Love?
Hah.
It wasn’t love that burned inside Alistair Ashborne’s chest. No. Love was far too gentle, far too pure, and far too weak for someone like him. What he felt was darker—twisted like poisoned roots wrapping around the heart of a tree.
Obsession. Possession. Hunger.
Those were the true names of the fire inside him.
He did not want Noah because he loved him. He wanted Noah because he wanted to own him, to break him, to mold him into something fragile and beautiful that existed only for his pleasure. To Alistair, Noah was nothing more than a jewel he wanted to steal, polish, and lock inside a cage where only he could touch it.
A toy. That was all.
He could pretend all he wanted, smile with his practiced lips, whisper false sweetness in the night. But love? Never.
Alistair Ashb
