Page 61 of Summoned
The pressure around my throat eases. Air rushes into my lungs, even though his hand stays in place, holding me where he wants me.
Only then does my vision clear enough to take in the knife’s hilt still jutting from his chest. Bile rises in my mouth. Blood has soaked the fabric of his shirt. It’s dark, thick, and so abundant that my stomach churns all over again.
The corners of his mouth twitch upward. “You stabbed me, and now you’re scared of your own handiwork?”
The air becomes dense and suffocating. Every nerve in my body screams of danger.
Yet I refuse to break.
A lioness does not break. She does not beg. She does not fall to her knees.
‘Part of you wants to fight back.’Daria was right.
“Go to hell!” I scream into his face, fueled by a new surge of courage.
His eyes glint with a cruel amusement that makes me sick. The fingers of his free hand wrap around the knife’s hilt. In a single, abrupt move, he pulls it from his chest. Thick, dark blood pours from the wound, filling the air with a heady scent.
My stomach turns, yet I can’t take my eyes off the gaping, grotesque wound left behind by the knife. Gaetano doesn’t so much as flinch as he wipes the blade clean against his jeans with a careless sweep.
I barely have time to recoil before he moves again. The cool edge of the blade skims the inside of my thigh, grazing just above the knee. I hold my breath. The metal traces its path upward, not yet cutting, but enough to send my pulse hammering in my throat.
“You’re not the first to try to kill me,” Gaetano says, eerily calm. “Others have attempted it. But their attacks were always chaotic, doomed from the start.”
The knife trails up my thigh. My body goes rigid when the cold metal touches the curve of my hip.
“When you summoned me, I suspected you had something planned. But a blade to the chest? I’ll admit, that caught me off guard. Saying I’m impressed would be an understatement.”
Impressed?Disbelief crashes over me, causing my pulse to stutter.
He smiles, leaning in. “I play a game, Little Baroness. And what could be more exhilarating than a defiant opponent? That blade—poisoned, wasn’t it?—would have caused a lot of trouble, even death, to any other immortal creature that lives in your world. Witcher or otherwise. But I’m not like the rest. The realm I live in is protected from anything that happens on Earth. Curses, wars, diseases will never affect me.”
He must be relishing the bewilderment etched into every line of my expression. As if to deepen it, he angles the knife and lets the edge skim along the bare skin of my thigh once more. It’s light touch, almost a caress. Just enough to set me trembling.
I’m trapped. He could play with me forever…
With one swift motion, he moves the knife to the taut lower hem of my dress and slices it open. The thin fabric yields with a hiss. I glance down in shock at the bare skin of my stomach and the black lace of my G-string. The bodice remains mostly intact. Its upper part clings to my ribs, the lace edge of my bra peeking beneath.
I raise my head, but Gaetano’s focus is on my body. My throat goes dry. He drinks me in again with that dark expression—one that promises both to melt me with pleasure and burn me alive.
My body tenses when he presses the knife’s tip to my navel. My heartbeat falters. Will he stab me, as I stabbed him? The contract said he couldn’t cause me physicalharm…but does it contain a hidden clause that allows retaliation for an attack?
My legs shake. I always believed I could face anything with my chin held high. The image of my guts spilling out shatters that illusion.
He slides the blade up my abdomen to the edge of the already torn dress. Then, he slices the rest. The material splits into two halves, emitting another hissing sound. What remains of the dress hangs in tatters off my shoulders.
The knife’s tip settles on the strip of lace between the cups of my bra.
“What are you going to do to me?” My words quiver.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slips the knife beneath the bra’s band. The metal presses into my skin a moment before the blade slices in the opposite direction. The cups collapse on either side of my breasts, and my nipples harden in the breeze. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I reach to cover myself with trembling hands.
“Don’t. Move.” Gaetano aims the blade at my sternum.
I lower my arms to my sides. Though I try to read something in his expression, he’s sealed all emotion behind a wall of stone.
My chest rises and falls in ragged breaths. God. He’s going to plunge the knife into my heart and abandon me naked in the dust. The worst part isn’t that I’ll die, but that I’ll die likethis. What a disgrace that would be for my family. My father would be livid…
The blade moves south, to the sideband of my G-string, and the last of my composure scatters. With one clean slice, Gaetano cuts the fabric. Time slows while the final shred of my dignity—a thin black lace—slips down my thighs and falls into the dust. The bare skin between my legs flinches at the sudden touch of air.
