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She's mine.

And gods, I'm hers.

Tangled in sweat-damp sheets and tangled limbs, I pull her close, brushing her hair back from her flushed face.

After what feels like forever, I murmur, “I’m going to be so smug about this.”

She snorts softly, curling into me, her legs tangled with mine. “You already were.”

“Fair.” I press a kiss to her forehead, her skin still warm where she rests against me. “But you’re mine now, Mouse.”

She hums, the sound barely audible but content, one tiny fang peeking out from behind her lips. “I already was.”

That hits me harder than it should. I lie there in the hush of the room, my body aching in the best way—sated, warm, like I’ve been put back together with something stronger than sinew or bone. Something that sounds like belonging.

She shifts slightly, dragging her fingers along my side, and lifts her head just enough to look at me. Her gaze flicks over my face, soft and serious. “Are you okay?” she asks.

The question shouldn’t catch me off guard, but it does. Most people don’t ask. Most don’t care past what they can get from me. But she’s looking at me like shewantsthe truth, like it matters.

I nod slowly, letting my hand trail through her tangled hair. “Yeah. Better than I’ve been in a long damn time.”

She smiles, but it’s brief—replaced quickly by something more thoughtful. “You lost blood,” she murmurs. “Not much, but still. You should eat.”

I open my mouth to brush it off, but she sits up, pulling the sheet around her like a makeshift cloak and pushing to her feet with more grace than someone who just drained me should have.

“Stay here,” she instructs, suddenly all business again. “You may feel dizzy for a bit. Let me get you something to eat from downstairs.”

I blink at her, propping myself up on one elbow. “Are you seriously trying to fuss over me?”

She glances back, all challenge and fire. “Yes. Someone should.”

I scoff. “You barely fed.”

“You’re pale,” she fires back.

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “So are you.”

“That’s different,” she mutters, reaching for her cloak.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed with a grunt, ignoring the slight wave of lightheadedness. “Aria, I’m fine. I’ve fought half-dead before. A little blood loss isn’t going to knock me down.”

She whirls around, hands on her hips now, expression pure exasperation. “Exactly. Which is whysomeoneshould look out for you when you won’t.”

I stare at her for a beat… then laugh. A low, rough sound that spills out before I can stop it. “You’re bossy when you’re happy, you know that?”

She blinks, a little caught off guard—and I catch the flicker of a smile she tries to hide.

And gods help me, I want her to boss me around like this every damn day.

“Somebody has to keep you in line,” she shoots back. She looks so alive—shoulders squared, eyes bright. Even her posture seems lighter, like she’s finally rid of a burden that weighed her down.

Gathering herself, she heads for the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t…fall over or anything.”

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “Sure, Mouse. I’ll try not to keel over in your absence.”

She darts me a playful glare, but her cheeks stay pink. Then she slips out.

I watch her go, every step, every shift of fabric, memorizing the shape of this moment. Because there’s something dangerous blooming in me, and it’s got her name all over it.