Page 48 of Claimed Through Deception

I pause, my hand resting on the metal frame. I look over my shoulder.

He finally meets my gaze. "If you walk out that door," he rasps, his voice breaking on the final word, "you take my heart with you."

The world stops. He is a man handing me the knife and bearing his chest. He is giving me the power to completely destroy him.

I look at the dark driveway. I look at the empty city beyond the gates.

It means nothing. It is cold, and it is empty.

The strap of the canvas bag slips from my shoulder.

It hits the kitchen floor with a soft thud.

I turn away from the open door. I step back inside, the warmth of the kitchen wrapping around me. I walk toward him, the distance closing until my chest brushes against his dark shirt.

Niccolò exhales a ragged, desperate breath. He reaches out, wrapping his arms around my waist, and buries his face in the crook of my neck.

He holds me like I am the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And as my arms wrap around his broad shoulders, holding him back, I finally accept the truth.

I don't want to run anymore.

16

Niccolò

I crush her to me.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, the damp earth from the open door, the faint trace of vanilla. My hands lock around her waist, holding her so tight my stitched ribs throb with a sharp, blinding ache. I don't care about the pain. I welcome it. It proves I am awake. It proves she is actually here, standing in my arms, choosing the cage over the open sky.

The comparison she made days ago shattered my ego. It made me question the violent foundation of my own existence. But holding her now, feeling the surrender in her exhausted sigh, something shifts inside my chest.

She is submitting to me.

"I have you," I murmur against her collarbone.

I pull back just enough to look at her face. Her dark eyes are wet, her eyelashes clumped together. I reach down, wrap my arm behind her knees, and lift her off the floor.

She gasps, her hands automatically clutching my shoulders to steady herself. She doesn't fight the hold. She rests her head against my chest, tucking her face beneath my jaw as I carry her out of the kitchen.

I bypass the servant stairs. I carry her up the grand mahogany staircase, and into my private quarters. I don't take her to the cold, small room down the hall. I walk straight into my bedroom and lay her down on the center of my mattress.

The dark silk sheets contrast sharply with her pale skin and the soft, faded cotton of her clothes. She watches me as I walk back to the heavy oak double doors and turn the brass lock.

I walk back to the bed. I shrug off my shirt, dropping it to the floor. The bandage wrapped around my ribs is stained with a faint ring of red, but the bleeding has stopped.

I climb onto the mattress beside her.

I don't reach for the hem of her shirt. I don't push her legs apart. The feral, consuming lust that usually drives me is eclipsed by a need to simply possess her space. To know she is breathing my air.

I lie on my back, pulling her flush against my side.

Livia goes willingly. She rests her cheek on my bare chest, her hand flattening over the erratic beat of my heart. Her fingers curl lightly against my skin, avoiding the thick white bandage.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling the heavy duvet over us.

The room is pitch black, silent except for the sound of our breathing.

I stare up at the ceiling. My hand moves down her spine to stroke her. I feel the knots of strain in her back slowly unraveling.