Page 56 of A Dance Macabre

Not that we’ll need to stay anywhere close to that long. I’m sure only a few hours will suffice. The assumption lingers like dead weight in my chest. Maybe the threat is much bigger than I’m letting on.

What if it’s longer?

My attention wearily returns to Wolfgang while his gaze lingers on the cut near my temple. It smarts under his quiet appraisal, and I lift my hand to idly touch the drying blood.

“It needs to be cleaned,” he says softly, nodding his chin toward my face.

There’s a note of concern attached to his words that stings more than the wound itself.

He takes a step closer and my first reflex is to take a step back.

“I can do it myself,” I snap defensively.

Wolfgang’s expression morphs into something a lot more irritated, his lips pressing into a thin line, but says nothing. He glares, and I glare back. There’s safety in this dynamic.

A loaded stare later, he shifts his weight from one leg to the other but can’t conceal the wince fast enough. My eyes drop to his thigh.

“You’re bleeding,” I state as if he wasn’t already aware.

I ignore the pinch in my heart at the sight of Wolfgang injured.

His short laugh is dry and cutting. “Quite astute, Crèvecoeur.” He steps further into the receiving room, resting gingerly on the edge of the back of the divan, facing me. “Maybe next time, you can give me a fair warning.”

My eyes narrow, my heartbeat spiking. “Fair warning?”

Crossing his arms, he gives me a look he typically reserves for dimwitted plebeians. His mouth slowly curls into a snarl. “Or maybe you hoped my time had come along with all the rest.”

I stare at him while his words settle into my psyche like feathers on tar. “Foolish gnat,” I spit, charging toward him. “Do you think the gods arefavoringme at a moment like this? Do you not think I’m just as blind to our gods’ plans as you are after what we did?”

He pushes himself off the edge of the divan to stand at his full height, his tongue smoothing over his teeth.

“After whatwedid?” he repeats with a growl. Now face to face, Wolfgang slowly crowds me inch by creeping inch. I need to lift my chin ever so slightly to hold his gaze but continue to stand firmly in place, my chest heaving with every rapid breath. His eyes are crazed, a raised vein pulsing in his neck. “None of this would have happened if you weren’t such a selfish cunt.”

He says the words slowly and intentionally, and they cut deeper than I would have ever expected. My palm connects with his cheek, his head swiveling to the side with the impact.

There’s a pregnant pause as he begins to laugh coldly, head still slanted. He wipes the corner of his mouth, his fingers stained red by a split lip. I don’t bother moving. I’m stuck here with him either way.

But then his icy blue eyes lift to mine, and the threat I find in his stare has my survival instincts uncharacteristically kicking in. Without a conscious thought, I turn away and try to run but only make it a few steps before his large palm grabs me by the neck.

He swivels me around to face him while I struggle to break free and do the first thing that comes to mind, and slam my fist into his injured thigh.

He groans out in pain but doesn’t let go.

Instead, my move backfires.

While Wolfgang is momentarily destabilized, he transfers all his weight onto me, and we pitch backward, slamming down onto the hard floor. I get the wind knocked out of me, but I try to fight back knowing he’ll most likely go for my dagger. But even with his injured leg, he’s still stronger than me.

Pinning my hands to the ground with one hand, he climbs on top of me, his legs bracketing my body as he holds me down. Even with me fighting against it, his free hand bunches up my dress and grabs my dagger in seconds.

Expecting him to threaten me with it, I’m taken aback when he throws it across the room in one swift move of his arm. I hear it clang against the stone wall, and I stop struggling just long enough to shoot him a distrustful look. “Why would you—” I begin to say but Wolfgang cuts me off and grips the side of my face with his palm.

“If we’re already damned like you claim we are,” he says low and dark, fingers digging into my cheeks. His face is serious but the corner of his mouth curls into a bitter smile. “Then killing you is not how I want to meet my death.”

His mouth slams into mine. The kiss is unforgiving, feverish and I can taste the sweet tang of his blood from his split lip. The taste of him has me dropping all pretense, relieved that Wolfgang has cracked his mask open so I can do the same with mine.

I kiss him back just as hungrily.

He frees me from under his hard grip, both hands now cradling my face while his cock digs into my hip, his entire body now weighing me down. Our tongues interlace, and the more I devour his kiss, the more I starve for all of him.

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