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I asked if he could drive me home so I could grab some stuff.

We both agreed I shouldn’t be alone.

And now, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, my heart slamming against my ribs like a prisoner trying to break free, I’m glad he insisted on coming.

Zeke’s been quiet the whole ride, his presence steady and grounding.

It calms something in me. And I almost feel like maybe there’s hope.

I want to check on my parents. I mean, we were never very close, but still.

They should be notified. Only, I’m not sure if I should do that.

Before I can totally lose my shit, though, something else happens to turn my world upside down.

We pull up in front of Avery’s old two-family house, where I’m currently renting one of the units, and my breath catches in my throat.

The door.

The goddamn door is hanging off its hinges.

From where I sit, I can see inside—it’s a wreck.

Papers are scattered, drawers overturned, my favorite throw pillow ripped open like someone gutted it in a rage.

“I locked that door,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears.

Beside me, Zeke goes still. Then, sharp and commanding, he says, “Stay in the truck. Don’t move.”

I flinch—not because I think he’ll hurt me, but because the tone in his voice is terrifyingly final.

My eyes dart to him as he opens the door and steps out.

He’s not just a man right now. He’s something more. And for the first time, I know what he is.

I can feel it.

Every step he takes radiates power, wrath barely caged in skin.

The mark on my chest—the one he called the Dragon’s Rose—heats like someone lit a candle beneath my skin.

I slap my hand over it, instinctively.

It doesn’t burn.

It pulses.

Like it’s reminding me he’s close.

That I’m not alone.

That he’s mine. And I’m his.

The moment is terrifying.

But it’s also strangely comforting.

And it’s that comfort that threatens to undo me.