Chapter 5

"Get back in your room, Clara! Look away!"

The words tore from his throat with such raw, jagged fury that the thick glass along the corridor seemed to hum with the vibration.

Gabriel’s knuckles split open against the white marble as he struck the floor a second time. The metallic tang of fresh blood cut through the heavy air, mixing instantly with the rich, sharp scents of cedar and damp rain still clinging to his skin. He didn't look like a king in that moment; he looked like a wounded beast backed into a corner, ready to tear apart anything that dared witness his weakness.

I didn't step back.

For eighteen years, I had learned the exact nature of human cruelty. I knew the sharp, cold violence of my mother’s slaps and the quiet, starving neglect of my father’s cellars. But this wasn't the cruelty of a tyrant. This was the violent, agonizing thrashing of a man trapped inside a broken frame.

I took a step into the hallway, my bare feet sinking into the icy cold of the marble where the heavy runner rug ended.

"I said *get out!*" Gabriel snarled, his voice dropping into a lethal, raspy growl. He dragged his heavy torso an inch, his broad shoulders flexing beneath the dim wall light as he tried to use the base of the overturned wheelchair to leverage himself up. The massive frame tipped dangerously, threatenening to crash down directly onto his leg.

"Stop!" I gasped, rushing forward without thinking.

I threw myself against the heavy leather-and-steel frame of the wheelchair, planting my shoulder against the wheel to keep it from falling on him. The metal was heavy, cold, and rigid, but I held it pinned against the wall with all the strength left in my thin frame.

Gabriel froze.

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he stared up at me from the floor. Up close, the sweat sheen on his skin reflected the low light, tracing the harsh lines of his jaw and the thick, pale scars that ran from his left shoulder down into his trousers. His grey eyes were wide, blown out with a mixture of dark rage and sudden, absolute shock.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his breath fanning hot and sharp against my bare ankle. "Touch me, Clara, and I swear to God—"

"You're going to crush your leg," I cut in, my own voice trembling, though I refused to break his stare. "And if you drop this chair, the noise will bring those guards of yours running up here with their guns drawn. Is that what you want? For them to see you like this?"

Gabriel’s jaw clamped shut so hard I heard the click of his teeth. The vein along his scarred neck throbbed violently.

He hated it. He hated the words, he hated the truth in them, and above all, he hated that the starved, bruised substitute bride was standing over him while he was pinned to the floor.

"I don't need your pity," he rasped out, every syllable dripping with acid.

"Good," I said, leaning harder against the chair to keep it steady. "Because I don't have any to give. Pity doesn't fix a broken wheel, and it certainly didn't keep me warm in the cellar."

Something flickered in the storm of his eyes—a sudden, sharp spark of shock that cut clean through his rage.

"Grab the frame," I instructed quietly, ignoring the sudden violent racing of my heart. "If you pull yourself up using the seat arm, I can balance the back rest so it doesn't tip."

Gabriel stared at me for three long, agonizing seconds. The silence between us stretched, tense as a pulled piano wire. I could feel the sheer, suffocating mass of his pride fighting against the reality of his body.

Finally, with a dark, low curse, Gabriel reached up.

His massive hand clamped onto the dark leather armrest. His knuckles turned white, the muscles in his back and arms straining instantly until the thick veins bulged against his skin. The raw, immense strength in his upper body was terrifying; even paralyzed, he possessed enough power to crush me without trying.

"On three," he growled through gritted teeth.

"One," I whispered, bracing my knees against the marble. "Two..."

With a heavy, loud grunt, Gabriel hoisted his entire body upward. I braced myself against the back frame, keeping the electric chair firmly grounded as he pulled himself smoothly into the seat. The chair settled with a solid metallic thud, rocking slightly on its shocks before coming to a complete rest.

Gabriel sank back into the leather, his chest rising and falling in violent, ragged gasps. Sweat ran down the sharp valley of his spine, sliding down his scarred cheek and dripping onto his collarbone.

I backed away instantly, putting distance between us, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I could barely draw breath.

Gabriel didn't speak. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the headrest as he fought to regain control of his breathing. The silence in the long corridor returned, heavy, thick, and suffocating.

I looked down at his right arm. Blood was dripping slowly from his elbow, running down his forearm and pooling on the leather rest.

Without thinking, I reached down, catching the hem of the oversized silk nightgown Mrs. Gable had given me, and tore a long strip of fabric from the bottom edge. The sharp sound of ripping silk echoed through the hall.

Gabriel’s eyes snapped open, deadly and fast.

I stepped forward before he could warn me off, taking his bleeding arm in my hands. His skin was burning hot against my cold fingers, trembling with remaining tension. He stiffened instantly, every muscle in his arm turning to absolute iron, but he didn't pull away.

Carefully, silently, I wrapped the silk strip around his bruised elbow, tying a tight, neat knot to stem the bleeding.

"You're bleeding," I murmured, keeping my eyes fixed on the bandage. "It'll stain the leather."

Gabriel didn't look at his arm. His storm-grey eyes were locked onto the side of my face, watching the dark, ugly bruise my father had left on my cheek, and the thin, pale scars visible on my wrists where the ropes had bound me hours ago.

"Why didn't you call the guards?" Gabriel asked suddenly. His voice wasn't loud or angry anymore. It was quiet, deep, and unnervingly focused. "You could have run. You could have called them to embarrass me. You could have used this."

I finished the knot and finally met his gaze.

"My family spent eighteen years trying to make me feel small, Mr. Vance," I said softly, stepping back into the shadows of the hallway. "I know what it feels like to be trapped in a body or a room that isn't yours. I wouldn't wish the audience of an enemy on anyone."

Gabriel stared at me, the dark folds of his brow pulling down as if he were trying to solve a complex, dangerous puzzle. The cold, impenetrable wall he built around himself hadn't fallen, but for the first time since I stepped onto that altar, it had a crack in it.

He slowly brought his arm up, looking at the white silk wrapped around his skin.

"Gabriel," he said quietly.

I paused, halfway back to my room. "What?"

"I told you in the car," he said, his gravelly voice echoing down the dim corridor as he reached out to engage the electric controls of his chair. "My name is Gabriel. Don't call me Mr. Vance again."

He turned the chair smoothly, the hum of the motor breaking the stillness as he began rolling toward the dark double doors at the far end of the wing.

Just before he reached his quarters, his chair slowed to a stop. He didn't turn around, but his deep voice carried back through the quiet air with absolute clarity.

"Mrs. Gable will bring your breakfast at seven," Gabriel said coldly. "Eat all of it. You look like a gust of wind would snap you in half, and I don't keep fragile things in my house."

The doors of his suite opened automatically, and he disappeared into the dark, leaving me standing alone in the warm, scented hallway.

I sank back into my room, pulling the heavy wooden door shut. The brass lock clicked into place, but for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like a prisoner waiting for the executioner.

I touched my bruised cheek, looking out the grand glass window toward the black ocean crashing violently against the cliffs below.

The beast in the dark fortress hadn't torn me apart.

He had just given me a name.