Page 81 of Reaper’s Wrath

I stare at her impatiently, still waiting.

“A knife,” she spills quickly. “A curved one, like⁠—”

“The one Elio uses,” I finish for her.

Her lips thin before she gives me a single nod.

“I need to see.”

She jumps into action. “I have a hand mirror in here.”

I follow her to the bathroom and use the non-magnified side of a makeup mirror, along with the vanity mirror, to see the back of my neck. And there it is. A curved knife with a circle thumb-hold cut out of the handle, all in black ink.

I wouldn’t have believed it if I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes.

How could I have a tattoo without knowing? Unless…

The hot chocolate.

I spin on my heels and charge out of the room, mirror still clutched in my hand. Elio is on the bridge when I find him. He’s got Michael and Drake with him, but I don’t care. Making a scene is the last thing on my mind.

“Tell me you didn’t drug me,” I demand, swathed in feminine rage.

Three blank faces stare back at me before Michael and Drake scurry from the room like roaches running from the light. Elio’s surprise shifts to resolve, his chin lifting in preparation for a fight.

If I wanted remorse, he’s making it clear that I won’t find any.

“Yes, I drugged you and had you tattooed.”

His audacity short-circuits my brain. My thoughts won’t form complete words, let alone sentences.

“Why?” I finally blurt.

“Because you’re mine.”

“And that means you can just do what you want with me?”

Gold flecks spark with ferocity in his narrowed eyes. “It means I’ll do whatever’s needed to keep you—whether that means kidnapping, tattooing, medicine when you’re sick, warmth when you’re cold, or murder when you’re in danger. I lost you once, and it won’t happen again. You. Are. Mine.”

My lips part as the air flees my lungs.

This really was all about me.

He wasn’t teasing or being evasive. He was telling the truth.

Kidnapping me had nothing to do with the alliance other than my role as bride. He couldn’t stand the thought of me belonging to another man. That’s why there’s no ransom. That’s why he kept me in his room.

He said as much, but I didn’t believe him.

It seemed too wild to comprehend. After all these years, he came back … for me.

“When you told Mazzi I was going to marry you instead, you weren’t saying that simply to upset him, were you?” I ask dazedly, my brain struggling to keep up.

“Why would I care about a dead man’s feelings?”

I’m stunned beyond words. I don’t even know how I feel about it all. This isn’t merely dreaming up a past between us or being attracted to me—his obsession transcends rationale.

Yet so does my reaction because instead of feeling horrified or confined, my most pressing concern is whether I can live up to such devotion.