Page 28 of Soul to Possess

He didn’t answer right away. Just smiled again—quiet, knowing. And I didn’t like how unsure that silence made me feel. Or how uneasy his questioning made me.

I shook my head. “I’m no one’s true love.”

That should’ve shut the moment down, but it didn’t.

Instead, his smile softened into something unreadable. “Why are you so hard on yourself?”

“I’m not.” I kept my tone flat, even. “I’m just being honest. Marvin... he wanted me. That’s more than most can say. With him, I’d finally belong to someone.”

Atticus didn’t look away. If anything, he leaned in closer. The air thickened between us.

“Does belonging matter to you, little girl?” His voice was a gravel rasp—low, intimate, a blade pressing just shy of skin.

I hesitated. Then nodded. “Yes.”

That single word felt too vulnerable.

He seemed to consider it, eyes flicking over me like he was committing something to memory. Then, just as suddenly as he’d leaned in, he pulled back.

“Well,” he said, straightening to stand. “I’m hitting the shower, then calling it a night. You’re welcome to hang around out here if you want.”

The switch in topic landed like a slap. Cold. Abrupt. Jarring.

“Oh.” I blinked, trying to catch up. “Okay.”

He gave a thumbs-up like we hadn’t just cracked something raw open. “Dinner was solid. Thanks for that. I’ll cook breakfast tomorrow—hope you’re hungry.”

I gave a quiet laugh. “I think I will be.”

His back was already half-turned when he said it. “’Night, little girl.”

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall, leaving only the soft click of the bedroom door. I sat there, pulse pounding in my ears. Skin hot. Breath shallow. Whatever this was between us—it was dangerous. Wrong. But the big bad wolf wasn’t chasing me. I was walking straight into his woods.

Chapter Thirteen

I shut the door behind me, turned the bolt with a slow, satisfying click, then leaned my weight against the frame, a sickening sense of dominance coursing through my veins. Control. Always fucking control.

I breathed in through my nose and exhaled long through my mouth, the way the stupid city shrink taught me. The room was dark, shadows stretching over the bed and the walls like a shroud, hiding the sins I was about to commit. I didn’t turn the light on. The dark helped me hide the monster within.

She didn’t even realize what she was doing to me. The way she looked at me tonight—hope simmering just beneath fear, like she wanted to be devoured and just didn’t know it yet. God, I wanted to ruin that softness, to tear her apart and feast on her innocence.

She didn’t run. Not when I leaned in, my breath hot on her neck. Not when I called her little girl, my voice a low, dangerous growl. And she liked it. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in her quickening pulse. She was made for this. For me. For the dark, twisted things I wanted to do to her. I walked toward the dresser and peeled my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor. My skin burned with a twisted energy that I had never felt before. Her scent still clung to me—soap and nerves and something warm, feminine, sweet like honeysuckle.

No. Not honeysuckle. Bluebell. I froze, my jaw tightening until it ached. Goddammit. I had said it earlier—let it slip when she wasn’t even looking at me. Bluebell. I hadn’t called anyone that in years. No one since—

No. No. That name belonged to someone else. To something buried in a shallow grave, along with my humanity. Gennie was not her. Gennie was… something new. Somethingalive. The past was dead, and I was the one who fucking buried it.

But it scared me, how easily the name had fallen from my mouth. Like my subconscious already knew the truth. Those bright blue eyes. The way they stared into my soul like she was going to own me, instead of the other way around would be my undoing.That mouth—smart, but never cruel. She still believes in good things. In glittering snow. A fantasy. A pretty one. The kind that made men like me want to possess, to break, to make our own.

I turned to the mirror. My eyes caught the low gleam of my reflection. Bright green, black at the edges, like a fucking demon staring back at me. I looked hollowed out. Hungry. Wrong. My hand twitched, wanting to reach out and touch the glass, to feel the coolness against my fevered skin. I needed a shower. Ice cold. To wash away the memories, the guilt, the desire. I didn’t want to hurt her. I truly didn’t. That thought disturbed me more than anything.

Because it meant I’d already started making exceptions. For her. And that was a weakness I couldn’t afford. She might be a natural submissive. Maybe even a little, if the way her eyes lit up when I teased her meant anything. She was too quick to blush. Too eager to please. Too good.

She needed someone to own her. To guide her. To control her every breath, every thought, every fucking orgasm. Not Marvin. Me.

I stepped out of my jeans, kicking them aside with the heel of my foot. The zipper had been biting into my throbbing cock since she smiled at me across the table, her eyes wide and innocent, begging to be fucked, begging to be used, begging to be filled with my hot, thick cum. The need in her eyes was raw, primal, and I wanted to give her every fucking inch of me, to ruin her for any other man, to make her my little fuck slave.

I reached for the shower handle and twisted it to cold. The water roared to life, steam curling around the edges of the glass even before the temperature dropped. I craved the shock of it, needed the fucking ice to cool the inferno raging in my veins, to calm the beast within.

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