Chapter Ninety-Eight

POV: RHODES

TW: BLOOD, KNIFE PLAY

The shadows dance at my command, cloaking my every movement as I stalk through the quiet corridors of the Midnight Court. I’ve been waiting for this. The silence in the air thickens with anticipation. My every step is measured, deliberate, as I track her movements. Remi. 

I can feel her presence before I see her. The pull of her energy, the subtle, soft breath she takes as she moves between the towering shelves in the library. The way the candlelight catches her dark hair, making it shimmer like liquid gold. She’s unaware of me. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But I know better.

Remi is sharp. She has a way of sensing things, of noticing when the air shifts, when there’s something lurking in the quiet corners of the room. I’ve spent years training to be the unseen, the quiet shadow. But there’s something about her, something that makes me want to be seen by her.

I stay hidden in the shadows as I approach. The darkness is my home, my comfort. Yet with her, I’m suddenly aware of every breath I take, every pulse in my body.

She stands by the window, her back to me, her figure outlined by the soft light of the moon. I can’t help but watch her, just for a moment. The curve of her neck, the way her shoulders tense slightly as she reads. She’s always been so strong, so capable—yet there’s a vulnerability in her that I can’t ignore.

I step closer, just out of reach, the sound of my boots muffled against the stone floor. My gaze flickers over her once again, and this time, she knows. She feels me.

Her voice, calm but tinged with something I can’t place, cuts through the silence.

“You knew where I was the whole time,” Remi says, though she doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t need to. She knows it’s me.

“Yes,” I murmur, my voice low and rough from the strain of keeping my distance. “Observing.”

She pauses, and I can feel the shift in her, the moment her body becomes more aware, more alert. “Is that so?” Her tone holds an edge of challenge, of curiosity.

I step from the shadows, my presence settling in the room like a weight. “You’re difficult to ignore,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m close now, so close that I can feel the warmth of her, taste the air around her, thick with the tension that’s always between us. “I find myself wondering what you’re thinking.”

She turns then, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of surprise and something deeper. Something that mirrors the fluttering I feel in my chest. “And what do you think I’m thinking?” Her lips curl slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’s playing with me now.

I hesitate, unsure of how to answer. The truth is, I’m never sure what she’s thinking, and that drives me mad. There’s a fire in her that both scares and draws me in. A fire I’ve never quite been able to touch, not fully.

But tonight feels different. Tonight, the air is charged between us.

“Probably that I’m an idiot,” I say, my voice quiet but earnest. There’s no hiding it anymore. I can’t lie to her. Not when I feel this way.

Her smile softens, but she doesn’t speak, instead stepping a little closer, her gaze still locked on mine. I can see the flicker of something in her eyes, the way they study me, the way she tries to piece me together. I wonder if she’s just as confused by this connection as I am. Or maybe she’s already figured it out.

I love her, she knows it, I know it. 

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” she says, her voice soft but deliberate, as if testing the words on the air. “I think you’re afraid of what’s between us.”

The words hit me like a blow to the chest. My heart stutters for a moment, but I push the feeling down. I don’t have time for this, not right now. I’ve spent too long watching her from afar, and it’s only made the pull between us stronger.

“You’re wrong,” I whisper, the distance between us too small now, too fragile. “I’m not afraid.”

She steps closer again, her eyes never leaving mine. I can feel the heat between us now, the electric charge that’s been building for far too long. There’s no escaping it. Not anymore.

“You are,” she says softly, so softly that I almost don’t hear it. But I do.

I lean down slightly, close enough now to feel her breath on my skin. I want to reach out, to pull her into me, to close the distance completely, but I hesitate. What if I push her away? What if she doesn’t feel the same way?

Instead, I breathe in, drawing in the scent of her—a mix of lavender and something wild, something untamed. “What if I don’t want to be afraid anymore?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her eyes flicker to my lips, then back to my eyes, and for a moment, the world falls away. It’s just the two of us now. The space between us is filled with want, with need, and I’m drowning in it.

Before I can stop myself, I reach out, cupping her face with one hand. The touch is gentle at first, but my thumb brushes across her jaw, and it feels like fire. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t even flinch. She lets me touch her, lets me in.

“You’re not afraid of me?” I whisper, my voice tight. “Of what I could do to you?”

Remi’s breath hitches, her lips parting ever so slightly. “No,” she says, her voice steady but soft. “I’m not afraid.”

And in that moment, I know. I know that this is real. I know that what I feel for her is real, and that I can’t run from it anymore.

With a wave of my hand, every candle in the library is blown out. Sweet smoke mixes with Remi’s scent, and I grasp a thick chunk of her hair. 

“Are you ready?” I ask her, and she nods. 

Always ready. 

The knots I tied to her back are slow and deliberate. 

I took my time hunting my prey, and now I’m going to make the slut squirm. 

Is it my fault she loves a psychopath? Or hers? 

Or both of ours? 

I have her hanging from the ceiling in less than sixty seconds. 

Well, hanging is a generous word. 

I have the little girl hanging with her arms above her head. Three heavy books are stacked, and her tiptoes barely reach the surface.  

A part of her weight is distributed by a rope I tied to her long pretty hair. It must hurt. 

She watches me in fear as I produce my blade. I circle her slowly, the only noise in the library the sound of me sharpening it, then settle behind her and bring it to her throat. 

“Still feeling brave?” I ask her, and Remi, despite the blood needling at her neck, nods her head. 

How the fuck I found a girl as messed up as me is still beyond me. 

Without waiting for permission, I bring the blade to her back. She gasps out as I draw the point down her spine, straight through the fabric of her dress, and into the thinnest, top layer of her skin. 

Blood blooms. And my anchoring hand around Remi’s throat is suddenly soaked with tears. 

She wasn’t expecting me to be so harsh. So cruel. 

Good. 

“What? Did you think you were invincible?” I circle back around her, taunting her, always, because I know it turns her on.

She’s pink-cheeked. Terrified. And can barely make eye contact with me. 

A little girl pretending to be a wolf and finally caught.

“Stop turning your head.” My voice is rough, and infused with rough command. When she doesn’t turn her head, I take a single step forward and grip her head in my hand. 

She’s powerless to me, strung up and useless. 

“Look. At. Me.” 

Pretty blue eyes meet mine. Gorgeous, breakable eyes. 

“Behave.” 

Next is the remainder of her clothing. I rip it to shreds in my hands in a second. She strains against the rope, trying to find her footing on the books I’ve laid out for her to balance on. 

Part of me wants to kick all three to the side and watch her scream as it rips at her hair. As it pulls from her scalp.

Remi spits at me. “You fucking sadist.” 

My answer is a swift wave of magic which removes the first book. I smile as her face goes from bratty to strained to painful. 

There is nothing more than I love than seeing the pain in her eyes. The fear in her eyes. That I might at any second remove the dignity of the second book, or the third…

“Please, Rhodes–no.” 

“Get the fuck out of my head,” I growl, and instantly, I feel her warm and steady presence removed from my mind. 

Remi always listens to our thoughts, and normally I don’t mind. It makes her feel safe, secure, confident. 

None of which are qualities I want her to feel tonight. 

Saving her ass put me in so much pain I lost my fucking vision, seems only fair–

“Close your eyes,” I command her. I pull my blade from my back at the same exact time I issue the words. I’d blindfold her, but where’s the fun in that. “If you open them, I’ll cut you deeper.” 

Fuck, that sends her. 

I shriek the steel of my blade across the floor as I circle her just for good measure. She’s a mess, shivering from fear and adrenaline. Overstimulated already. 

And I’ve just gotten started. 

The first nick is a light cut to her left calf. She shrieks and pulls up her leg, then almost tumbles off the book. 

“Careful, baby girl,” I grab her and guide her back onto the books, “you don’t want to trip.” 

“Fuck. You.” 

I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into her, but I’m not putting up with that shit. I nick at the same leg, she jolts and jumps up, then falls forward. 

Arms restrained and above her head, she dangles with an arched back from virtually nothing. She’s gritting her teeth, and nearly sobbing, but who the fuck cares. 

I say nothing, do nothing. 

“If you want to act like a brat,” my blade slices through the air, then cuts through her panties, “act like a fucking brat.” 

Remi opens her mouth to respond, but I shove her wet panties into her mouth before she can say anything. I press them deep into her throat, too, enough to make her choke. 

When she tries to spit them out, I wrap a shadow around her mouth. 

Finally, she struggles against the rope. 

Took her long enough. 

The next swipe is at her left breast, just below the nipple. She screams when I bring my mouth to her nipple, then bite. 

Unable to dish out her sassy responses, Remi begins choking out sobs. 

And she’s wet, adorably, ridiculously wet. 

“Look how fucking messy you are.” 

Remi opens her eyes for just a second, and I can see the pain in them. 

My dick is suddenly too hard for my pants, and I adjust it. Remi notices, and drool from her mouth and panties creeps through. Fucking slut. 

Another cut, this time on her neck. 

Not deep, but enough for me to get my hands wet. 

She watches me in horror. Complete fucking horror, as I bring my coated fingers to my lips right in front of her. 

“I might not be a vampire like Xaden,” I take a deep, long breath, then bring her blood to my mouth, “but I still love to watch you bleed.” 

Her hips lurch forward at the gesture. I know what a needy girl she is, I know how desperately already she wants to cum, wants to get fucked, touched. 

How bad she wants me to release her arms and let her touch me and my dick however the fuck she wants. 

But I am a patient man. 

And she is a slut who doesn’t know what’s good for her. What true pleasure and submission is. 

“I’m going to edge you,” I warn her, and the tears pick back up again. “I’m going to edge you for a day, maybe more, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

Her magic–her anger, overstimulation, slams into my mind. 

I slam her right back out. 

*No.* 

I slice her upper thigh, the blood drips onto her leg, mixing with her arousal. 

“You know I’ve never seen a girl so wet, is that a human thing?” 

My hands trail towards the mess she’s made. The little girl whimpers. 

“You have no voice, no magic, no use of your arms, and no...say.” My hand cups her clit, and Remi screams. “My brothers have been instructed to leave us alone and no one will do a thing if they hear you fucking scream.” 

As my hand barely skims against Remi’s clit, she fights against the restraints. Her back arches, and my fingers are moved to her wet entrance. Her lust turns into hatred as I refuse to enter her. Pure, unadulterated, hatred. 

I wink at her. She only rocks her hips forward, grazing desperately against the tips of my fingers. 

She flicks her head away, the only act of defiance she’s allowed. She’s not going to be able to move at all when I’m done with her.   

"I'll remove that gag when I'm sure the only thing that's going to come out of that filthy mouth is yes, Master."

Another twist of her head. I'm on her instantly, covering her whole face with my one hand and forcing her eyes upon me.

“Oh yeah? Is that how it’s going to be?” I drag a wooden chair from a nearby table, and sit my ass in front of her. I flip my sword in my palm and catch it by the blade, cutting into my own skin. I push the grooved handle towards her, watching her take special note of every carved curve for each of my finger’s grip. 

“It was custom made for me, you know,” I push the hilt lazily into her clit, “it’s very strong metal, it doesn’t bend.” 

I pull back from her dripping cunt. Her back arches further, reaching for the handle. For something to stimulate her.

I stand from my chair, give her one last look, then turn around and slam the blade into the seat of the chair. Oak splinters, nails and wood go scattering in all directions. Then I drag my twisted creation across the floor, position it before her, and put my boot on the chair to keep it steady. 

“Fuck my blade, Remi. Ride it like it's your fucking God."