His fingers slid from her cheeks to her throat and tightened.
Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and sudden, terrible fear.
A sharp gasp tore from her mouth, strangled and useless.
He lifted her slightly off the floor, just enough that her feet barely brushed the stone beneath her. Her weight meant nothing to him. She dangled from his grip like a doll.
Her hands flew to his wrist instinctively, clawing and scratching, but his skin might as well have been iron. Her nails broke against him.
"What—" she choked out, the word barely a whisper through her compressed throat.
Dante's smile did not waver. If anything, it grew wider. Colder. More terrible.
"Did you think," he said softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur, "that I would not notice?"
Her eyes bulged. Her face, still wearing Alina's features, twisted with panic.
"I—I don't—"
