Page 38 of Reaper's Desire

"Then how am I supposed to believe you?"

"You're not." I take a step back, giving her space. "You're supposed to make a choice. Trust me and let me protect you, or walk out that door and take your chances alone."

"That's not a choice. That's an ultimatum."

"It's the only option I can give you."

She's quiet again, her eyes never leaving mine. I can see her weighing the options, trying to decide if I'm telling the truth or if I'm the real threat she should be running from. She has no experience with this, nothing but her gut to go off of. And I realize with a sinking feeling that I can't blame her for doubting me. I've given her every reason to be terrified, and almost no reason to trust me.

But I need her to trust me. I need her to stay here where I can keep her safe. If she leaves, she's dead. And I can't let that happen.

"Please," I say, and the word feels foreign on my tongue. I don't beg. I don't plead. But for her, I'll do both. "Please, Isabelle. Trust me. Just for tonight. And if you still want to leave in the morning, I won't stop you." I can hear the rawness in my voice, and I think she hears it, too.

She stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Then, slowly, she nods. "Okay," she whispers. "I'll stay. For tonight."

The relief that floods through me is almost painful in its intensity. "Thank you."

She doesn't respond. She just picks up her suitcase and looks around the small villa. "Where do I sleep?"

"The bedroom. I'll take the couch."

She nods again, then walks toward the bedroom door. She pauses in the doorway, her hand on the frame, and looks back at me. "Julian?"

I fight not to follow her into the bedroom. That part of our relationship—such as it ever was—is over now. I'll never touch her again. The thought is painful, but not as painful as the idea of her dying. "Yeah?"

"If you're lying to me—if this is some kind of trap—I'll find a way to make you regret it."

The threat should be laughable coming from someone so much smaller, so much more vulnerable than me. But the look in her eyes tells me she means it.

"I'm not lying," I say quietly. That, in and of itself, is a lie. I'm lying to her about so many things. But I'm not trying to trap her. That much is true.

She holds my gaze for another moment, then disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I stand in the middle of the living area, listening to the sound of her moving around and getting ready for bed.

I have days to figure out how to keep Isabelle alive without getting us both killed. I stand there, aching to follow her into the room and bury myself inside of her, and I realize I'm fuckinghard. My cock throbs, and I clench my hands into fists, gritting my teeth as I sink down onto the couch and lie back, ignoring my aching dick.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

But I already know the answer. I've gotten myself into something I can't walk away from. Something that's going to end in blood and violence and probably my own death.

And I don't care. Because she's worth it. The thought springs into my head, and even though it makes no fucking sense, it feels true. Isabelle Montague—spoiled heiress, beautiful stranger, the woman I was supposed to kill—is worth dying for. Not because I can have her, because I can't, but because it feelsright. It feels like… balance, somehow. Like I'm supposed to save this woman.

I open my eyes and stare at the closed bedroom door, listening to the sound of her breathing on the other side, and I make a silent vow.

I will keep her alive. No matter what it takes. No matter who I have to kill or what lines I have to cross. She will survive this.

Even if I don't.

11

ISABELLE

Idon't sleep.

How could I? I'm lying in a strange bed in a rental villa on the outskirts of Santorini, with a man who just nearly killed someone in front of me, who dragged me through the streets like I was nothing, who told me people want me dead, and then refused to explain why or how he knows or what the fuck any of this means.

Every instinct I have is screaming at me to run. To get out of this villa, get to the airport, get on the first flight back to New York where I can lock myself in my father's mansion and pretend none of this ever happened.

But I don't move. As terrifying as Julian is, as insane as this entire situation feels, there's a part of me that believes him. That trusts him, despite everything.