The Mate He Shouldn’t Have Claimed

Chapter 3: I Want Abortion

[Seraphina's POV]

I knew better than to think I could escape him. The heaviness of his words—the deceit he had uttered, the child that I was to bear—hung over me like a cloud that refused to disperse. I hadn't had the chance to process it all before he'd had me in his sway again, and now, now I had no idea what the future held for me.

His grasp on my wrist had not been a soft one. But then, nothing of Viktor Moretti ever had been. He was a force of nature—a predator, a king in a world where everything was power and weakness was death. I wriggled my wrist free of his grasp, but his eyes flared, the possessiveness of his glance burning with something wild.

"Don't touch me," I snarled through gritted teeth. I didn't know what his angle was, but I wasn't going to let him dictate to me what I could or could not do. Not now, and never.

Viktor stormed into the apartment uninvited, his broad shoulders taking up the bulk of the room like a black shadow that would not leave. The room seemed to grow smaller, to contract. He didn't even look my way as he strode toward me, his boots thudding on the hardwood floor as he moved with an ease that I could never aspire to. When he stood before me at last, his eyes were colder than the space between us.

"I don't need your permission to be here, my love." His tone was soft, but it was sharpened—to it—like a knife wrapped in velvet. "You are mine. And I'm not leaving until you understand that."

"I don't belong to you," I snapped, my fists held tight at my sides. "Not you, not anyone. You can't own me like some sort of—"

"You're mine," he interrupted, taking one step and pushing me back one step. His eyes didn't leave mine. "You think you can leave me, leave us? You think I'd let you raise my baby without me?"

My breathing was trapped in my throat. "No," I replied, shaking my head. "No, I'm not. I'm not keeping it."

His gaze locked in an instant, the glint of something volatile flickering in the rear of his eyes. "You're going to...to murder my blood, my heir?" He moved on me like a predator on a hunt, his overwhelming presence pushing me back. "You can't do this. I'll never let you."

I recoiled, my heart pounding in my chest, until the edge of the kitchen counter was digging into my back. I was trapped, couldn't breathe, couldn't think with him this close to me.

"Listen to me, please," he said to her, his voice lowering now, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. "You're not fleeing from this. Not from me, not from this life that I've given you. I'll guard you, shield you, provide for you everything you've ever imagined. Just don't get the abortion."

His words were a promise wrapped in chains. And yet, something within me moved, a fire of desire I reproached myself for even thinking. His vows—his deliberate icy vows—sounded so sensible. As though I would be the one to falter if I did not take it.

I would not be that woman. I would not permit him his victory. "I am not some delicate little creature, Viktor," I said to him, my own voice quivering but firm. "I will not be your puppet."

Viktor's lip curled into a sneer, but it was not the patronizing one I had witnessed when he first entered the room. This sneer was harder, colder, more deadly.

"I did not know you were delicate," he said, moving in closer still. He put out his hand and touched me, his fingers tracing my cheek, catching a tangle of hair and pushing it behind my ear, the touch so light it was painful. "I believe that you are braver than other people think. But your bravery will not save you now."

I winced as his hand stroked my cheek, the heat of his fingers causing me to shiver. However much I was willing to battle, however urgently I built walls around me, it was impossible to deny that something existed between us. I could feel it—the pull, the bond, the burning, gnawing pain of an alpha's bite. And I wasn't going to die because of it.

"I don't want you," I told him, forcing the words through a constricting throat. "And neither do I want this life you're presenting."

The cold in Viktor's gaze intensified, and for an instant I glimpsed at the monster that he so carefully concealed behind his veneer. The mafia king, the tough man who would do anything to get what he wanted.

"You don't have that option, mi amor," he said, his voice menacing and low. "You belong to me. You like it or not."

The air between us thickened with tension, a silent war raging in the air between us. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I was stuck, motionless in the storm of his presence, knowing everything that I had battled so hard for was being taken from me. And then, as if he'd just mixed the perfect recipe for carrying out the deed, Viktor's next words shattered the fragile grip I'd maintained on my rage.

"You think you can just keep running away from me? You can't. Not now that you're carrying my baby."

The way he'd spoken it, as a conqueror declaring triumph, sent shivers through my veins. I wanted to scream, to fight, to get him to realize that I wasn't afraid of him. But then, with the weight of everyone against me, I was small. I didn't want to be his. I didn't want to be in his world, a world so cruel and untruthful. But somehow, I couldn't leave it. Couldn't leave him.

Viktor's arm wrapped around my arm, holding my hand against him, holding me to him. His hold was a warning. "You can scream, you can run, you can hate me as much as you want. But soon, you'll be mine. And you'll learn to accept it."

I could feel the weight of his words bearing down on me like a cage, and although I yearned with all my heart to fight, I knew in my soul that I was already a captive. And so was my heart. The next few days were a haze of terror and confusion.

Whenever I managed to catch my breath, he was there—standing in the background, a ghost, a reminder of the tie neither of us could cut.

Viktor made it clear that I was never to be out of his sight without him, that my life was no longer mine to command. It was being trapped and having every turn of the room observed, every moment of tranquility destroyed by his presence, his expectations, his constant reminders that I had to conform to his world.

He was dominant, and I wasn't offered a choice. "Where are you going?" His deep, commanding voice halted me in my tracks in the hallway one morning as I attempted to slip past him.

"Out," I told him brusquely, not even glancing in his direction.

"You're not leaving anywhere without me," he said, coming around in front of me, his eyes flashing warning.

"You can't order me, Viktor."

"I don't have to order you, sweetheart," he said, his face contorting into a small, evil grin. "You're already my property."

And I hated that it was so.