The walls were deep obsidian, sleek and unyielding, with no windows in sight. A single chandelier spilled golden light over the king-sized bed she was trapped in. The sheets smelled expensive—fresh linen and the lingering trace of Makros’s cologne.
Woody. Dark. Unfamiliar.
Her stomach lurched. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be dead.
Her pulse hammered as she forced herself upright, ignoring the way her muscles screamed in protest.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” she spat, her voice hoarse but venomous.
Makros laughed.
He moved toward her with that slow, predatory looseness of a man who feared nothing, and expected only submission.
Leila flinched as he sat on the edge of the bed, too close, too casual.
“I'd appreciate it if I were you,” he said lightly. “Could've left you with the others. Could've painted the walls with your brains.” He tilted his head. “But here you are—alive.”
His words twisted in her chest.
Her family was gone.
All gone and it was because of him.
The rage hit fast, hot and all-consuming. She didn't think, only reacted. Her leg shot out, connecting squarely with his groin. Makros inhaled a sharp breath, his body doubling slightly at the impact.
Not enough.
She swung, a flurry of fists aimed at his throat, his face, anywhere she could strike. It was a desperate attempt to bury her fury somewhere he'd actually feel it.
She didn't get far.
A crushing grip closed around her throat, slamming her back into the mattress. Her lungs seized.
The weight of Makros was on her, his fingers curled tightly enough to remind her how easily he could take her life.
“Still have some fight in you,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “Admirable. Stupid, but admirable.”
Leila dug her nails deep into his wrist, but it was hopeless. He was too strong. Her vision began to blur, black spots creeping in.
Then suddenly he let her go.
She coughed, gasping for air, her body scrambling to remember its functions.
Makros sank back, hooking his elbows over his knees as he considered her. Entertained. Curious. As if she were some compelling science experiment.
“See?” he said smugly. “You are a quick learner.”
Her hand shook as she wiped her mouth. Fear or exhaustion or flat-out rage, who knew which had won the territorial tug-of-war in her?
Makros leaned toward the nightstand and handed her a glass of water.
Leila looked up at him like he'd stepped off a flying saucer. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He shrugged. “You look like you're about to pass out.”
“I'd rather die of thirst than take anything from you.”
His smile widened. “Dramatic.”
