I thought I loved him . . . I fell in love with a monster.

“Bell?” he says again and then takes a deep breath. “No, that’s wrong. I should call you Adoncia.”

I blanch.

Adoncia. A Spanish name that means sweet. My name.

He’s been playing with me. Toying with the girl whose mother he essentially killed.

He made me fall in love with him when all I wanted was to destroy him.

I look down at his hand, still extended, waiting for me to take it.

And something in me just snaps.

Taking a large step forward, feeling all my rage, gathering up all of my warrior’s heart, I punch him in the face.

Lander reels back in surprise, but I’m not done. I lunge at him, claws out, but he grabs my wrist and we go whirling into the hall. Lander knows how to fight, but I’ve taken him by surprise. And here’s the thing: I know how to fight too.

He presses me against the wall, restraining my arms. “Listen! Not everything is as it seems,” he begins, but before he can finish, I slam my foot down on top of his, aiming for the instep. I can immediately tell that I haven’t quite hit the right spot—nothing breaks—but still he’s clearly in pain and his grip loosens just enough for me to free myself and punch him again, this time in the gut.

Again he grabs me, and as I struggle against him we fall to the floor. In some corner of my mind I’m beginning to understand that my real advantage is that he’s trying not to hurt me. Weakness; his gallantry doesn’t mean a damn thing to me now. We roll around in the narrow hallway as he tries to restrain me and I try to kill him. I scratch at his face, drawing blood. I aim a knee at his groin, but he twists to evade me. I think about the knives in the kitchen. I think about my early fantasies of stabbing him with a corkscrew.

I want his blood on my hands.

I manage to turn on my side and try slipping away to where I can grab a weapon, but Lander’s shock has worn off and he immediately slams me onto my stomach, my cheek pressed hard against the floor. He holds me there as I struggle and growl.

“Adoncia,” he says, breathing heavily. “We need to talk. You will let me talk to you.”

chapter thirty-eight

In the dining room Lander stands across from me, leaning against the closed door that would give me my freedom, holding an ice pack against the side of his face. He’s brought in his sketchbook, which now sits on the empty table.