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“Mikael,” I whisper, the only sound now a faint drip of water beside us in the room that’s otherwise full of steam.

He nods slowly and I freeze, swallowing hard as my throat tightens. He tilts his head in response, his eyes drifting to my neck, then down the bare skin beneath it. My tiny breasts rise with rapid breath as I stand in front of him, entirely exposed. He’s calm as he beholds me with a predatory gaze that makes me twist and burn.

“Fear is so fucking sexy on you,” he says. “I could die watching you scream, and it would never be enough for me.”

I hate myself for the pleasure shooting to my core. Shame blends with pleasure as I stare at the shadowed man who ruined my life.

With fire in my eyes, I reach for his mask. He stops me, gripping my hands, and just by the grip, I realize Lincoln is completely shut out. Even their hands seem different. “I want to see you,” I whisper. “I deserve to see you, Mikael.”

His chest expands as I pull the mask off his face. It is not Lincoln Kennedy staring back at me, and these eyes are not translucent.

My mouth gapes open as I stare into them, and something shocking stares back at me. Something so innocent and pure. So real. His pupils dilate as if he can see me clearly, and his eyes gleam.

Lincoln’s eyes don’t gleam, and now I’m stuck wondering who has those translucent eyes I keep seeing. I’m positive now there is a third entity hiding in there.

There must be.

My hands find his cheek, my fingers a light caress as I move them over the bridge of his nose and to his lips, as if I need to explore every part of him. He grabs my hand, and my eyes stay steady on his as I move our hands down to my breast, giving him permission to touch me.

His hand tightens around the flesh and my nipples harden despite the heat.

His lips twitch into a smile, and he almost seems soft, which is exactly how I remember him. His hands were always soft, even if his words were cutting.

“Is this what you like?” I ask him, his head so close to mine our breaths mingle. He doesn’t respond, but he licks his lips as his other hand finds my waist and it’s exactly what he wants.

I remember… All those nights, he always started with my breasts before moving to other places. The way he looks at me now is almost boyish.

“You can touch me, Mikael,” I whisper into his cheek. “Anywhere you want. I’m yours just as much as I am his. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Did I really just say that? Is that what I want? Or is this the mind control they have over me?

He gently touches my nipple with his thumb. He squeezes and plays with it, and his smile gives me chills. The lights flicker again, as if he can control them, too.

“It’s cute you think I need your permission,” he scoffs, a smirk playing on his lips.

In one swift motion, his hand finds my throat. Time seems to stand still as he thrusts me up and slams me into the mirror.

The glass cracks slightly and his fingers begin to squeeze my neck. I can’t breathe, my lungs collapse, and little lights pepper my vision. Then he abruptly stops…

“You do not want me to do whatever I want,” he threatens, and his forehead meets mine. His hands once again turn to honey and he caresses my cheek. “Because I want to fucking kill you.”

I shake my head. “No, Mikael. You don’t.”

His eyes twinkle, his iron grip once again turns to a soft caress. “I’m nothing like Lincoln, pretty girl. And you know nothing about what I want.”

My heart flutters at his voice. This is the first time he’s really spoken to me—death threats don’t count and calling me pretty girl doesn’t, either.

He underestimates how much I understand him. Lincoln isn’t the host…he is. He is the architect behind it all. I’ve seen Mikael in Lincoln, but I don’t see any Lincoln in Mikael. Mikael’s been here the whole time.

I lift my leg so my thigh grazes his. Teasing him, taunting him. Taking some semblance of control and dignity back, even though I’m desperate for him.

I gaze up at him and he looks back at me with a soft, boyish expression. “Is that all you see when you look at me?” I ask him. “Just death and nothing else. I understand why Lincoln’s doing what he’s doing, but what is your goal, Mikael? Why are you always hiding?”

His lips curl, his eye twitches, and he stands back. “It’s hard to call it hiding when you’re being suppressed.”

For a moment his eyes start swirling like the mist, and I gasp, staring at that mesmerizing flicker before it disappears again. He’s still so good looking, but his mannerisms are so different. Almost…normal. Like he’s just some normal twenty-two-year-old, not some ageless entity. Despite his appetite for destruction or the fact he hides behind a supernatural, academic persona, he’s just a young man. One who society gave up on, and one with so many emotions he doesn’t know how to handle them.

“Is that all I am to you, the physical manifestation of your mother’s death?”