Chapter 63
Sebastian
She looked startled, hands coming up to rest against my chest as if to push away, but she didn't, and I could feel the heat of her body against mine, could feel every breath she took. "This isn't any better," she said, but there was less conviction in her voice now.
"It's the best you're going to get," I said, tightening my grip and pulling her closer until there was no space between us, until I could feel her heart beating against my chest. One of my hands slid up her back, fingers tracing her spine through the thin fabric, while the other remained at her waist, keeping her anchored to me. "Now talk. Tell me why you went to the animals. Tell me why you keep running from me."
She looked away, gaze fixed on some point over my shoulder, but I could feel the tension in her body, the way she was hyperaware of every point of contact between us. "I didn't mean to disrespect your brother's memorial," she said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
The admission caught me off guard, and I felt something shift inside me. My hands gentled on her, one moving to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. "You were being chased," I said slowly, and she nodded, shoulders sagging slightly.
"I know," I said quietly, and I pulled her closer, until her forehead was almost resting against mine, until I could see every fleck of silver in her eyes. "I know you didn't do it on purpose. But that doesn't change what happened." My thumb stroked the nape of her neck in what could almost be mistaken for comfort. "It doesn't change the fact that you owe me."
Her eyes snapped back to mine, wariness returning, but she didn't pull away. "Who are you?" I asked, voice soft but insistent, my other hand sliding up to cup her face. "Are you Moonlit Fish? Are you Lirael? Tell me the truth."
She hesitated, and I could see the internal debate, the weighing of risks. "I don't know anyone called Moonlit Fish," she said finally, but I could feel the tremor in her voice, could feel the way her body tensed against mine.
"But Lirael is your name," I pressed, and she nodded reluctantly, and I rewarded her honesty by pulling her closer, by pressing my lips to her temple in a gesture that was almost tender. "It's the only name I have," she whispered. "I don't know my surname. I don't know where I came from."
I studied her face, and for a moment we just sat there, her in my lap, my arms around her, the anger between us temporarily suspended in favor of something more complicated, more dangerous.
"I can pay you back," she said suddenly, voice stronger. "For the compensation. I need time to gather the funds, but I can—"
"No," I said, cutting her off, and my grip on her tightened reflexively. My eyes flashed gold and I saw her pupils dilate in fear.
Before she could react, I stood with her still in my arms, carrying her to the wall and pressing her against it, my body pinning hers in place. She gasped, hands scrabbling at my chest, and I leaned in close, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her hip. "My possessions," I said, voice low and deadly, "even if they die, their ashes will be buried on my land. You're not going anywhere. Not now, not ever."
Her eyes were wide, chest heaving, and I could feel every breath she took. "You have two choices," I continued, my hand sliding from her hip to her waist, thumb stroking her ribcage through the thin fabric. "You can be my pet, or you can be my woman. The only difference is whether I sleep with you or not." I leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear. "But either way, you belong to me. Either way, you stay."
"I choose neither," she said, voice shaking but defiant, and I felt a surge of dark admiration even as frustration clawed at me.
"Then take it back," I said, my hand moving to cup her face, forcing her to look at me. "Take back those words, and I'll let you go back to the guest room. But if you don't, you won't leave there until you're willing to take them back."
She stared at me, and I watched her make her decision, watched her expression go blank, gaze unfocusing as she retreated into that maddening silence.
"Fine," I said, voice cold, and I released her, stepping back. "Stay here. "
I turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me, and I stood in the hallway for a long moment, hands clenched into fists, still feeling the ghost of her body against mine, the taste of her on my lips, and I knew this was far from over.
---
The next ten days passed in a strange, tense stalemate. I threw myself into work, trying to distract myself from the knowledge that she was upstairs, locked in my bedroom, refusing to give in. Marcus gave me daily updates: she was eating well, sleeping soundly, spending her time watching movies and working out. She'd ordered exercise equipment, baking books, ingredients for elaborate French pastries. She was treating her confinement like a vacation, and it was driving me insane.
On the eleven day, I couldn't take it anymore. I was standing outside headquarters after a grueling board meeting when Marcus approached with his tablet.
"Any news ?" I asked, and he nodded, pulling up surveillance footage.
"She's been relaxed, sir," he said carefully. I watched footage of her sprawled on the sofa in yoga pants and an oversized sweater, a bowl of popcorn in her lap as she laughed at something on screen. "She's been baking every afternoon—yesterday it was croissants, today she started on mille-feuille."
I stared at the screen, jaw clenching. "What else?"
"She bought Classic French Pastries and workout equipment," he said. "She's been standing in the garden every morning. Yesterday she asked one of the maids, 'He shouldn't be back this soon, right?'"
Something twisted in my chest at that—it sounded like she was expecting me, preparing for my return. "She's learning to bake," I said slowly. "She's trying to win me over."
Marcus cleared his throat. "It's possible, sir. The book has been heavily used."
I handed the tablet back, a slow smile spreading across my face. My anger melted away, replaced by cautious optimism.
"Cancel my evening appointments," I said. "I'm going home."
---
When I pulled up to the estate that afternoon, the first thing I saw was her on the second-floor balcony in a white sundress, silver hair loose, eyes closed and head tilted back. She looked peaceful, serene, and something tightened in my chest.
I stepped out of the car, gaze locked on her, and after a moment she opened her eyes and looked down. Our eyes met across the distance, and I felt the pull between us.
And then she turned and walked back inside, and I felt the sting of rejection all over again.
I strode into the house, mood darkening, and Marcus intercepted me in the foyer. "She's shy, sir," he said. "She's been working hard. I'm sure she'll come down soon."
I didn't respond, just stalked into the living room and threw myself onto the sofa, eyes fixed on the staircase, waiting.