Chapter six

The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, thin and shaky, betraying more than I wanted. I avoided his gaze, staring instead at the worn floorboards beneath my feet, wishing they'd swallow me whole.

But he wasn't buying it.

"You're hiding something." His voice dropped, soft but sharp, like a blade sliding against skin. "And I will find out."

Before I could react, he was in front of me—too close. His breath, warm and deliberate, brushed against my cheek, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

But it wasn't fear of my father that made my heart stutter. No. It was the thought of what could Riven do—that turned my blood to ice. Because if this idiot pushed too far, if he poked the wrong bear, he would crush him without a second thought. And my brother? He wouldn't stand a chance either. None of them would.

"I heard he has a fight tonight," he said suddenly, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His were alight with something dangerous, something stupid. "We should go watch."

"What?" The word snapped out of me, sharp and disbelieving.

"Yasmine. We will go."

I blinked at him, stunned by his audacity. I glanced toward my brother, searching for some sign of reason, but he just stood there, arms crossed, eyes cold.

"No," I said, though the word felt hollow. As if I ever had a say in anything they decided.

"I have to study him," my brother muttered, his tone flat, like this was some kind of science experiment.

"Then go yourself," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. The defensiveness in my voice was a thin shield, but it was all I had.

"You're coming with me." His tone darkened, brooking no argument. "You know the rules of Death Seal. They don't accept lone visitors."

I clenched my jaw, my pulse quickening.

"And as you can tell," he added with a sneer, "Dad can't come."

"I hate that place," I spat, shaking my head like the very thought of it left a sour taste in my mouth.

"I don't care," he hissed, his eyes narrowing. "I have to study him if I'm going to beat him."

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. As if he could ever stand a chance against Riven. It was laughable, pathetic even.

"Go. You owe me," my father's voice cut through the room like a knife, final and cold.

I felt my stomach twist. I hated them. I hated them all.

I didn't want to meet Riven. Not yet. Not like this. What if he noticed me when I was with my brother? What if he realized who I was? The thought alone made my head pound.

"I don't think that place is what the doctor had in mind when they recommended rest and safety," I muttered bitterly, glaring at them both. "But I'm sure none of you care enough about my health to think about that."

"Stop being so dramatic," my brother snapped, his patience thinning. "It's not like you're fighting. You just have to watch."

"Since you've already decided, as always—sure," I bit out, my voice tight with anger. My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall. I clenched my fists instead, nails digging into my palms, and turned away. I wanted to run to my room, slam the door, and lock myself inside forever.

About ten minutes later, I am in my room, changing, when I hear the door creak open.

My heart skips a beat. I forget how to breathe.

I spin around just in time to see my stepbrother push the door shut behind him.

I barely managed to pull on my jeans, but my shirt is still in my hands, half-buttoned, half-forgotten. Panicked, I clutch it to my chest, shielding myself as best I can.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper, my voice unsteady. "I'm still changing."

He takes a step toward me. His eyes darken, and a shiver of fear rattles through me. I know what he's capable of. I know what he's done before.

"Let me look at you," he murmurs.

He reaches for my hands, trying to pry them away from my body, but I shake my head and pull back.

His fingers tighten around my wrist. I wince at the pain. The pressure is too much. I let go.

His smirk widens as his gaze drags over me, lingering where it shouldn't.

"You're lucky," he says, his voice laced with something vile. "So lucky with a body like this."

Another step. Closer.

Too close.

I stiffen as his hand lifts. His fingers brush my skin, and I cringe.

Disgust churns inside me. His touch is heavy, filthy—wrong.

His palm skims my cheek, then trails down my neck. His eyes flick downward, to where I'm exposed.

His smirk grows.

His hand moves lower.

He cups my breast, squeezes.

"You've been blessed," he murmurs, as if this is something I should be grateful for.

"Leave me alone," I whisper.

He doesn't listen. He never listens.

Instead, he does the opposite.

He shoves me against the wall.

Oh no.

Not again.