Bonus: Kissing Scene

Chapter 13 from Orion’s Point of View

The room was mostly dark, and the hearth cast a golden glow.

I watched Arabella struggle.

She tried to pull the brush through her tangled curls, but it wouldn’t budge. Nose

scrunching up, she bit down on her bottom lip like she was holding back a scream.

Wild turquoise curls framed her face in a halo.

Dark circles were stark against her pale skin.

Her eyes were tormented, yet the color was so vibrant that they seemed to glow in

the firelight.

She slammed the brush into her mattress as she snarled. Her expression was

shattered. Movements shaky. Like she was broken.

My heart fractured and crumbled in my chest.

I saw myself in her expression; I recognized the pain. The feeling of being

trapped. Stuck. With no way out.

Rubbing at my throat, I wished I could open my mouth and console her. I wished

I could express myself loudly.

But I couldn’t.

Not without making her into a mindless zombie. Not without activating my

mates.

The Latin words were tattooed on our skin, and the meaning was permanently

etched into our flesh. We came, we saw, we conquered.

I was the one who started the sequence.

I was the one who drew people in and took away their free will.
 Brought them to judgment. To their execution.

I rubbed absentmindedly at the words across my back. Physically, I couldn’t feel

the ink. Mentally, the word caused pain to scorch across my flesh.

The worst battles were always in the mind.

That was where people suffered in unimaginable ways.

As I watched Arabella’s wide eyes shutter with sadness, the burning pain of regret

spread across my chest until my entire sternum ached. It was the regret of having

powers I didn’t want. The regret of being a monster.

My eyes widened as Arabella crawled out of her bed in a tangle of blankets. She

lay in front of the fire. The fluffy material wrapped around her shoulders.

All bundled up, she looked young. Lost. Depressed.

She rocked back and forth with shivers, but the room was warm.

Then she pointed her hand at the fireplace and a burst of ice shot off her

fingertips. It snuffed out the flames.

She fell backwards onto the rug.

Curled into the fetal position.

Closed her eyes.

The fireplace jumped back to life, larger than before.

She stared at the flames and her eyes widened like she’d been stabbed. Her

expression was haunted. She covered her mouth and screamed into her hand. The

muffled sound skewered my heart like knives.

Who hurt you? What happened to you?

I moved slowly and extracted myself from my sleeping mates. Staring with

unblinking eyes at the object of my fascination.

 Who hurt you, sweetheart?

I was overwhelmed with a burning urge to know. I wanted Arabella to tell me all

her secrets. I needed to know them.

Then, I could possess her mind, body, and soul. I could make her mine and she

would never leave.

Her shaking got worse.

“Sweetheart,” I whispered, heart breaking as I watched her. “Are you okay?”

Her voice was rough. “Don’t call me that.” Eyes empty.

“Sorry,” I mouthed, and held up my hands to let her know I meant no harm. “Are

you okay, baby?”

She convulsed with shivers.

“Sweetheart, why are you cold?” I whispered. Confused. Worried. Terrified that

she was hurting in ways I could never help.

Her lips turned downward and her face fell. Like all hope was lost.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I crawled out of bed and hurried over to her.

Wrapped her in my arms and squeezed. Desperate to chase away whatever chill

was eating her alive.

My fingers tangled in her blue curls.

For a long moment, we breathed together.

Holding her, the agony in my chest loosened, and I forgot who I was trying to

comfort. Her or myself.

“I know you’re not really super sweet and nice,” she whispered.

I squeezed her tighter.

 Part of me was fucking relieved that she saw me for who I really was. I didn’t

want to just be a mirage to her. I wanted to be a flesh and blood man. I wanted her to

know the real me.

Part of me was devastated. I couldn’t even fake being nice.

She knew.

I pressed featherlight kisses across her forehead. Peppered them all over her face.

Apologized in the only way I could for every way that I was broken.

Slowly, I kissed her trembling lips.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not nice,” I breathed out softly. But I’m perfect for you, I

thought silently.

She tasted sharp, like ice that shocked the senses. The faint taste of smoke

lingered on her breath.

It was an intoxicating combination.

My truth wasn’t pleasant, but at the end of the day, it meant nothing because I’d

already decided she was mine.

Nothing could change that. Not even her fear.

As if she heard my thoughts, Arabella tipped her head back and pressed herself

closer. Warmth filled my gut as she kissed me harder.

“Who are you really?” she asked quietly.

Yours, I thought.

Instead of saying the truth aloud, I whispered, “I think you already know.”

She made a soft sound of disgruntlement in the back of her throat, like she knew

what I was saying and didn’t like it.

But she didn’t get to not like it.

 She got me.

Anguish and all.

Leaning forward, I squeezed her chin as I kissed her and lost myself in her

delicious taste.

Suddenly, she wrenched out of my grip and turned her head to the side, gasping

for air.

She moved away from me.

“That was a mistake,” she said as she stared at my lips. “Right?”

I opened my mouth to respond, then became agitated when I realized I couldn’t

yell at her. I couldn’t tell her forcefully how I felt.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I tangled my fingers in her delightful curls and yanked her face towards mine.

Slammed our mouths together. Kissed her with force. Punished her for doubting what

we had.

She melted against me.

I caged her with my arms, pressed her against the rug, and devoured her.

Long lashes fluttered as she blinked up at me. Her eyes were wide and radiated

sadness.

It hurt my soul.

Leaning over her, I whispered, “Sweetheart, my brothers may call you their

slave.” I rolled my hips against hers and she let out a pretty little gasp. “But we both

know who you belonged to first.”

Mine, I thought with vehemence.

I kissed her harder.

 “Enough,” she whispered, but it sounded like a question.

Never enough.

I pushed her back against the carpet and pinned her with my hips. She gasped

breathily and her eyes glossed with pleasure. Grabbing her ass, I ground against her.

Sun god, the friction was divine.

The woman in my arms was fucking perfect.

My obsession reached new heights.

Abruptly, she punched me in the throat and the kidneys. I doubled over.

Arabella leapt up, wrapped the blanket tight around her shoulders, and stood

over me. Her expression was haughty and cold.

She was royal.

An ice queen.

I wasn’t into pain like Scorpius, but something about Arabella lashing out filled

me with pride. She was so fucking strong. Powerful.

Smirking up at her, I lifted my hips suggestively.

“Get up,” she said icily, but her tone was off. Eyes unfocused. Her shoulders

hunched, like the weight of the world was caving in on her.

I got to my feet and stared down at her.

A tortured man, before his obsession.

A depressed woman, before her devil.

One day soon, she would acknowledge the truth before her: I owned her mind,

body, and soul. And I was never letting her go.