inside of hers invigorated her with energy. The itch to have him again burned like a fiery rage, one that grew hotter and hotter with each passing hour.

She craved him like a drug, and like an addict, the effects of not having him started to take a toll. Her skin tingled and her insides pulsed. She paced and worried her lower lip until it bled.

Where was he? She couldn’t sense him in her mind. He’d purposely hidden himself from her, and she suffered his absence in ways she shouldn’t.

Worrying her hands, she considered that this might be a fight or flight response to the situation. Not knowing where he was or what he was doing filled her with unease. It wasn’t personal. She merely wanted to keep an eye on the enemy at all times. He was the enemy. Right?

Or was she actually worried about him? What if something happened to him? What if he abandoned her and she had to figure this stuff out on her own? She’d never make it without his guidance.

Deep instinct promised the moment he returned to her he would bring a sense of calm that could ground her more than any thought or circumstance. Why? How? He was evil. He shouldn’t have that kind of power over her psyche.

It wasn’t just her psyche. He influenced her entire being. And her body knew it, so her mind wouldn’t relent until he soothed this awful tension riding her nerves raw.

She drew in a breath, prepared to call for him, then caught herself. What the hell was she doing? She should be planning her escape. Fuck planning. She should just go.

Glancing at the windows and doors, she questioned which route would be the wisest, only her body felt no compulsion to leave the longer she evaluated her options. There were several escapes, yet …

Was she actually considering staying here? She could run, find a main road, hitchhike her way into a stranger’s car and then—visions of ripping open said stranger’s throat flashed through her head and she bit her knuckle.

Dear God, he turned her into a killing machine.

Who knew if she had any self-control? She wouldn’t know until she found out. But she didn’t want to find out what human jugular tasted like in the process. Her stomach swilled, and she went back to thinking about Christian—a thought less likely to make her vomit.

Once again, she experienced an inexplicable calm at the mere thought of him. Her heart rate dropped and her panic subsided, the chaotic tempo of her blood replaced with a different sort of adrenaline rush.

He was too much man. Too powerful. Too steadfast and determined. Too fixated on having her. Too relentless in his refusal to negotiate what he did not wish to concede. And yet, she remained attracted to him.

How had he worn her down so quickly? He’d cornered her, disarmed her, outmaneuvered her, and dropped her into an alternate world of sheer confusion. She was outmatched and worn out after just a few days. By the end of the week, he’d probably have the obedient little woman he was hoping for.

The man could make stone malleable. Somehow, he was changing her without fully breaking her. Perhaps that was how he obtained his power. Shatter the victims right from the start so the slightest show of kindness felt like the greatest relief.

Hating that any enemy could have that sort of control over her, her hostile intolerance for the fucker grew. She shoved back any sense of compassion, reminding herself that he ripped her from the world she’d known like a weed plucked from the soil.

Her possessions and friends were nothing to him. Didn’t he realize they were everything to her? A cold worry chased through her like a chill. Did her friends even realize she was missing? The guys had sort of ghosted her since she downsized at the shop. Were they truly friends, or merely acquaintances conditionally linked to her life through a job?

As the truth sank in, loneliness consumed her. She had nothing. No one but…Christian.

He wanted her, but she continued to resist. Why?

Then it hit her. He didn’t want her, per se, he wanted her to fill a role. Well, tough.

---