Page 105 of The Devil's Thorn
“You still are,” I murmur, finishing another small sip. “But I’m not easily impressed.”
“No,” he says, stepping back from the open room and closing the door slowly. “You’re not.”
I shift slightly on the couch. And this time, I feel it again. A faint warmth spreading down the back of my neck. Heavier than the drink. Thicker than the air. I blink once. Shake it off.
“Tell me, Isabella,” Rafael murmurs, leaning against the opposite wall now, watching me. “Do you enjoy control? Or does it just make you feel safe?”
“Why not both?”
“Because people who like control rarely admit how much they fear losing it.”
“That sounds like projection.”
“Or maybe,” he says, “it just sounds like someone who’s been exactly where you are.”
My fingers loosen slightly around the glass. I place it on the low table in front of me, breathing slower now.
There’s a strange haze swimming in the corners of my vision. Like fog. Not enough to blind me. Just enough to slow me.
“You drugged me,” I say quietly.
Not a question. Not yet an accusation.
He lifts one shoulder in the faintest shrug. “I returned the favor.”
“That was a vitamin.”
“And this is something just as harmless. A test. You started it. I’m just finishing it.”
My body relaxes further into the couch. Not because I want it to. Because Ihaveto.
A sinking warmth pools behind my eyes. My limbs go heavy. And yet I don’t panic. Not really. Because this isn’t fear. This is strategy. His.
“You should’ve told me,” I murmur, voice lower now. Slower.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“So this is… what? Revenge?”
He walks closer. Kneels in front of me, elbows resting lightly on his knees, gaze level with mine now.
“This is a reminder,malyshka,” he says softly. “That I watch just as carefully as you do.”
My vision blurs slightly at the edges.
His face remains in focus. Sharp. Dark. Unmoved. But in his eyes… something flickers. It’s not victory. It’sfascination.
“Sleep, Isabella,” he says quietly. “You’ll wake up fine. But I want you to remember that in this house, Ialwaysplay the last move.”
My lips part to answer. To argue. But the words tangle before they form.
And the last thing I see—Is Rafael standing. Silhouetted in firelight.
And the weight of my own game turnedagainst me.
CHAPTER 7
RAFAEL
