Page 97 of Unholy Union
But Cato’s not so forgiving. That’s readily apparent from the dark expression on his face.
“Youdid this? You tried topoisonme?” he asks finally, each word spoken with disconcerting calm. He takes a step toward me.
I take one back. “I… I wasn’t… that was…” I draw a sharp breath. “It looks bad. But… but I can explain.”
“You can explain,” he repeats. Then releases a lone chuckle, the corner of his mouth slanting. “I’d be very interested to hear your explanation.”
“I did that a while ago. Before the assassination attempts. Before we spent time together. Then… then I just… I forgot that I?—”
“Youforgot?” he spits, his brows furrowing. He takes another two steps toward me.
I stumble back some more, colliding with the heavy bookcase that lines the wall. A small gold lion figurine wobbles from where it’s perched on one of the shelves.
Cato ignores it, wholly unconcerned whether it stays or falls. He’s zeroed in on me, his undivided attention dedicated to me and me only.
Backed up against the bookshelf, I suck down some air and remind myself why I did it in the first place. Meeting Cato’s obsidian gaze, I know there’s only one way to handle this.
Owning it.
I’ve never shied away from what I’ve done; I’ve never been someone who sulks about mistakes.
Mami always said making mistakes is part of what makes us human.
Nobody’s perfect. Least of all me.
“Yeah, I forgot,” I answer bluntly. “But can you blame me? Someone’s been out to kill me! Maybe it was instant karma. Does that make us even, my dear husband?”
He scrubs at his jaw. “No, principessa. But we’re about to be.”
I scream as he grabs my wrist and wrenches me toward him.
An immediate struggle breaks out between us.
I thrash against him, twisting hard in his hold, but he’s impossibly strong. My feet skid across the wooden floorboards as he drags me closer, unforgiving in his grip. I’m kicking my legs out wherever I can, aiming for his shin, his knees, hisgroin.
He dodges the worst of it, grunting as I catch his thigh instead. His other hand seizes my wrist, folding both arms behind me and pinning them at the base of my spine.
“You really haven’t learned a damn thing,” he growls near my ear. “I thought we were past this part. Past the tantrums and meltdowns.”
I writhe in his grip, my breath hot and ragged. “If you don’t let me go right now?—”
“You’ll what, principessa? Pull a knife on me? You’ve tried that already. Now there’s the poison. It seems you still don’t understand your place.” He jerks me forward, dragging me toward his desk. “You and me? We will never be equals. And you will never be in control. You’re a possession and nothing more.”
“I said let me go!” I twist sharply and jut my knee upward, aiming for his groin yet again, but he’s ready—damn him—catching the blow with his hip.
He shoves me against the edge of the desk, his body crowding over mine.
“I remember,” I hiss stubbornly. My are teeth bared, curls in my face as rage sears through every nerve in my body. “I remember exactly why I did it. Why I poured that cyanide into your fucking scotch. And if you’re not careful, I’ll do it again!”
Cato laughs darkly, like I’ve told some twisted joke. “Is that so? You’d try to poison me again? I’d love you that, principessa. Consider it our version of foreplay.”
I snarl and slam my elbow into his stomach. He grunts, his grip loosening just long enough for me to twist free and shove away from the desk. I lunge toward the door, nearly tripping over the large area rug in the room.
But even as my feet catch, I don’t let the stumble stop me. I’m mere feet away from the door when Cato beats me there.
His body slams into the door as I’m a footstep away. We collide with each other as I’m unable to slow down in time. My body crashes into his, and his arms snap shut around me.
We’re right back where we started.
