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He takes another step closer, his eyes gleaming with a predatory smile.
I want to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. The armchair presses against my back, trapping me between the plush cushion and the man standing before me. My heart races, every instinct in me telling me to run, but I can’t even get to my feet.
I’m frozen.
“Y-you’re not supposed to be here,” I say, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “This is Kir’s house.”
Mal’s eyes darken with amusement. “I hardly thinkthe rules,and where I am and am notsupposed to be,are any of your concern right now…Freya.”
A cold shiver chases down my spine when he growls my name. I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. I don’t want him to see the fear in my eyes, don’t want him to know how much he’s rattling me. But it’s impossible to hide.
He sees everything.
The desperate need to get out of this room and out of his orbit is almost overwhelming. I try to think how I could spring to my feet and maybe bolt past him. But before I can even finish that plan in my head, he’s closing the distance between us, as if sensing my pathetic intentions.
I cower back as his powerful hands grip either side of the high back of the chair behind me, his massive, muscled frame looming over me as he cages me in. The dim light from outside my bedroom window sends sharp shadows across his lethal jaw, Nordic cheekbones, and the rippling muscles of his forearms as his hands grip the chair like iron.
My pulse skips. Something somewhere between abject fear and liquid fire ripples through my system, electrifying me as I look up into those lethal blue eyes.
A dark, malevolent smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, one of his hands uncoils from the back of the chair and drops to my chin. He cups my jaw, dragging one thick, strong finger down my cheek. The hand slides to my neck, squeezing slightly and sending bolts of something wicked and forbidden exploding through my core.
Then his hand drops even lower, and his fingers find the edge of the towel. He tugs at the fabric, just enough to make me hold it tighter, my body reacting instinctively to the threat of exposure.
“Do you think you can lie to me?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl.
I blink, confused. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There’s something dark and knowing in his gaze that makes my blood turn to ice.
“You think you’resogood at hiding,” he says softly, but there’s a hard edge to his words. “Pretending to be someone else. But I know the truth, Freya. About your family.”
The color drains from my face, and I can see my fear reflected in his eyes as they glint maliciously.
He knows.
He. Fucking.Knows.
There’s a reason I’ve avoided Mal Ulstäd ever since Kenzo and the rest of the Mori family landed on Annika’s and my radar five years ago, and it’s not because I knew he wore creepy masks and liked to murder people with swords. It’s not because of his Yakuza connections, either.
It’s because Mal Ulstäd is a link to the darkness I ran from when I was fifteen.
How the fuck does he know?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper.
Mal’s hand slides back up my towel, making me shudder as his strong fingers wrap around my throat almost sensually. His grip tightens slightly, his thumb drifting over the pulse point.
“Lying again,” he tsks, his lips curving into a dark smile. “You’re not very good at it, you know.”
My mind races, trying to figure out how to get out of this. How to keep him from digging any deeper.
“What do you want?”
His smile fades, his expression turning cold. “The truth.”
My pulse quickens, my throat tightening under his grip as fear curls in my stomach. “W-what truth?”
Mal leans down closer, his face barely a foot away. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer presence of him overwhelming my senses.
