A new wave of panic washed over me. This wasn’t who I was. This wasn’t who I wanted to be. For the first time in my life, I hated my father. He’d brought this upon us, had forced us into a life neither of us had chosen. God, what was happening to Talia? Was she all right? She was too young for this. What if she was given to another mobster? She was only fifteen. I should have been there for her, should have protected her; instead I wasn’t even sure if I could protect myself.
Growl’s steps stopped right in front of the room. I quickly shook off my high heels, then held my breath to hear better and lifted the knife. I’d have to aim for his throat. Even I knew that was the most vulnerable spot on a human’s body. But he had survived an injury like that once before. How could I hope to succeed in killing him when others had obviously failed?
He was much taller than me, so I’d have to drive the knife upwards. Would I be able to put enough force behind the stab? The door started to open and then Growl’s tall form came into view. Adrenaline pumped in my veins as I lunged at him.
Growl brought his bare arm up to fend off my attack. The blade sliced along his inked forearm and blood welled up at once. But his face didn’t show pain. He made a grab for my arm but I dodged him, using my smaller form to evade him. I slammed the knife upwards again, almost blindly. With a low sound deep in his throat, Growl gripped my wrist. I cried out in pain from the force of it and dropped the knife.
Cold fear slammed through me as I watched my only weapon land on the floor with a resounding clang. My eyes shot back up.
Growl’s face was a mask of nothing, but I didn’t kid myself into thinking that he wasn’t furious. This man had killed people for lesser transgressions. I jerked back, but his fingers around my wrist were relentless. That didn’t stop me though. I only had this one chance. He could very well decide I wasn’t worth the trouble and kill me.
I kicked at him but missed due to his quick reflexes. He thrust me toward the bed like I weighed nothing. I had no chance of stopping my fall and landed on my stomach on top of the mattress. The air rushed out of my lungs, and for a moment I was certain I’d die from lack of oxygen, but then I sucked in a deep breath.
I tried to push myself up but Growl’s muscled body pressed up against my back, trapping me between him and the bed. Panic shot through me. I bucked my hips in an attempt to free myself. When that didn’t work, I lashed out with my arms, trying to hit Growl. With an impatient sound, he flipped me around so he straddled my hips and grasped both of my wrists in one palm. Now I had no choice but to look into his face, to look at every inch of his frightening body. He’d changed out of his blood-covered clothes and now wore a tight white shirt that was stained with his own blood from the wound in his arm.
His hands were rough and scarred; they looked almost alien-like against my pale skin. A horrible terrified sound pressed out between my lips. Growl’s strange, emotionless eyes found mine. His cheekbones and chin were sharp lines in his face. There was nothing soft about this man, least of all his heart.
His grip on my wrists didn’t loosen. He did nothing except stare. I knew I should look away. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do if you were faced with a dangerous dog? But I was not just trapped by Growl’s powerful body, but also by the terrifying look in his eyes. His breathing was calm, with no sign of our fight. For him this was nothing. One of his hands moved lower toward my stomach. My shirt had ridden up during our struggle and revealed the skin beneath. I tensed when Growl put his hand against my stomach. What was he doing? He stared intently at his hand resting against my paler skin. His fingertips and palm barely touched me. Slowly his gaze rose again to meet mine.
Growl was watching me like I was an unknown species, something he couldn’t possibly understand. And perhaps that was true.
I made another half-hearted attempt to free myself, but it was almost laughable. Perhaps if he’d been capable of that kind of emotion Growl might have actually laughed at me.
“Stop,” he ordered calmly.
And for some reason, I did stop.
GROWL
I did have a reputation, and I was fucking proud of it. My reputation was feared, respected, and that was a great deal more than anyone expected from someone like me. The worthless son of a whore. The bastard. The boy who never spoke.
I was meant for the gutter.
I’d never had something to myself, never even dared to dream about owning something so precious. I was the unwanted bastard son who’d always had to content myself with the leftovers of others. And now Falcone had given me what only a few weeks ago had been out of my reach, someone I wasn’t even allowed to admire from afar, one of society’s most prized possessions.
Thrown at my feet because I was who I was, because they were certain I would break her. I was her punishment, a fate worse than death, a way to deliver the ultimate punishment to her father who had displeased them so greatly.
And a warning. Nobody would dare to oppose Falcone if that meant their precious daughters might end up in the hands of a man like me.
Cara, a name fit for someone like her, someone too beautiful for a place like this, too beautiful for someone like me. A princess and a monster, that’s what we were.
Wide eyes. Parted lips. Flushed cheeks. Pale skin. She looked like a porcelain doll: big blue eyes, chocolate hair and creamy white skin; breakable beautiful, something that I wasn’t meant to touch with my scarred, brutal hands. My fingers found her wrist; her heartbeat was fluttering like a bird’s. She’d tried to fight, tried to be brave, tried to hurt me, maybe even kill me. Had she truly hoped she could succeed?
Hope—it made people foolish, made them believe in something beyond reality. I’d gotten out of the habit of hoping a long time ago. I knew what I was capable of. She had hoped she could kill me. I knew I could kill her, no doubt about it.
My hand traced the soft skin of her throat, then my fingers wrapped around it. Her pupils dilated but I put no pressure into my touch. Her pulse hammered against my rough palm. I was a hunter, and she was my prey. The end was inevitable. I’d come to claim my prize. That was why Falcone had given her to me.
I liked things that hurt. I liked hurting. Maybe even loved it, if I were capable of that kind of emotion. I leaned down until my nose was inches from the skin below her ear and breathed in. She smelled flowery sweet with a hint of sweat. Fear. I imagined I could smell that too. I couldn’t resist and I didn’t have to, not anymore, not ever again with her. Mine. She was mine.
I’d never liked sweet things, but perhaps she would change that.
I lowered my lips to her hot skin. Her pulse throbbed under my mouth where I kissed her throat. Panic and terror beat a frantic rhythm under her skin. And it made me fucking hard.
Her eyes sought out mine, hoping—still hoping, the foolish woman—and pleading me for mercy. She didn’t know me, didn’t know that the part of me that hadn’t been born a monster had died a long time ago. Mercy was the furthest thing from my mind as my eyes claimed her body.
I tore at her shirt, revealing inch after inch of immaculate skin. There wasn’t a single scar or blemish. She couldn’t possibly be mine. She was too perfect, simply too much.
I curled my fingers around her shoulder. Soft. Softer than any woman I’d touched. None of them had been like her, not even close, not even the same species if you asked me.