That kiss when I was sixteen had lasted a far sight longer than this one, yet this one?

It kept stinging and stinging and stinging.

The faint flavour of his taste—honey water that he liked to sip, and the lingering scent of peppermint tea almost made me drunk.

Rook, stop being so ridiculous!

Sitting upright, he planted one hand on the carpet and scooted against the couch. Resting his head against the back of it, his fingers clutched the silver disc trapping his heart.

He looked so wretched, so drained and agonised, I crawled toward him and pressed the back of my hand to his slick forehead.

His eyes closed as he groaned, but he didn’t stop me from touching him.

His temperature would blow apart a thermometer.

“Why is it hurting you so much?” I asked softly.

His lips pulled back in a snarl. “Apparently, they thought I wasn’t behaving.”

“Behaving? But don’t they want you to be with someone...for obvious reasons?”

He gasped as his fingers turned white, twisting the shirt over his chest. “If my—” Another grunt escaped him. “If my pulse climbs...they remind me to...stay calm.”

“By hurting you?” Anger filled me on his behalf. “Why would they hurt you when they need you?”

He laughed morbidly. “Hilarious, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the word I’d use.”

He exhaled heavily as he braced against another wave. “They do it because...they’d rather keep me sick and powerless than...let me kill myself.”

I stiffened.

My hand fell away from his forehead as my fingers curled into fists. “I really, really hate those men.”

His eyes cracked open. They found mine, and whatever he saw on my face made him frown. “You’re angry at them?”

“Furious,” I spat. “Livid.”

“Because they stole your life and threw you in here—?”

“Because they’ve kept you trapped and at their mercy and it’s not fair.”

His breathing evened out as he shifted higher against the back of the couch. His hand slid from his chest into his lap while his other raked through his sweat-damp hair.

“You’re...” His voice trailed off before he muttered, “Confusing.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Nope.” He gave a short, humourless laugh and rested his head against the couch. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like that I’m confusing?”

His fingers flexed over his thighs, restless with pain. “I never mean to tell you the truth, yet somehow I always do.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you, yet you know more about me than any of the others. And only because I’ve stupidly told you.”

“Maybe that means you do trust me.”

“Impossible.”

“What did we just talk about?” I cracked a smile. “Never say never.” Bravery made me stupid. “Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in romance? Now look what just happened. We kissed.”

He made a low, dangerous sound in his throat. “I’d stop if I were you.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that—”

“Whatever happened was an accident.”

“Just like the other night was an accident?”

The air went thin as glass, as fragile as the paper lanterns on the walls.

His angry mask slipped, revealing that I hadn’t been the only one affected by those ‘accidents’.

My heart swelled as another smile hooked the corner of my mouth. “Forget it. You hate everything and everyone.”

His temper flared and his mask snapped back into furious place.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back to his feet. “Get up.”

I obeyed. My hands splayed to catch him again, just in case.

Shaking his head as if getting rid of the dregs of whatever pain they’d injected into him, he fumbled around his waistband. His eyes tightened as if he’d lost something, before glancing at the floor and finding the dagger he’d dropped.

Bending to grab it, he held it up and ordered, “Hold out your hand.”

I shivered. “Why?”

He arched an eyebrow that gave no room for arguments.

“Fine.” I huffed, holding out my right hand.

Without warning, he snatched me, spread my fingers, and inserted the dagger’s hilt against my palm. “Grip it.” Not letting me go, he closed his hand over mine, heavy and possessive and very, very hot.

The world narrowed to the capture of his large hand, the smoothness of wood, and the rhythm of our fast breathing.

“What are you doing?” I swallowed hard, trying to tug my fingers from his.

“Teaching you.”

“Teaching me what exactly?”

His fingers slid tighter over mine, aligning our grip until I fisted the dagger firmly.

An electrical thrill sparked. A quicksilver jolt from where he touched me, crackling along my arm and setting up an aching home behind my ribs.

He sucked in a breath as awareness thickened. The noise of the world turned down, everything went quiet apart from the thundering of my heart.

He moved closer.

Whisper lounged like a living shadow watching everything.

Lucien’s hand tightened even more, grinding my palm against the wooden hilt, while his other hand found my wrist, turning my arm so the dagger flashed in the golden lamplight.

Tugging me forward, he guided with pressure and proximity, not caring I struggled as he pressed the tip of the dagger against his own throat.

My eyes went wide. I tried to yank the weapon away from his skin. “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t look away from me, his hold fierce and unfightable. “If you’re going to kill with a knife, this is the best spot.” Dragging the blade across his neck, hard enough to leave a line but not hard enough to cut, he murmured, “No bones to get in the way. No fatty flesh to absorb the blow. Cut deep enough, and the gush of blood will do the rest for you.”

My mind filled with gruesome images—of his blood pouring like a wave down his chest, of his panther licking it up, of me covered in bright crimson—

“Stop it. Let me go.”

He sucked in a breath, and with both hands, manipulated me until the dagger drew a dangerous line down his front. His gaze never left mine as he angled the tip of the dagger right above his heart.

The room shrank until it was just the two of us. I couldn’t look away from him, stop him. Everything about this was absurd. The ridiculous intimacy of being taught to kill by a man I helped bleed every week. The rawness of our connection even while both of us denied it.

“Stabbing someone in the heart is another appropriate place, but me? The vitalsync core will get in the way.” Digging his thumb into the delicate bones of my wrist, he forced my hand back up.

I couldn’t breathe as he pressed the knife directly over his larynx. “It’s up to you if you want to slash or stab...either will work.”

I felt sick and sweaty and shivery. My headache came back in full force. “Why are you teaching me this? I have absolutely zero intention of hurting you.”

He stared at me for the longest heartbeat, the chandelier painting the planes of his face with dancing shadows. His fingers tightened, delivering pain even as he trembled, but then he released me and stepped back.

I dropped the knife.

My pulse drummed in my throat.

Stalking toward a side table with carved blossom flowers weaving around its legs, he wrenched open a drawer and pulled out another knife. Coming back toward me, he held it out. “I added this to my collection the other night. Take it.”

I backed up. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll kill you.”

“How does that even make sense?”

“Take it.”

I locked my knees and glowered at him. The air between us turned electric once again, echoing in my teeth and fingertips, prickling down the back of my neck. “Are you teaching me how to kill to protect myself from the girls out there?”

Was this his version of a confession that he did like me?

“I’m teaching you this because it will be useful in the future.”