Page 60 of Hunted to the Altar
Her words lingered in the air, a ghost I couldn’t shake. The world outside seemed so distant, the city lights blurred by the haze of my thoughts. I took a slow, deep breath, before forcing myself to speak.
“You don’t understand the world outside these walls,” I said, my voice a dangerous whisper. “You think you can escape me and live a quiet life? They’ll hunt you, Nina. You’re a pawn in a game far bigger than you can comprehend.”
She laughed again, the sound devoid of humor. “And what am I here?” she spat. “Your broken doll? Your toy? Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me, Samuel. This is about your sick need for control.”
Her words clawed at something deep inside me, something I didn’t want to face. I turned to her, my chest heaving with the effort of holding back the tide of emotions threatening to drown me.
“You’re alive because of me,” I said, my voice cold, unyielding. “You hate me for it, but you’re breathing. That’s more than you can say for anyone else who’s crossed me.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. The sight of her pain cut through me, but I couldn’t let it show. I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not now. Not ever.
“I don’t want your protection. I want nothing from you,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute.
The words struck me harder than any blow I’d ever taken. For a moment, I didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then, slowly, I approached her. She tensed as I knelt in front of her wheelchair,my hands resting lightly on the armrests, caging her in but not touching her.
“You don’t have a choice,” I said softly, my voice a dark caress. “I’ve given you everything, Nina. My time, my resources, my protection. You belong to me now. Whether you like it or not.”
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought to hold onto her anger. But I saw the crack in her armor, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She hated me, but she couldn’t deny the twisted connection between us.
“You’re a monster,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I tilted my head, studying her. “And yet, here you are. Alive. Safe. Because of this monster.”
Her tears spilled over then, silent but relentless. She turned her head away, refusing to let me see the full extent of her pain. But I saw it anyway, and it tore something open inside me.
Without thinking, I reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek. She flinched at the contact, but I didn’t pull away. “Hate me all you want,” I murmured. “But don’t forget who’s keeping you alive.”
She jerked her face away, her voice breaking as she said, “I’d rather be dead than be yours.”
The words hit like a physical blow, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My hand fell away, and I rose to my feet, my body vibrating with suppressed rage. She didn’t understand. She didn’t see that everything I did was for her.
“You don’t mean that,” I said finally, my voice low, dangerous.
“Yes, I do,” she shot back, her voice shaking but resolute. “I’ll never be yours, Samuel. Never.”
I stepped back, my hands curling into fists at my sides. The room felt too small, the walls closing in. I wanted to lash out, to destroy something, but I turned and stormed toward the door.
“You’ll see,” I said over my shoulder, my voice cold as ice. “One day, you’ll understand. And when that day comes, you’ll thank me.”
I left the room, slamming the door behind me. My chest heaved as I leaned against the wall, my mind a whirlwind of rage and despair. She didn’t see it yet, but she would. She had to. Because if she didn’t–
I didn’t finish the thought. I couldn’t. All I knew was that I couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not ever.
Later that night,I stood outside her door, my hand resting on the doorknob. I didn’t know why I was there. I told myself it was to check on her, to make sure she was alright. But deep down, I knew the truth. I needed to see her, to reassure myself that she was still there.
I opened the door quietly, stepping inside. The room was dark, but the faint glow of the city lights streaming through the window illuminated her form on the bed. She was curled up on her side, her breathing steady but shallow. Even in sleep, she looked fragile, her face etched with lines of pain and exhaustion.
I approached the bed, my footsteps silent. I didn’t touch her, didn’t dare disturb her. Instead, I sank into the chair by the window, watching her. She was beautiful, even now, with her hair spread out across the pillow like a dark halo. But it wasn’t just her beauty that held me captive. It was her strength, her utter opposition. She was the only person who had ever dared to stand up to me, to challenge me. And that made her mine in a way no one else could ever be.
The following morning, I stood in the hallway outside her room. I couldn’t bring myself to go in. Maybe I should feel some sense of remorse for what I’d done. But she couldn’t leave the cage now. She was forced to be mine. And now, I’d own it.
I knocked lightly before pushing the door open. Nina sat inher wheelchair, her eyes narrowing the moment she saw me. Her jaw tightened.
“I came to check on you,” I said, my tone as even as I could manage. “See if you need any help getting around.”
She didn’t answer. The silence stretched between us, taut as a wire. Finally, she moved herself back onto the bed. Warding off my attempt to help her.
“I saw it this morning. You think this changes anything?” she asked, her voice low, almost a growl. “You think a shiny new chair is going to make me forget what you did?”
