Page 28 of Crown of Blood

"They're my family now too." Bianca's eyes flash with that defiance that makes me want to break her. "You made sure of that when you put this ring on my finger."

The rage surges through my blood like poison.

In one sickening motion, control escapes me and I spin her around and shove her forward. She catches herself on the edge of my bed, palms flat against black silk sheets.

"You think wearing my ring makes you family?"

I fist the heavy fabric of her wedding gown, dragging it up over her thighs. The sight of black lace underneath sends fresh heat through my veins.

"You think standing in a church makes you worthy of her name?"

She tries to push up, but I press my palm between her shoulder blades, holding her in place. My hand hovers above the curve of her ass, trembling with barely contained violence.

The black lace of her underwear cuts across pale flesh like a promise. Like an invitation.

But she's not inviting me. She's challenging me.

Even bent over my bed, dress hiked up around her hips, she's not submitting. Her fingers curl into my sheets, but her spine remains steel-straight. Defiant.

"Do it." Her voice comes out raw. Like I could mistake it for a plea. "Hit me. Prove you're the monster everyone whispers about."

My hand shakes harder, caught between the urge to strike and... something else. Something that makes my chest ache when I look at the graceful line of her neck, exposed and vulnerable.

"I won't hit you. These hands might have blood on them, but I will never stroke a woman." The words scrape out of my throat. "But I will break you."

The black silk of her wedding dress pools around her waist, a dark frame for pale thighs and that damned lace that Teresa must have chosen. Of course Teresa would know exactly how to present my bride - like a gift wrapped in shadows.

Her laugh comes out bitter and I fucking swear to God, she shakes her ass at me. "You already tried that. In the cathedral. With that kiss."

My fingers twitch, remembering how she gave in against my mouth.

"That wasn't breaking." I lean down, letting my breath ghost across her ear. "That was claiming."

A shiver runs through her body, but she doesn't move. Doesn't try to escape.

"There's a difference?"

"Breaking is quick." I trace one finger down her spine, feeling each vertebra through thin silk. "Claiming takes time."

The curve of her spine draws my eye, the way she trembles beneath my hand despite her sharp tongue.

"You're not family." I lean close, letting my breath ghost across her neck. "You're mine. My possession. My prize. And it's time you learned the difference."

I grip her jaw, tilt her chin up and lift her off the edge of the bed. Her lips part before my eyes and I can't stop looking into the depths of her own.

She wants to spit fire—maybe even slap me—but her body betrays her. I see it. Feel it without laying a hand on her.

She’s wet.

She’s shaking with it.

“Say it,” I growl.

“Say what?” she hisses back at me.

“That you’re mine.”

"I might be yours." She shakes her head. “But you don’t own me.”

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