I bet you can't

Dahlia

A sharp, metallic sound exploded the quiet of the bedroom.

I whipped around, staring at the door of the bedroom as if it had suddenly grown teeth. My hand flew out, catching Rafe’s forearm by sheer instinct, my fingers digging hard into skin that felt like sun-warmed iron.

"Did someone just fucking lock us in?" I said confused, my voice dropping into a harsh, tight whisper that felt entirely too loud in the dead quiet of the room. "Your family. Orin, Maelis—one of them just..."

Rafe's dark gaze stayed locked on my face, tracking every twitch of my pulse point jumping wildly beneath the skin of my throat. The panic clawing at my chest wasn't just about being trapped in a gothic cage with a man who collected secrets like playing cards; it was the suffocating realization that the walls we were inside were closing in.

"Did something finally scare you," Rafe muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that washed over me. He didn't pull away from my grip. If anything, he shifted his weight, closing the microscopic gap between us as I slowly moved back until I could feel the steady, brutal thrum of his heartbeat against my ribs. "There's only one way out of this room anyway, Dahlia. And right now, you're not going anywhere until you give me some real answers."

"Answers?" I let out a sharp, incredulous breath, my fingers tightening on his arm instead of letting go. "You're the one standing in a room full of secrets, holding a murder-adjacent family norm, and you want me to talk? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" A dark, dangerous edge cut through his tone, his mouth twisting into something halfway between a smirk and a snarl. He reached up, his large, calloused hand curving around the back of my neck, his thumb pressing just beneath my jawline—not choking, never choking, but anchoring me completely. "You waltz into my life like a walking storm, digging through my things, throwing my family's filth back in my face, and you act surprised when I want to know why you're really here."

"I told you—"

"You told me a convenient little fairy tale," he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, turning rougher, almost intimate in its intensity. He leaned down, his forehead brushing mine, the clean scent of cedar and rain tangling with the raw, electric friction between us. "You think I don't see right through that sharp little mouth of yours? You're hiding something big enough to get you killed, Dahlia. And every second you spend playing detective in my house is another second I spend wondering if I should lock you up myself just to keep you breathing."

The sheer audacity of it made my head spin. My blood turned to liquid fire, every ounce of fear morphing into a bitter, blinding rage that felt entirely too much like desire.

"Try it," I whispered, lifting my chin so our lips were barely a breath apart, my eyes burning intensely into his. "Try locking me up, Rafe. See how long this grand estate lasts before I burn it to the ground from the inside out."

He eyes darkened into an abyss, that restless hunger flaring up behind his pupils like a match struck in an empty room. The air between us turned thick, heavy, almost impossible to drag into my lungs. His thumb stroked a slow, agonizing circle against my skin, sending a violent shiver straight down to my toes.

For one reckless, spinning second, the rest of the world... the locked door, the mutual hatred, the shadowy threats waiting in the halls... evaporated. There was only the brutal heat of his chest, the heavy rasp of his breathing, and the magnetic pull dragging my mouth toward his like gravity had lost its mind.

My lips parted. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering there with a desperate, starving hunger that promised total destruction.