Chapter 1: Crying is a Prayer He Answers With His Body
The city breathed outside the penthouse window, a low, distant hum of tires on wet pavement and the occasional wail of a siren cutting through the rain. Inside, silence usually reigned in William’s bedroom, a thick, expensive hush broken only by the whisper of conditioned air. Tonight, it was shattered by a different sound: the ragged, hitching breaths of a woman trying not to sob.
Nell sat on the very edge of the vast king-sized bed, her back rigid, shoulders trembling. The dim glow from recessed lighting caught the tear tracks on her cheeks, turning them silver against her fair skin. She looked achingly small against the backdrop of white silk sheets and the dark wood of the towering four-poster canopy. The scent of William’s cologne, something dark and woody and expensive, usually a comfort, felt cloying now, mingling with the salt-tang of her distress.
William woke instantly, the shift from deep sleep to predatory alertness instantaneous. His dark eyes, adjusting to the low light, fixed on the vulnerable curve of her spine. His immediate reaction wasn't concern, not initially. It was a surge of something darker, hotter. Possession. Her raw vulnerability, displayed so openly in his sanctuary, ignited a primal fuse within him. The quiet strength she usually carried was stripped away, leaving only this trembling core. It fascinated him. Called to something possessive and deeply carnal.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask what was wrong. In one fluid, powerful motion, he was off the bed and behind her. His hands, large and warm, clamped onto her bare shoulders, pinning her gently but immovably backward against the cool silk.
“William!” Her gasp was sharp, startled, laced with the remnants of tears. She didn’t fight him, her body going pliant under his sudden dominance, fueled by exhaustion and despair. Her dark hair spilled across the stark white sheets.
He ignored her gasp, his focus narrowing to the damp trails on her skin. Leaning over her, his muscular frame eclipsing her smaller one, he pressed his lips to the corner of her eye, tasting the salt. A shiver racked her body, but she didn’t pull away. He licked slowly, deliberately, tracing the path of a tear down her cheekbone to her jaw. His tongue was warm, rough against her delicate skin. The taste was bitter, intimate. His own pulse hammered a frantic drumbeat against his ribs, his cock swelling, rigid and insistent, against the thin fabric of his sleep pants where it pressed into the softness of her thigh.
Her vulnerability wasn’t weakness; it was an intoxicant. It made her yield. Made her his. The thought sent a jolt of pure heat through him. His hand slid from her shoulder, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone, then down, over the thin strap of her camisole, finding the frantic flutter of her heartbeat at the base of her throat. He could feel her pulse racing under his fingertips, a trapped bird against his skin.
“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, barely audible over the frantic rhythm of her breathing and the distant city thrum. His breath was hot against her ear. His other hand drifted lower, skimming the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her through the thin cotton. He wanted to consume this moment, her surrender, the electric vulnerability humming between them. He bent his head again, his lips seeking the dampness near her temple, his tongue flicking out once more. His arousal was a palpable force, a thick ache demanding release against the softness of her thigh, grinding subtly as he held her pinned.
She whimpered. Not in protest, not exactly. A sound caught between fear and a strange, unwanted surrender. He felt the tremor run through her. His fingers tightened fractionally on her throat, not choking, but claiming. Possessing the pulse point. His hips pushed forward again, a deliberate, seeking pressure, the hard ridge of him unmistakable against her leg. The silk sheets whispered beneath her as she shifted minutely.
He pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes, wide and dark and still shining with unshed tears, met his. There was exhaustion there, yes, and fear, but beneath it… a flicker of something else. Something he couldn’t quite name. Recognition? Resignation? He didn't care. The sight fueled the fire.
He was about to lower his mouth to hers, to claim her lips with the same possessive hunger, when his gaze snagged on a detail he’d missed in the dim light and his haze of desire. Just below her collarbone, barely visible against her skin, was a mark. Not a love bite. A bruise. Fading, yellow-green at the edges, but unmistakable. The shape of blunt force – knuckles, maybe.
The molten heat inside him didn't cool; it transformed. It curdled into something sharp and cold.Rage. Protective fury, swift and absolute, obliterating the possessive lust of moments before.
His thumb brushed over the bruise, feather-light. Her breath hitched sharply, a different kind of tremor shaking her.
"Who did this?" The words came out low, guttural. Not a question. A demand. The casual confidence was gone, replaced by a dangerous stillness. The city sounds faded into nothing. The only things that existed now were the fading bruise on her skin, the frantic pulse beneath his thumb, and the icy storm gathering in his dark eyes. The soft vulnerability that had aroused him moments ago now forged a blade inside him.
He didn’t release her, but his grip shifted. The pinning hold became sheltering. His arousal, a moment ago the centre of his universe, was forgotten, replaced by a cold, focused intensity. He stared at the bruise, then back into her wide, frightened eyes.
Nell swallowed hard, fresh tears welling. She opened her mouth, closed it. Words seemed trapped.
William’s jaw tightened. He remembered now. When he’d picked her up earlier that evening, she’d been hesitant. Distant. She’d mumbled something about needing to go back to her car in the club parking lot to get a forgotten bag. He’d brushed it off, distracted, impatient to get her here. To this. Now the fragments snapped together with brutal clarity. Her quiet distress since arriving. The way she’d flinched when he touched her arm playfully. The tears tonight.
The parking lot. The club where she worked part-time. Where she’d gone alone.
The icy rage solidified into a palpable force. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, stripping away any remnant of tenderness, leaving only the chilling core of his demand.
"Tell me."
His thumb, still resting near the bruise, pressed down with deliberate, controlled pressure. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind her it was there. Enough to make her flinch. Nell winced, a soft, pained gasp escaping her lips. The sound cut through the charged silence, sharpening William’s focus to a razor’s edge. Her reaction confirmed everything. The vulnerability that had enticed him moments ago was now a horrifying vulnerability inflicted by someone else. The hunt had changed prey.