Page 533 of Fated to be Enemies

Her face screws up in concentration, sweat popping up on her brow as the battle wages inside my beautiful wife’s body. The knife rises again, slowly heading for her slender, perfect neck.

Wasting no time, I snatch the belt from the loops, roughly ripping the knife from her clenched fingers, and binding her wrists with the leather. I shove her face in the duvet as she struggles against the bonds.

I don’t bother to dress—I just yell for Evan.

She pops in a moment later, fully phased and snarling. Well, until she sees me buck-ass naked.

“Are you kidding me with this?” she shrieks, covering her eyes. “I’m blind! West is going to kick your ass.”

None of this is funny, and despite Evan’s dramatics, there are worse problems than her seeing me naked.

“It’s Iva, Evan. She’s stowed away in Aurelia’s brain. You mind taking over here so I can put some fucking pants on?”

“You got it,” she shudders, mumbling under her breath that it’s like seeing her brother naked as she takes Iva’s bonds in her hands.

I throw on my jeans and rip the sheet off the bed to cover my woman.

“Now what?” Evan asks, struggling to hold onto Aurelia’s restraints.

I have no fucking clue.

AURELIA

Realizing I'm chained to the bed is not on my list of top-five favorite ways to wake up. I’m a little fuzzy on the details, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t sign on for this particular kink.

At least I have clothes on. What the hell happened last night?

I tug on the chain, the links rattling against the wood of the bed frame and rousing Rhys from a fitful sleep. Relegated to the bedside chair, he’s barefoot and scruffy, wearing rumpled jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt.

“Umm.” I chuckle nervously. “I think I was supposed to pick a safe word before the bonds came into play. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Sure,” he replies, his voice rough with sleep, “if you can answer one question. What’s your favorite weapon?”

“That depends,” I say with a half-shrug, the links clanging against the frame with the movement.

“On?” he asks warily, sitting forward in the chair.

“The situation. If I’m going silent, then my hatchets. If I don’t care about noise, a Glock 19. If I want to look pretty, a wakizashi because I’m too short for katanas. If I need silence and distance, I prefer throwing knives.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank the Fates. You’re you.”

He rips a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands while he studies my face. The hair-ripping thing is a common tick for him when he’s stressed.

“Who the fuck else would I be?” I ask, affronted. But the truth of it slaps me in the face.

I’ve been losing time. A few seconds at first, and then more. I thought I’d just been spacing out, but…

“Iva must have done something to you, Gorgeous,” he murmurs, dropping that particular bomb in my lap. “She took over for a little while.”

“What do you mean she took over?” I ask, trying unsuccessfully to sit up, my whole body turning to ice. “What did she do?”

The chains aren’t too tight, but they aren’t loose, either. I’m stuck flat on my back, and the longer he hesitates to tell me what happened, the more I figure just how bad it could have been.

“She attempted to slit your throat,” he mutters, his voice gruff and choked. “While I watched.”

It’s so much worse than I thought.

“You’ve woken a few times,” he rasps, “but she…but she comes through pretty quick.”

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