The sheer strength of his body beneath mine made me stupidly aware of how different we were but how perfectly we fit together.

Another flush of energy pulsed—alive and volatile—a current running through him and directly into me.

His fingers flexed around my waist.

He glowered at my mouth again.

Heat radiated off him in waves, and everything became too hot, too intense, too much.

Almost as if he felt it too, he pushed me up with impressive strength. “Get off me.”

I blinked, trying to get my body back under control.

He hissed as I fumbled over him, my leg going between his. My hip pressed against something unmistakably male.

He groaned as his eyes snapped closed. But then they opened again and he snarled, “It’s just another fucking trick.” He shoved me upright. He went to toss me aside, but another bone-breaking shudder wracked him.

His arms gave out.

I slammed over him again.

My breasts pressed against that awful silver thing inlaid in his chest. My raindrop pendant clinked against it—

He convulsed.

With a guttural roar, his arms snapped tight around me.

He jerked me close, explosive and vicious.

Rolling me onto my back, he went with me, plastering me beneath him as his burning bulk settled between my legs. With a moan, he buried his face against my neck.

I gasped as he panted and shuddered over me.

His weight. His embrace. He anchored me down and trapped me in every way possible.

I’d thought I was fragile lying on top of him.

But it was nothing to being beneath him.

I felt both breakable and formidable. Chosen and condemned.

His heart thundered as his hot, burning body fed me the fire in his blood, showing me just how much pain he was in.

His scent surrounded me—bitter and medicinal.

My hands somehow found their way onto his naked back. He arched beneath my touch, gathering me tighter against him as if he wanted to merge us into one. His muscles spasmed along his sweaty spine as he shuddered with another rack of pain.

Whisper whimpered from the floor, watching everything.

I’d never been so scared or so sad.

His despair seeped into me, searing and endless. He burrowed into me as if trying to escape. The more his pain bled into me, the more I wanted to steal it from him. To take it all. To save him.

My arms wrapped around his waist of their own accord. “It’s okay,” I breathed, voice trembling. “You’re okay.”

He clutched me harder, brutal in his need. Our pulses tangled. Our breaths collided. My body betrayed me with heat and want and an ache that had nothing to do with mercy.

Pity turned to yearning. Fear to fire.

He clung to me with cruelty and desperation—like someone who feared they’d cease to exist the moment he let go.

And I let him.

For the longest time, we didn’t move—two strangers merged in the most intimate of embraces. Our bodies kissing in every place. Our breath syncing until he calmed. Rights and wrongs, boundaries and laws—they all vanished thanks to whatever this was.

Piercing clarity cut through my headache as his arms slowly loosened.

I had absolutely no idea how it’d happened but...for the first time since my parents had died, my atrophied heart cracked.

The tiniest fracture in my pain.

The smallest opening to care again.

I couldn’t stop it.

Couldn’t stop him.

And I knew without a doubt, I would never be the same again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

HE PUSHED OFF ME SLOWLY, SHAKILY, almost as if he was about to collapse.

I went to help him—general human kindness flaring to life instead of the terrifying new feelings he’d caused, but he removed my hand from his bare chest and swayed off the bed.

Whisper almost knocked him down again as the panther nuzzled Lucien’s hip, twining around him. His stiff tail almost reached Lucien’s messy, sweaty hair.

“Enough, you stupid beast.” Staggering to the side, Lucien wedged a hand over the silver circle on his chest and moved slowly toward the huge wardrobe. The hulking piece of furniture looked like it would eat him alive with its clawed feet and carved wooden doors.

Whisper trailed after him, head down and body tense as if ready to catch his master if he fell.

I didn’t say a word as Lucien opened the wardrobe, leaned against it for a moment, then reached inside for a floor-length black dressing gown.

His jaw tensed as if it took far more strength than he had to slip the robe over his shoulders, shove his arms into it, and tie the sash around his waist. The luxurious black robe transformed him from a modern-day man into some ancient exotic prince.

Scooting to the edge of his bed, I plucked away my wine-wet shirt and stood.

Raking both hands through his long hair, Lucien turned to face me.

Warily, wearily, his eyes met mine.

The world shrank to just him and me and this room and whatever had just happened between us.

“Are you...okay?” I asked quietly.

“Leave,” he murmured, his voice raspy and tattered.

Moving toward him, questions exploded out of me. “What’s that thing embedded in your chest? What are those cuffs around your wrists? Why do you smell like really potent medicine yet seem to be on death’s doorstep? What—?”

“Once again, your noise is offensive.” His fingers clenched into fists. Straightening to his full impressive height, he stalked toward me, the panther at his side.

I backed up a step.

I couldn’t help it.

The way he moved, the predator guarding him, he couldn’t be real.

None of this could be real because I couldn’t understand any of it.

Couldn’t understand how he could affect me so desperately.

He seemed invincible yet tragically vulnerable. He had the skills to kill those trying to kill him, yet he’d almost died in my arms five minutes ago.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, my temper bleeding through common sense. “Tell me—”

“Leave,” he snarled.

“But you’re hurt—”

“GO. AWAY!” He surged toward me, fury in his eyes, teeth bared.

Whisper snarled—at him or me, I couldn’t tell.

My stress levels shot to blackout levels.

My heart palpitated.

My eyesight blinded with white spots.

And I had two choices.

Pass out at his feet.

Or run.

I fled.

* * * * *

“Oh my God, you’re still not dead?”

I almost fell flat on my face as I charged out of the palace and into the night. Evelyn was the only one still waiting for an audience with Lucien that would probably never come.

Balling my hands and trying to hide my trembles, I marched past her.

Her eyes dropped from mine, landing on the plastered wetness of my shirt. “Wait...did you sleep with him? Why can I see your boobs? Why are you wet?”

My cheeks caught fire as I looked down. The sheer fabric barely covered anything, revealing just how cold I was and allowing a good estimate of what bra size I would need if I ever chose to wear one.

Snatching at the linen shirt and cami beneath, I yanked the wine-sodden fabric away. “It was an accident, that’s all.”

My head pounded, pounded.

I needed to lie down. As soon as possible.

“An accident?” She came toward me, anger flaring in her dark stare. “An accident that involved pouring water on yourself? What were you trying to do? Win a wet t-shirt contest?”

“I’m leaving,” I muttered, dashing past her to the stone steps.

Nausea hunted my every move.

I couldn’t stop replaying Lucien yelling at me.

His anger wasn’t new. It shouldn’t affect me whatsoever.

Yet after what’d happened between us...

“Wait.” Whirling to face me, her temper cracked just a little. Her performance of being a badass assassin faltered as she glanced at the hulking mansion. “Is he...what’s it like in there?”