Page 82 of Bound to the Dreadlord

He hesitated again.

And that? That is what terrifies me the most.

“That’s not an answer,” I say.

His lips press into a thin line.

I step closer, tilting my chin.

“I think you don’t know what to do with me.”

His gaze sharpens.

Good.

I want him angry.

I want him ruthless.

I want proof that what happened last night was nothing more than control.

Nothing more than power.

So I do the reckless thing.

The stupid thing.

I reach for the dagger.

The one he gave me.

The one that should have meant nothing.

His gaze locks onto my movements as I wrap my fingers around the hilt.

A test.

A challenge.

A game I still don’t fully understand how to play.

I take his hand. Lift his fingers.

And place the dagger in his palm.

The steel glints between us. A whisper of violence.

“If I belong to you,” I murmur, voice steady, “then do it.”

His fingers tighten around the handle.

The blade does not tremble.

I press forward, just enough to make it dig into the skin at my throat.

I feel it.

The cold kiss of steel.

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