Page 243 of The Devil's Thorn
The massive wooden doors stood ahead, heavy and ancient, the chill of the outside night bleeding through the cracks.
“This isn’t over,” I said, just before we reached them.
He reached for the door beside me, pulling it open with one hand.
“No,” he said. “It’s just beginning.”
And we stepped out of the cathedral. Together.
The night air hit my skin like a blade as we stepped out of the cathedral. Cool. Still. Sharper than before.
I didn’t say anything at first. Just adjusted the weight of his jacket over my shoulders and kept walking, boots striking stone in steady rhythm beside his.
My body ached—not painfully. Not in a way I’d complain about. But in a way thatreminded me. Of what we’d just done. Of who I’d just let inside me. Twice.
We walked in silence for a while. The city around us was asleep, save for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance or the low hum of a moped somewhere blocks away.
The streets narrowed the closer we got to the hotel, old stone buildings casting long shadows, shutters closed tight like the city itself was holding its breath.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Calm. Composed. Like he hadn’t just tied my hands behind my back and ruined me in a cathedral.
Of course he looked like that. He always did.
“You know,” I said finally, voice casual, “for someone so obsessed with control, you’re rather reckless.”
He looked over at me, one brow raised.
“Reckless?”
“Mm,” I hummed, biting back a smile. “You keep forgetting one little thing.”
“Do I?”
I glanced away, fingers trailing along the edge of his jacket zipper. “You never use protection.”
The words dropped like smoke between us—light, but meant to sting. Tocut.His jaw ticked—barely—but I caught it. And then, slowly, he smiled. Not soft. Predatory.
“I don’t forget.”
“Then what is it?” I asked. “Some god complex? You want to brand me from the inside out?”
He didn’t flinch. “No. That would imply I want to share.”
My steps faltered for half a second. Just enough to feel the weight of that answer. He kept walking. And I followed, heart thudding harder now, the implications slithering into the space behind my ribs.
“You realize that’s not how any of this works,” I said flatly.
“Isn’t it?” he said.
“It’s not a tattoo, Rafael.”
“No. But it’s better.”
I scoffed under my breath, trying not to let the unease rise. Because for all my confidence, for all my fire—I wasn’t stupid. Iknew what could happen. I could feel it sitting at the edge of my thoughts, waiting
for me to look it in the eye. But I didn’t. Because that would make it real. And Rafael Romanov already owned too many pieces of me.
Still—I couldn’t help it. “You don’t care at all, do you?” I asked. “About the consequences.”
