Page 39 of The Serpent's Bride
It took all of three seconds. Then she moved.
Not willingly, not completely, but scared into obeying. Each step was measured, controlled, like she was forcing herself into it, stopping just out of reach with her chin lifted in that stubborn defiance she clung to like it was the only thing she had left.
“You killed him,” she said, her voice steadier than her body. “For nothing.”
“He touched you,” I spat out. “Tried to force you.”
“That doesn’t make it okay!” she yelped.
“I wasn’t aiming for okay.” I smirked. “I was aiming for dead.”
The silence that followed pressed in from all sides, thick enough that even the faint hum of the city beyond the glass felt distant. Chiara’s gaze dropped briefly, catching on my hands, on the faint, drying trace of blood along my knuckles, before snapping back up again as if she regretted noticing.
“You’re going to punish me, aren’t you?” she asked, a tinge of fear creeping into her voice.
“I’m thinking about it.”
Her jaw tightened. “For what? Running? Or proving you can’t control everything?”
I closed the distance between us slowly this time, giving her enough warning that she could step back if she chose to. She didn’t.
“Turn around,” I said.
“No,” she said, but the word was weak. More of a question than a statement.
I reached for her anyway, my hand closing around her wrist, firm and unyielding as I turned her myself. Her body tensed beneath my grip, every muscle tightening as I stepped in behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of me through the thin fabric of her dress.
“Let go of me, please,” I managed.
“Not yet,” he smiled. “Although I do like it when you say please. You should beg me more often.”
Chiara’s breath sharpened, uneven now, the rhythm of it giving her away even as she tried to hold still.
“You ran,” I said quietly, my voice close enough to her ear that I felt the slight hitch in her breathing. “You knew what would happen if you got caught.”
“I didn’t get away, did I?” she bit out.
“Of course you didn’t. You never will.”
The words settled between us as I turned her back toward me, faster this time, guiding her until her back met the wall with a soft, controlled impact. Her eyes widened, more from the sudden shift than fear, but the fear was there too, threaded through everything else.
“I refuse to marry you,” she said, though it lacked the same certainty it had before. “Refuse all this.”
I stepped closer, crowding her space until she had no choice but to tilt her head back to keep eye contact, my hand lifting to her jaw, guiding her face exactly where I wanted it.
“You keep saying that,” I said, quieter now. “And your body keeps betraying you.”
As if on cue, her body arched to bring her closer to me. She let out a gasp, then flushed, embarrassed by her own reaction to my proximity.
“You can’t blame me for running,” she managed. “I had a chance.”
“You had an illusion of a chance,” I said. “I was watching you the whole time. Your chance was there because it was a test. And you failed that test.”
Her breath stuttered at that, the words landing exactly where I intended it to. My thumb shifted slightly against her jaw, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold her there, to keep her attention from slipping away.
“You don’t get to decide when you touch me,” she said, softer now, but no less stubborn.
“No?” I smirked. “Seems like you’re deciding that on your own. Your body wants me. Your mind can lie to you, but your body can’t.”
