Chapter Eleven
Riven's POV
I lasted two nights.
Two nights of ignoring his message.
Two nights of deleting his picture and still seeing it burned into the back of my mind.
Two nights of pretending I didn't still want him.
I trained until my fists bled.
I patrolled alone.
I even tried—fuck me—I tried being with someone else.
He was tall. Strong. A new recruit from the southern order. He looked good under the flickering lights of the training hall. He flirted. Touched my arm. Pulled me into a storage room, fingers trailing under my shirt.
It should've worked.
It didn't.
Because when he kissed me, all I could think of was Lior's mouth.
When he touched me, I pictured Lior's fangs at my throat.
When I closed my eyes, I imagined black silk sheets, candlelight, and Lior whispering "Say my name" in that cursed, addicting voice.
I shoved the guy off me, hard.
He stumbled. "What the hell...?"
"I can't."
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
I didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
He stormed off.
And that night I snapped.
I marched straight to the edge of the vampire district, back to the warehouse where we last fought. I knew he might be there. I hoped he was.
I found him perched on a ledge above the alley like the arrogant bastard he is, legs swinging, moonlight kissing his skin.
"You missed me," he said the moment he saw me.
I threw my blade at him. He dodged, laughing as it stabbed into the wood behind him.
"Oh, we're playing angry tonight?" he grinned, dropping down to face me. "Good. I like it when you're violent."
I didn't respond. Just lunged.
We clashed fists, blades, magic and rage. We slammed each other into walls, tore through crates, cursed and growled and breathed each other in like poison.
"You think I want this?" I spat, grabbing his collar and shoving him into the wall. "You think I chose you?"
His lips were bleeding. He licked them, eyes gleaming.
"You moaned my name, Riven," he whispered. "You begged for it."
I growled and threw him down again, pinning him by the throat.
He didn't fight it. He arched into it.
"Do it," he hissed. "Hurt me. Hate me. But don't pretend you don't want me."
My grip trembled. Not from fear.
From need.
I leaned in, breathing hard, inches from his lips. "You are the worst thing that ever happened to me."
"And I'm only getting started."
I stood. Shook my head. Backed away before I did something I couldn't undo.
And then…
He showed up the next night.
At my home.
I had just stepped out of the shower when I felt him. That curse-tether humming through my spine like electricity.
I opened the door with a blade in my hand and there he was.
Soaked from the rain. Dressed in black. Smiling like he owned the air between us.
"Told you you wouldn't be able to stop thinking about me."
"You're not welcome here."
"Didn't ask," he said, stepping inside. "You've been trying to fuck someone else to forget me, haven't you?"
My silence was the answer.
He walked past me, dripping water across my floor. "Did it help?"
"No."
"Did you wish it was me?"
I said nothing.
"I felt you again last night," he said softly. "Touching yourself. No dream this time. You were awake."
I froze. My mouth went dry.
He turned to face me, eyes dark and hungry. "Want to know what I was doing when I felt it?"
I swallowed hard.
He stepped closer. Whispered into my ear.
"I was thinking about how you'd sound with my hand around your throat… and your legs shaking."
My breath hitched.
He didn't kiss me. He didn't touch me.
He just turned and walked out leaving heat in the air and chaos in my chest.
And I knew then…
I couldn't run anymore.
I was cursed.
And I was his.
Even if I hated him for it.