Page 150 of Aftershock

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The man who’s always protected me. The man who’s made it his mission to show me how much he cares.

His love is an everlasting thing. It’s honest. It’s real.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. Not a damn thing.

If he’d just let me talk.

I lift my hands, covering Alaric’s wrist and forearm to peel his hand off my mouth.

“I…” Instead of letting go, he pushes his hand tighter on my face. His fingers bruise my cheeks. “It’s too soon, goddammit.”

It’s the right time,I scream into his palm.

All that comes out is, “Mmm-mmm—mmm.”

“Fuck, Lilith, I’m so sorry.”

Something pointy nudges at my neck.

A needle.

Oh, fuck.

Oh,fuck.

He actually believes I’m going to turn him over to the authorities.

That I hate him.

The worst thing is, I can’t explain myself. His hand—the one that has stroked, spanked, and healed me—now silences my words. My cries. My pleas.

And I can’t forget about the needle.

It’ll only take one push, and the sedative, I assume, will empty into my bloodstream.

Then I won’t be able to say a word.

Alaric will be stuck thinking I’ve betrayed him.

Am I going to be strapped to his chair?

Is he going to document each torture he inflicts without hearing me out first?

No, I refuse to believe that.

Then why is he silencing you? Why is he about to inject you with whatever the hell this is?

Oh, God.

Fear barrels through me, drowning me in panic.

I’m hot, cold, hot, then cold again. My pulse rages, my nostrils flare in a desperate attempt to get air in. I fail. I cough. Flail my hands.

When my tears soak Alaric’s hand, he lets out an anguished huff.

Yet he still doesn’t release my mouth.

This isn’t good.

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