Chapter Eight - The Devil's Bargain
1054 Words
Amara’s pulse thrashed in her throat, her body trembling under the weight of Damian’s words.
“He’s alive,” he had said. The relief had been overwhelming, stealing her breath, her anger, her strength. But before she could gather herself, he’d stepped closer—too close.
Now his body caged hers against the cold glass window, his hand braced beside her head, the heat of him sinking into her skin.
“You’ll get your brother,” Damian murmured, his voice low and dark, “but only if you play by my rules.”
His nearness was unbearable. His scent—smoke, leather, whiskey—wrapped around her, making it impossible to think clearly.
Amara’s hands pressed against his chest, desperate to push him away, but it was like pushing against a wall of iron. He didn’t budge. His lips hovered dangerously close to hers, not touching, just lingering—an unspoken threat, a temptation.
“You hate me,” he whispered, his breath brushing her mouth. “I can see it in your eyes. But hate burns the same way desire does.”
Her heart stuttered. “You’re wrong,” she rasped, though her voice trembled with something that wasn’t only fear.
Damian chuckled, the sound low, sinful. His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth, then slid down slowly, tracing the line of her jaw. The touch was soft, almost reverent, at odds with the cruelty in his words.
“You’re trembling,” he said. “Not because you’re afraid of me… but because some part of you already belongs to me.”
Amara shivered, furious at the truth tangled in his taunt. “I’ll never belong to you.”
His eyes darkened, his hand suddenly curling around her throat—not squeezing, just holding, controlling. Her breath hitched, her body betraying her with a rush of heat.
Damian leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Every time you breathe my air, little dove, you already do.”
Her knees weakened. She hated him—hated the way her body burned under his touch, hated the way his voice wrapped around her like a promise of sin.
He lowered his mouth to hers, stopping just short, their lips brushing but never meeting. The tension was a knife edge—painful, unbearable, addictive.
Amara squeezed her eyes shut, whispering, “If you ever touch me like that, I’ll—”
Damian’s laugh was a dark caress. “You’ll what? Hate me more? Want me more?”
His grip on her throat loosened, his thumb stroking her pulse before he finally pulled back, leaving her gasping, dizzy, furious at herself for wanting what she swore she never would.
He straightened, adjusting his cuff as though nothing had happened. “Sleep, Amara,” he said calmly, his voice all command again. “You’ll need your strength. The game has only just begun.”
And then he was gone, leaving her body aching, her mind unraveling, and her heart terrified by the hunger he had awoken.
Amara’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, the weight of Damian’s body keeping her pinned against the glass. The city glittered behind him, but all she could see was him—the sharp cut of his jaw, the cruel amusement in his dark eyes, the hunger he wasn’t trying to hide.
“You’re shaking,” Damian murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against the frantic pulse in her throat. “Fear… or something else?”
Her nails bit into his shirt as she shoved at him, but his body didn’t move. “I don’t want you.” The words hissed out, but her voice betrayed her, too soft, too unsteady.
Damian’s smirk deepened. “Your mouth lies beautifully, little dove. But your body doesn’t.”
His hand slid down, slow, deliberate, over the curve of her collarbone, his knuckles grazing her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. She stiffened, heat flooding her despite her resistance. Every nerve screamed to hate him—yet her body leaned toward his touch like it was starved for it.
“Stop,” she whispered, her breath catching as his fingers trailed lower, stopping just at the edge of her waist.
“Tell me to stop like you mean it.” His words were soft, velvet over steel. His lips hovered near hers, teasing, not touching. “Tell me… and I will.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. She wanted to spit the word at him. Wanted to slap him. Wanted to run. But her silence betrayed her, a dangerous confession in itself.
Damian’s hand tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him. The hard line of his body pressed into hers, making her breath stutter.
“That’s what I thought,” he whispered, his mouth brushing her jaw. His lips lingered there for a fraction too long, leaving a searing trail before pulling back.
Amara’s knees wobbled. She hated herself for the shiver that ran through her, for the fire pooling low in her belly. She hated him most of all—for knowing exactly what he was doing to her.
He leaned back just enough to look at her, his eyes burning with possession. “You crave the truth about your brother. But before this is over…” His gaze dropped to her lips, his voice a low growl. “…you’ll crave me more.”
Her palm cracked against his chest—more of a warning than real resistance. “Never,” she spat, though her body trembled with betrayal.
Damian caught her wrist with infuriating ease, his thumb circling her pulse. He lifted her hand slowly, deliberately, and pressed her palm flat against his heart. The steady thud matched the dangerous rhythm inside her.
“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s what control tastes like. You think you can fight it… but you’re already mine.”
With that, he released her, stepping back as if he hadn’t just unraveled every thread of her sanity.
“Sleep well, Amara,” Damian said, his voice once again cold command. “Tomorrow, you’ll learn just how far you’re willing to go for your brother… and for me.”
The door closed behind him, leaving her trembling, furious, and burning with a need she didn’t want to name.
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- Writer
