Forbidden Touch

The silence in his chambers is colder than the stone beneath my knees.

Kael hasn't said a word since the guards dragged his broken brother away. Blood stains his sleeves. His knuckles are raw. He stands by the window, unmoving, like the rage in him hasn't fully settled.

I kneel on the stone floor where he left me, exactly as he positioned me when we entered. My throat burns from thirst - the single sip of water Damon gave me feels like a lifetime ago. My throat burns from thirst, but I don't dare ask. Not now.

"Twenty years," he says suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Twenty years I've protected him. Taught him. Loved him."

His reflection in the window glass looks like a stranger - wild hair, blood-spattered shirt, eyes that burn with something between fury and despair.

"And for what? So he could try to steal what's mine?" the words hang in the air like smoke. He turns, slowly, eyes locking on me like a predator spotting prey.

"The way you looked at him, his voice filled with disappointment. "I've given you pain, and still... you never looked at me the way you looked at him."

"I didn't know I was supposed to," I say.

His eyes darken.

"Every look you give another man," he says, stepping closer, "is a betrayal."

Now he's in front of me, crouching. His fingers tilt my chin up, not gently. Not cruelly either. Just... possessive.

"You smiled at him." His hand braces against the wall beside my head, caging me in, but his voice remains devastatingly soft. "One cup of water, and suddenly he's worthy of gratitude I've never earned."

His breath is warm against my cheek. I can smell the copper scent of blood on his clothes, feel the barely leashed control radiating from his skin.

"Do you think he would've spared you? Protected you?" Each word is measured, deliberate. "He would've used you up and tossed you to the dogs."

"Then why does it matter?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

He goes perfectly still.

"Because I want it," he says, low and dangerous. "Your smile. Your gratitude. Your goddamn attention. I want it all."

His hand wraps around my throat - not choking, just holding. Possessive. Desperate in a way that makes my pulse hammer against his palm.

"Look at me."

I raise my eyes to meet his, and the intensity there steals my breath. He's looking at me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve, a riddle that's driving him slowly insane.

"You felt something when he touched you," he says, thumb tracing along my pulse point. "I saw it. That moment of... hope."

The word comes out like an accusation.

"I'm grateful for any kindness," I whisper. "Even yours."

"Especially mine." His grip tightens slightly. "Say it."

"Especially yours."

Something flickers in his dark eyes - satisfaction, maybe, or hunger. "Then why does their kindness cut deeper than anything I've ever given you?"

The question hangs between us, raw and desperate. Because he's right. Damon's simple gesture of water affected me more than all of Kael's twisted games combined.

"Because kindness from you would destroy me," I admit.

He stares at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, the touch surprisingly gentle.

"You think I don't want to be kind to you?"

"I think you don't know how."

His jaw tightens. "You're wrong."

His other hand comes up to cup my face, fingers tangling in my hair. For a moment, his touch is almost reverent - like I'm something precious instead of property.

Then he catches himself and pulls back sharply, as if I'd burned him.

"You don't belong to him," he says roughly. "You belong to me. Say it."

I meet his gaze steadily. "I belong to no one."

The words cut deep. I can see it in the way his face goes blank, the way his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"We'll see about that," he says quietly.

His fingers find the clasp of my collar, and for a heart-stopping moment I think he might remove it. But he just toys with it, thumb tracing the edge of the gold.

"This says otherwise."

"It's only metal."

"Is it?" His smile is sharp as winter wind. "Then why does your pulse race when I touch it?"

"Tell me what you want," he says, voice dropping to barely more than breath.

"To understand why you destroyed your own brother for a cup of water."

His hands still on the collar. "Because it should have been me."

"What should have been you?"

"Everything." The word comes out broken, desperate. "Your gratitude. Your smiles. Your relief when someone shows you mercy."

He steps back abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "Do you know what it does to me? Watching you accept kindness from anyone else's hand?"

"Makes you jealous."

"Makes me insane." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I want to keep you soft. And I want to be the reason you never trust softness again."

The admission hangs between us like a confession. Like a weakness he never meant to reveal.

"Maybe that's your problem," I say softly. "You think it has to be one or the other."

When he looks at me this time, there's something vulnerable in his eyes. Something that doesn't belong in the face of a prince who just destroyed his own family.

"What if I can't be what you need?"

"What if you already are?"

The words seem to break something in him. He moves toward me like a man drowning, stopping just close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"You're going to be the death of me," he whispers.

"Probably."

His forehead touches mine, and we stay frozen like that - breathing the same air, sharing the same space, neither of us willing to close the final distance.

"I could pull away," I whisper.

"You could."

"But I won't."

"Why?"

"Because this madness is better than emptiness."

When he finally kisses me, it's soft at first - almost hesitant, like he's afraid I might disappear. Then deeper, hungrier, tasting like desperation and blood and promises neither of us should make.

"And when I finally kiss him, it's not out of fear or surrender. It's choice."