Page 66 of The Madness Within

I nodded. “Every word.”

She sighed, resting her cheek against my skin. “Then maybe… maybe I won’t run again.”

I closed my eyes and held her tighter.

“Good,” I murmured, voice shaking with relief. “Because I don’t think I could survive losing you again.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

??The Unraveling

Ember

It had been seven days since the forest.

Seven days since I tried to run. Since I bled, since he found me, healed me… fucked me like I was the only salvation left in his damn world.

And every day since? He had made good on that need.

Morning. Night. Sometimes both. Sometimes more.

It wasn’t just sex. It’s a storm. Every time. Explosive. Raw. Desperate. Like we were both trying to burn something out of ourselves but kept feeding the flame instead.

And yet, somehow, in between all that… he had been nice.

Like,actuallynice.

Books I didn’t ask for. Silk robes I didn’t earn. Fruit platters, fresh linens, candles. He even had the nerve to have my favorite perfume delivered to my room without asking how he knew what it was.

And every time I pushed him, screamed at him, slammed a door in his face, he just smirked. Like he expected it. Like he loved it.

He hadn’t locked me in, not exactly. But there’s a ward. A protection seal carved into the foundation of the house. It hummed when I touched the threshold. Beautiful… and suffocating.

I was allowed to roam freely within these luxurious walls, but outside?

That magic bent like a stick.

He wasn’t keeping me prisoner. Just… kept.

I hated how well he read me. How easily he moved through my moods like he built them himself.

I was curled up in a chair near the fire tonight. Silk robe tied tight. A glass of red wine untouched at my elbow. I should be plotting my next escape. Instead, I was watching him.

Dorian stood near the window, arms crossed, suit jacket tossed on the nearby chaise. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms, ones I’d clawed more than once this week.

His eyes caught mine in the reflection before he turned. “I can feel you staring, little thief,” he said, voice as smooth and smug as ever.

I sipped the wine. “Just wondering how someone so pretty ended up so arrogant.”

He smirked and started walking toward me. “Must be the same way someone so sharp ended up curled in my bed every night.”

I rolled my eyes, but my thighs clenched all the same. I hated him. I wanted him. I hated that I wanted him.

“You’re relentless,” I muttered.

“You’re responsive.” His fingers grazed my shoulder as he passed behind the chair. “You act like you’re not waiting for me to touch you every second I’m not.”

“You act like you’re not addicted to proving you can break me.”

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