Page 233 of Fractured Loyalties
His voice lowers, rich and final. “At any cost.”
The words slam into me, heavier than any corner Lydia trapped me in. They should feel like safety. Instead, they feel like shackles.
And the worst part? My body doesn’t reject them. It shudders with relief.
The space between us shrinks until I feel the heat of him. His hand lifts, but instead of grabbing, he drags his knuckles down my jaw, tracing the outline as though he owns every line. The scrape I noticed earlier leaves a faint smear against my skin, and I don’t know if it’s blood or shadow.
“You think I don’t see the war in your eyes,” he murmurs. “But I do. You’re furious with me. You’re afraid of me. And still, you’re here.”
“I don’t have a choice.” The words scrape out rough.
His mouth curves like he’s heard something different. “You always have a choice. You just keep choosing me.”
The worst part is how true it feels.
Lydia settles on the couch, the leather creaking faintly, but she doesn’t interrupt. She just watches, like we’re another feed on one of her cameras.
Elias’s thumb presses beneath my chin, tilting my head back until my throat is bared. My pulse kicks against his touch. “You don’t need to know the cost,” he says softly. “Only that you will never pay it. I will.”
My stomach knots. Because that’s the hook. The trap. The promise that sounds like salvation but tastes like chains.
I manage, “And what if I don’t want your kind of protection?”
His grip tightens. His eyes burn with a conviction I can’t match. “You want it. You need it. That’s why you tremble when I leave and shake when I return. Because part of you already knows you belong under my watch.”
Heat floods my face, not just from anger but from the raw truth of it. He’s right. He’s so infuriatingly right.
I glance past him, toward Lydia, desperate for an anchor. But her expression is unreadable. She doesn’t step in. She doesn’t break the tension. She lets me drown in it.
Elias leans in, voice brushing against my mouth. “Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
The baton Lydia gave me is still on the counter, its weight pulling at the corner of my vision. I could reach for it. I could push him away. Instead, my body betrays me, my lips parting without permission.
“I—” My throat locks. The words scrape. “I need you.”
The sound I make after is half-sob, half-growl. Because he’s bent me into the shape he wanted, and I hate how much I wanted it too.
His smile is a razor. He kisses me then, not soft, not claiming, but sealing. His mouth takes, teeth catching my lower lip hard enough to sting. When he pulls back, his voice is iron. “Good girl.”
The words ripple through me, fire and ice.
Lydia exhales sharply, the sound breaking the spell. “I’ll sweep the feeds again,” she mutters, grabbing her tablet. “You two can finish your war without me watching.”
She moves toward the couch, bag in hand, not leaving us entirely but giving us space.
Elias doesn’t let go of me. His hand slides from my chin to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through damp strands of hair. His eyes hold mine like a tether. “You won’t run,” he says. Not a threat. A certainty.
My voice shakes. “And if I tried?”
“You wouldn’t get far.”
And yet something in me doesn’t shrink. The training with Lydia burns in my muscles, the baton still close. For the first time, I know I could strike. I could break the spell for thirty seconds.
But I don’t.
