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“Broderick—”

He didn’t let go. He peeled the glove from her hand, and she whimpered.

His gut twisted.

Her palms were a ruin—cuts angry and swollen, the fevered skin split and raw. Red streaks climbed her wrists. Puss glistened along the edges. She tried to snatch it back, but he held fast.

“Did yer uncle do this to ye?” he growled.

Davina yanked her hands free, snatching the cloak from his arm like a shield and retreating. Her walls slammed up, her voice cold. “’Tis none of your concern.”

Broderick exhaled through his nose, his patience fraying. “Ye want my help? Then trust me. Open yer mind to me, lass, or ye can enjoy choosin’ yer next husband on yer own.”

She donned her cloak, lips pressed into a hard line—but after a long pause, she nodded.

He sighed. Atfuckinglast. “Come here,” he said, his voice softening. When she hesitated, he added, “I need to touch ye, Davina. Ye’ll need to relax. Let me in.”

She stepped closer, though her body remained taut as a bowstring. Not one to waste an opportunity, Broderick cupped her face with one hand, the other spreading across her lower back. He pressed his forehead to hers, words rough with restraint. “Take a deep breath.”

She resisted, stiff in his arms, breath shallow. But he didn’t relent.

“Relax, Davina,” he murmured. “Let me in. Just for a moment.”

Slowly, the fight bled from her frame. Her shoulders loosened, her head tipped forward, and her breath came slower, deeper. Just enough.

Broderick closed his eyes and pushed gently into her thoughts.

The images came fast and fractured—flashes carved in pain.Her uncle’s spit-laced tirades. MacLeod’s greedy grip. Her hands hitting the chamber floor, palms tearing on splinters as she fought him off. The bruises. The shame. The iron taste of helplessness in her mouth.

A growl resonated low in Broderick’s chest. His fingers curled against her spine.

He forced himself deeper, searching beyond the agony. But then—darkness. A wall slammed down, encasing him in cold black.

What the bloody hell…?

She blocked him. Not with stubbornness this time, but instinct. Fear. There was something deeper—somethingelse—and her mind shielded it like a beast protecting its cubs.

He pulled back slowly, but his hunger deepened.

If he wanted the truth…

He would have to feed from her.

And this time, he wasn’t asking her permission.

Chapter Seven

Davina’s breathing seized, and Broderick realized he’d been clutching her tighter, his frustration bleeding into his touch. He forced himself to ease his grip, though his voice hardened. “How am I tae trust ye when ye keep throwin’ up yer defenses?”

Davina stiffened and tried to push away. “There are some things I don’t want anyone privy to…least of all you.”

“Do ye want my help, or nay?” Broderick’s jaw flexed.

She wasn’t ready to admit whatever secret she was guarding like the crown jewels—not yet.

“Ye’re askin’ me to risk my own neck in a hangman’s noose with your little schemes. How do I know ye aren’t settin’ me up to take the fall?”

She gasped, outrage flashing across her face. “I would never do such a thing. I swear, all I need is for you to help me scare off these men.”