Chapter 3

Fredrick brought me home.

I braced for him to devour me like a starved animal, but instead, he deposited me gently on the sectional, pressed a kiss to my hair, and marched into the kitchen to make me mushroom soup.

The bastard remembered my childhood obsession. After our wedding, he'd secretly taken cooking lessons just to recreate my mother's recipe.

Now, with his tailored dress shirt rolled to the elbows, corded forearms flexing as he kneaded dough, the scene belonged on the cover of GQ.

A year ago, I'd have jumped him without shame.

Now? It felt like watching a rancher hand-feeding prize cattle before slaughter.

Why does the universe hate me?

I must've spaced out too long, because his voice shattered my misery.

"Not good?"

Startled, I bit into a scalding mushroom. Tears welled instantly as my tongue burned.

"Let me see."

Fredrick gripped my chin, forcing my mouth open. The tip of my tongue shone an angry red. Between the steam-dampened lashes and the way I instinctively peered up at him—

He hissed through his teeth and slapped a palm over my eyes, voice gravel-rough.

"Don't start what you can't finish."

*****

I jolted awake at 2:37 AM, my hand instinctively groping across the king-size mattress—only to clutch icy, vacant sheets.

Fredrick was gone.

The balcony door stood cracked open, a blade of moonlight slicing through the blackness. Muffled voices seeped in from outside.

Remembering the ominous warnings I'd seen, I held my breath and slipped out of bed, tiptoeing toward the door with painstaking care.

Fredrick's phone glowed against his ear.

"Yeah, she's back," he said, his tone a bit cold.

A woman's voice, honey-sweet and syrupy, crackled through the speaker.

She said, "Just keep her compliant. Don't let her run off again.

"Relax. Play the devoted husband, throw in some jewelry—girls from flyover states with trust-fund allergies are painfully easy to manipulate."

A beat. Then she continued, "You can't afford mistakes. Not with your condition deteriorating. We screened millions before finding a genetic match this perfect."

Fredrick's reply was eerily calm. "My condition has stabilized for now. I tested her already... in my other form."

He gave a slow, deliberate exhale. "She's gullible. Once she's carrying my child, she won't leave."

The woman laughed. "Let's hope you don't grow attached."

Moonlight spilled across the balcony, revealing the horror coiled there—a serpentine tail thicker than a California redwood, its obsidian scales swallowing the light.

Looping its tip like some perverse promise ring was the tie I'd knotted for him that morning. The silk strained against the monstrous girth beneath, flesh bulging between the threads like sausage casing.

Until this moment, I'd clung to the desperate, childish hope that the floating comments were some prank. But the sight of that monstrous tail—thick as a California redwood, obsidian scales glinting like oil under moonlight—shattered the illusion like a bullet through stained glass.

My body moved before my brain could process the horror. Bare feet silent on rugs, I slid back beneath the linens like a ghost, my knuckles jammed between teeth to silence the whimpers clawing up my throat.

This isn't happening. This can't—

The mattress groaned as Frederick returned.

His weight settled behind me with the lethal precision of a predator circling prey. I could feel his gaze—that same smoldering intensity I'd mistaken for passion during all those nights.

Back then, I'd blushed when his pupils dilated as I undressed. I'd told myself his intensity was just... rough affection.

Now I understood: that wasn't lust darkening his eyes. It was a feeding posture.

I forced my breathing steady, curling into the fetal position. His eyes still burned into my back.

Then he leaned down, his breath chilling my skin as he inhaled deeply, savoring my scent.

A whimper caught in my throat. I was crying from fear.

Then it came: the whisper of something thin and forked tracing my cheekbone. Catching my tear before it fell.

It was his snake tongue.

His arms locked around me. When he spoke, his voice was black velvet wrapped around a switchblade.

"I'd swallow you whole if I could, darling. Keep you safe in my belly, where no one else can touch you."

His fingers traced my collarbone. "Nothing will ever take you from me."

The comments had been right all along. My husband didn't just love me.

He wanted to devour me.