10. Chapter 10 Dante

Chapter 10 Dante

S hadowcrest looms before us, a Gothic monstrosity of stone and secrets. As the limo glides to a stop, I savor the way Natalie's breath catches, her eyes widening at the sight of her new prison. My palace. Our kingdom.

"Welcome home," I murmur, relishing the shiver that runs through her body at my words.

She tries to shrink away as I reach for her, but there's nowhere to go. My hand closes around her upper arm, firm enough to bruise. Good. I want her marked.

"Don't touch me," she hisses, but there's a tremor in her voice that betrays her.

I laugh, low and dark. "Oh, moy voron. I'll do far more than touch you before the night is through."

I drag her from the car, drinking in every detail of her struggle. The way her chest heaves with panicked breaths, the flash of defiance in those stormy eyes. She's exquisite in her fear, a masterpiece of light and shadow.

Alonzo appears at my side, silent and efficient as always. I nod towards the trunk. "Bring her things. And make sure everything is prepared as I instructed."

"Yes, boss," he rumbles, moving to obey without question. Good dog.

I turn my attention back to my prize, guiding her up the sweeping stairs with inexorable force. She stumbles, cursing under her breath, and I use the opportunity to pull her flush against me.

"Careful, Natalie," I purr into her ear. "I'd hate for you to hurt yourself before we've even begun our fun."

"Fuck you," she spits, but I can feel the way she trembles against me. The way her body betrays her, even as her mind rebels.

"All in good time, my love. All in good time."

The massive oak doors swing open at our approach, silent on well-oiled hinges. The grand foyer stretches before us, a cathedral to excess and sin. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across marble floors, while priceless art adorns every wall.

Natalie gasps, momentarily forgetting her fear as she takes it all in. I watch her face hungrily, savoring every flicker of emotion that crosses those delicate features. Awe, envy, a grudging appreciation for the beauty surrounding her.

"Do you like it?" I ask, leading her deeper into the belly of the beast. "I had it all designed with you in mind, you know. Every painting, every sculpture... a tribute to my unholy grail."

She tries to wrench away, her nails raking down my arm. "You're insane," she snarls. "I'm not some fucking collectible for you to hoard!"

I capture her wrist, squeezing until I feel the delicate bones grind together. She whimpers, music to my ears.

"No," I agree, my voice is a silken threat. "You're so much more than that. You're the missing piece, Natalie. The dark queen to rule at my side."

Before she can retort, I sweep her off her feet. She yelps, arms instinctively wrapping around my neck as I carry her bridal-style up the grand staircase.

"Put me down!" she demands, struggling in my arms. But it's useless. She's a butterfly caught in a spider's web, fragile wings beating against unbreakable silk.

"Now, now," I chide, my grip tightening. "Is that any way to treat your gracious host? I'm simply giving you the tour you deserve."

We reach the second floor, a labyrinth of hallways stretching in every direction. I carry her past door after door, each one hiding its own secrets, its own potential torments and delights.

"This wing is yours," I explain, nodding towards a series of rooms. "You'll have free rein here. The library, the music room, your studio..." I pause, savoring the way her breath catches at that last one. "Oh yes, tiny paintbrush. I know how much your art means to you. I'd never dream of taking that away."

"How generous," she bites out, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. But I can see the hunger in her eyes, the way she drinks in every detail of her gilded cage.

I come to a stop before a set of imposing double doors at the end of the hall. "And this," I say, shifting her weight to free one hand, "is where the real fun begins."

The doors swing open at my touch, revealing a bedroom fit for a king. Or a captive princess.

Natalie's eyes go wide as I carry her across the threshold. The room is draped in crimson and gold, from the silk sheets on the massive four-poster bed to the plush carpets underfoot. A fire crackles in the marble fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the walls.

I set her down gently, but keep my arms locked around her waist. She's rigid in my embrace, a bowstring pulled taut and ready to snap.

"What do you think?" I murmur, nuzzling the soft skin behind her ear. "Is it everything you've ever dreamed of?"

She shudders, trying to pull away. "It's a nightmare," she whispers. "You're a nightmare."

I laugh, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "Oh, my darling girl. I'm the best nightmare you'll ever have."

In one fluid motion, I spin her to face me. One hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the graceful column of her throat. The other slides down to grip her hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.

"Look at me," I command, waiting until those storm-gray eyes meet mine. "You can fight this all you want, Natalie. You can rage and scream and claw at the walls until your fingers bleed. But in the end, you'll surrender. You'll beg for my touch, plead for the exquisite torment only I can give you."

"Never," she breathes, but there's a hitch in her voice that betrays her. A flicker of heat in those eyes that tells me she's not as immune to my darkness as she pretends.

I smile, slow and predatory. "We'll see about that."

Without warning, I crush my mouth to hers. It's not a gentle kiss, not a seduction. It's brutal and damning. She struggles at first, hands pushing ineffectually against my chest. But then something inside her relents.

With a broken moan, she melts into me, her lips parting in surrender.

I growl my approval, deepening the kiss until we're both gasping for air. When I finally pull away, her lips are swollen and bruised, her eyes glazed with unwilling desire.

"There's my good girl," I purr, tracing the curve of her cheek with my thumb. "I knew you had it in you."

Reality seems to crash back over her, and she jerks away as if burned. "Don't," she chokes out. "Don't fucking touch me."

I let her go, watching with amusement as Natalie stumbles back. Her legs hit the edge of the bed, and she sits down hard, looking lost and small against the opulent backdrop.

"I'll touch you whenever and however I please," I inform her, my tone conversational. "The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us."

She glares up at me, fury warring with fear in those stormy eyes. "I hate you," she spits.

"No, you don't," I counter, moving to pour myself a drink from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. "You hate how much you want me. How much you crave the darkness I'm offering you."

I take a slow sip of the amber liquid, savoring the burn. "Tell me, Natalie. In all your years of painting, of pouring your blackened soul onto canvas... have you ever felt as alive as you do right now?"

She opens her mouth, clearly ready to deny it. But then she hesitates, uncertainty flickering across her face.

I press my advantage, stalking towards her with measured steps. "You can lie to yourself all you want, my savage beauty. But we both know the truth. You were made for this. For me. For the glorious depravity we'll create together."

I set my glass down on the nightstand, never taking my eyes off her. Natalie's chest rises and falls rapidly, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. She's a cornered animal, all instinct and adrenaline. It's intoxicating.

"Stand up," I command, my voice low and dangerous.

Her eyes flash with renewed fury. "Fuck you," she spits, hands gripping the edge of the bed. "You killed Mark. You kidnapped me. I'm not playing your sick games."

I smile, slow and predatory. "Oh, but you are, moy voron. Whether you want to or not."

I reach for her, but she's quicker than I anticipated. She ducks under my arm, making a mad dash for the door. I let her get halfway across the room before I move.

In three long strides, I catch her. My arm snakes around her waist, lifting her off her feet. She screams, a sound of pure rage and terror that sends a thrill through me.

"Let me go!" she shrieks, thrashing in my grip. Her elbow catches me in the ribs, hard enough to make me grunt.

"Feisty," I chuckle, tightening my hold. "I do so love a fighter."

I carry her back to the bed, pinning her beneath me. She bucks and writhes, every inch of her radiating defiance. It's glorious.

"Get off me, you psycho!" she snarls, nails raking down my cheek. I feel the sting, the warm trickle of blood, and my control slips.

I grab her wrists, slamming them above her head. "Enough," I growl, letting her see the beast that lurks beneath my civilized veneer. "You want to fight? Fine. But know this, Natalie - I will always win."

"I hate you," she hisses, tears of frustration gathering in her eyes. "I'll never stop fighting you. Never."

I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. "Good," I purr. "I'd be disappointed if you gave in so easily. But make no mistake, lyubov moya - you will give in. Eventually."

She turns her head away, a small act of defiance that makes me want to claim her all the more. "Never," she repeats, but there's a tremor in her voice now.

I release one of her wrists, using my free hand to grip her chin and force her to look at me. "You can deny it all you want," I murmur, thumb tracing her lower lip. "But I see the truth in your eyes. The darkness that calls to mine."

"You're insane," she breathes, but she doesn't try to pull away.

"Perhaps," I concede. "But then, aren't all the best artists a little mad? You and I, my beautiful nightmare - we're cut from the same cloth. Drenched in sin and slithering shadows, creating beauty from the ashes of our broken minds."

I see it then - a flicker of recognition in those stormy eyes. A moment of connection that she tries desperately to smother.

"I'm nothing like you," she insists, but the words lack conviction.

I smile, knowing I've struck a nerve. "Aren't you? Tell me, Natalie - where do you think your art comes from? That raw, bleeding emotion you pour onto canvas... it's not so different from the blood I spill."

She shakes her head violently. "No. You're a monster. A killer."

"And you're a creator," I counter. "Yin and Yang, my dark muse. Destruction and rebirth, forever entwined."

I release her then, sitting back on my heels. She scrambles away, pressing herself against the headboard. But Natalie doesn't run. Doesn't scream. She watches me warily, like a mouse hypnotized by a cobra.

"I'll draw you a bath," I say, my tone casual as if we were discussing the weather. "You must be exhausted after your... eventful day."

Her brow furrows in confusion at this sudden shift. "I... what?"

I stand, straightening my rumpled shirt. "A bath, moy voron. To wash away the dirt of the outside world. To prepare you for your new life here."

"I told you," she says, but her voice lacks its earlier venom. "I'm not staying. I won't be a part of your sick fantasy."

I pause at the bathroom door, glancing back at her with a smile that's all teeth and dark promises. "Oh, but you will. You can fight it all you want, deny it until you're blue in the face. But in the end, you'll see. This is where you belong. With me."

I leave her there, trembling and defiant on the silk sheets. As I run the bath, adding oils that will seep into her skin and mark her with my scent, I allow myself a moment of pure, vicious satisfaction.

This... this is a promising start. She's angry, she's scared, but beneath it all, there's a spark of dark curiosity. A hunger she can't quite hide.

And I intend to fan that spark into an inferno that will consume us both.

The bathroom fills with fragrant steam as I return to the bedroom. Natalie hasn't moved, still pressed against the headboard like a cornered animal. Her eyes dart between me and the open door, calculating her chances of escape.

"Bath time," I purr, stalking towards her with predatory grace.

Natalie's eyes flash, storm clouds ready to unleash hell. "Go fuck yourself, Dante."

I chuckle, the sound low and dangerous. "Oh, I'd much rather fuck you."

Before she can react, I'm on her. One arm loops around her waist, the other under her knees. She shrieks, fists pounding against my chest as I lift her effortlessly.

"Put me down, you neanderthal!" she snarls.

I smile, teeth gleaming. "As you wish."

With that, I dump her unceremoniously into the tub, designer clothes and all. She comes up spluttering, hair plastered to her face, looking like a furious, waterlogged kitten.

"You absolute bastard!" she gasps, wiping water from her eyes.

I drink in the sight of her, clothes clinging to every luscious curve. My cock twitches, straining against my zipper.

"Now, now," I tsk, crouching beside the tub. "Is that any way to thank me for my hospitality?"

She reaches forward, trying to grab me, but I dance out of reach. Water sloshes over the rim, soaking the marble floor.

"I'll show you hospitality," she growls, struggling to stand in the slippery tub. Her wet clothes cling to every curve, leaving little to the imagination. My mouth goes dry at the sight.

"Careful, darling," I warn, voice rougher than I intend. "You wouldn't want to slip and hurt yourself."

As if on cue, her foot slides out from under her. I move without thinking, catching her before she can crack her head on the porcelain.

For a moment, we're frozen. Her hands grip my shirt, my arms locked around her waist. I can feel every heaving breath, every tremor that runs through her body.

"Let go of me," she whispers, but there's a hitch in her voice that betrays her.

I smile, slow and predatory. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Her pupils dilate, a flash of heat in those stormy eyes. But then she blinks, and it's gone, replaced by renewed fury.

"Yes," she hisses, shoving hard against my chest.

I release her, letting her stumble back into the tub. "As you wish, tiny paintbrush. But don't say I never did anything for you."

She glares, chest heaving. "Oh, I'll be saying plenty about you. To the cops, the second I get out of here."

I laugh, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. "Oh, my naive little bird. Don't you know? The cops work for me. This whole city is mine." I lean in, voice dropping to a seductive purr. "And soon, you will be too."

She spits in my face, a poor show of defiance. I wipe it away slowly, never breaking eye contact. Then she lunges, nails raking down my cheek. I feel the sting, the warm trickle of blood, and something inside me snaps.

In an instant, I'm in the tub with her, pinning her against the porcelain. Water soaks through my thousand-dollar suit, but I couldn't care less. All that matters is the feeling of her body against mine, the fire in her eyes as she glares up at me.

"I will find a way out," she snarls, but I can feel the way she trembles, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"Never," I growl, one hand fisting in her hair. "You're mine, Natalie. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

"I'll never be yours," she spits, but there's a hitch in her voice, a flicker of heat in those stormy eyes.

I smile, slow and predatory. "We'll see about that."

Without warning, I crush my mouth to hers. It's not a kiss – it's brutal and unrelenting. I groan, deepening the kiss, my free hand roaming her body. She arches into my touch, a broken moan escaping her lips.

"That's it," I murmur against her throat, nipping at the delicate skin. "Give in to it. To me."

For a moment, I think I've won. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. But then she stiffens, reality crashing back.

"No!" she cries, shoving hard against my chest.

I allow her to push me away, watching with dark amusement as her chest heaves, lips swollen from my kiss, eyes wild with a cocktail of desire and self-loathing.

"Enough games," I say, voice rough with need. "Strip."

She blinks, disbelief warring with outrage. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I lean back, making myself comfortable. "Take off your clothes. Unless you'd prefer I do it for you?"

For a long moment, she just stares at me. Then, slowly, she stands. Water cascades down her body as she peels off her soaked shirt, revealing inch after tantalizing inch of creamy skin.

I watch, transfixed, as she shimmies out of her jeans. She stands before me in nothing but scraps of lace, a goddess risen from the depths.

"Happy now?" she sneers, but I can see the way she shivers, goosebumps pebbling her skin.

"Ecstatic," I purr, drinking in every detail. "Now finish the job."

Her hands move to the clasp of her bra, then pause. A wicked glint enters her eye.

"You know what? I don't think I will."

Before I can react, she's out of the tub, bolting for the door. I curse, scrambling after her, but my waterlogged clothes slow me down.

By the time I make it back to the bedroom, she's nowhere in sight. But I'm not worried. This is my domain, my labyrinth. She can run all she likes – there's no escape.

I strip off my ruined suit, anticipation thrumming through my veins. The hunt is on, and I intend to enjoy every second of it.

"Ready or not, moy voron," I call out, voice echoing through the halls. "Here I come."