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Their bravado evaporated, leaving them exposed as the cowards they were. Chris stood sentinel over me, a dark guardian whose presence promised retribution.
I lay on the cold ground, trembling, a storm-battered survivor gazing up at the eye of the tempest, wondering if salvation had indeed come or if I'd simply traded one devil for another.
Izzy's gaze turned cold as she ran towards me. Annie saw her opportunity and took it. Both of them descended on me, a fist connecting to my chest as the tip of a knife slipped into my bicep. I let out a shriek before I heard it. The unhinged roar.
The air stilled as Chris's rage manifested into raw, unbridled violence. His fists were the first to speak – knuckles slamming into Annie's cheek with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating. Her head snapped to the side, a bright bloom of red painting her lips.
"Son of a—" Izzy lunged, her whip forgotten as she clawed for the blade, but Chris was already on her. The force of his body, a freight train of muscle and fury, sent her crashing against the stone wall. The air wooshed from her lungs in a pained gasp.
I pressed my back into the cold floor, my chest heaving, every bruise singing with pain. Chris moved like a beast uncaged – all power, and psychotic fury. His tattoos danced as he delivered another blow to Annie, who crumpled like a rag doll at his feet.
"Chris!" I screamed, or maybe I only thought it, my mind a cyclone of terror and awe.
"Stay down," he snarled at Izzy, pinning her with one massive arm, his other hand drawn back, ready to strike. "Don't you fucking move."
"Chris, no!" The words tore from me, but they were just whispers.
His gaze flickered to mine for an instant, a storm of blue that promised destruction. He hesitated, and Izzy seized the moment, spitting curses as she wriggled beneath him, trying to escape.
"Filthy bitch!" Chris's voice was a thunderclap, his fist descending with finality. Izzy went still. Her face a smashed mess.
My heart thrashed wildly behind my ribcage. Every breath seared through me, air sharp as broken glass. I watched, helpless, as Chris turned back to Annie, looming over her fallen form. His hand curled around the knife she'd dropped, lifting it high.
"Chris, please..." My voice broke.
"Nobody touches what's mine," he growled, the words vibrating with possessive heat. His eyes scorched me, their depths churning with something feral and protective. Bringing the knife down, he twisted, pulling it up as spurts of blood coated his face.
He tossed the knife away, metal clanging against stone. His boots thudded as he approached. His shadow fell over me. And for the first time in a lifetime, I had never been more grateful for the darkness.
"You’re safe," he sighed. His fingers trailed tenderly down my cheek, a stark contrast to the brutality they'd just unleashed. Chris muttered under his breath, a dark god surveying his handiwork. His gaze found mine, wild and untamed, a storm of blue in the dimness. He stepped over their lifeless forms, his boots slicked with their demise.
"What the hell do we do now?” My voice quivered. My heart raced, careening between terror and a treacherous thrill.
"Fuck if I know."
The metallic tang of blood permeated the air, thick and cloying. My lungs heaved with each shuddering breath. I recoiled from the crimson stains that seeped across the cold stone floor, reaching out toward me like the fingers of the damned.
"But..." The word stumbled from my lips, laced with disbelief. "Why?" My gaze clung to his.
A muscle twitched in his jaw, the lines of his face etched with shadows.
"I told you already. You're mine."
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frenzied dance of terror and something dangerously close to longing. His hand rose, the movement slow and deliberate, fingers smeared with the evidence of his wrath. A touch, light as a feather yet heavy with intent, traced a line from my jaw to the hollow of my throat.
"Fuck," he cursed, his breath hot against my skin. The heat from his body radiated, enveloping me in a cocoon of raw masculinity. "Needed to be done," he murmured, the rasp in his voice hinting at a darkness that lurked beneath the surface, a beast caged by will alone.
My pulse echoed in my ears, a frantic drumbeat creating rhythm in time with the drip-drip-drip of blood. His presence loomed over me, an unyielding force, an undeniable claim. The room swam, the walls closed in.
"Can't fucking stand anyone else touching you," he growled, the ownership in his tone a visceral thing that wrapped around my heart and squeezed.
Blood pooled at my feet, slick and warm as my gaze fixed on Chris, the man who had become both jailer and savior. He stood up and paced—tall, menacing, a god of wrath wreathed in shadows, his knuckles split and red. He was wrestling with what he'd done... and what it meant for him.
"Couldn't let them... Not to you," he said, voice low, a growl that reverberated through the damp air of the dungeon. "If anyone's gonna hurt you, Ella, it'll be me."
I recoiled but there was nowhere to run. The cold stone wall pressed against my back, its rough surface scraping my skin. My breath hitched.
"Chris... you can't mean that," I whispered, but even as the words left my lips, I knew they were laced with doubt.
