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‘You’ll manipulate her?’

‘Fokkno, I’ll persuade her, and if anyone comes up against us, I’ll rip them apart.’

She stood stone-still at the back of the column, her hand pressed to the wall for balance, as his utterance and the casual sound of beer bottles clinking rang in her ears.

Blood rushed through her as she took in the premise of his possessive growl.

He was claiming her? They were knotted? He’d rip apart anyone who came between them?

While her traitorous soul soared, her mind churned with questions.Where was her opinion in all of this?

Savvine had always subscribed to the idea that her femininity, in its purest form, was centered on choice.

She’d worked hard to become the fleet’s youngest security chief, foregone the mafia code to marry young and have kids, and assumed her power.

All the while fighting for her independence, and refusing to let the mafia or the outdated concepts of the conservatives in her family dictate her life.

Now she shook, riled up by Xander’s words.

A gut-flipping repulsion came over her at the thought of a man claiming her in what sounded like an outdated patriarchal value system.

Also, what did he expect she’d do when he persuaded her as he’d stated? Simply roll over, become his knotted submissive, flower-arranging, bread-baking chattel?

What of his threat to rip apart those who came between them?

Would he harm her family, friends, the humans who rightly feared what they did not understand?

Would he tear them apart if they chose to defend her from the power in him?

She took a shaky inhale to stop her mind from spiraling further.

There was nothing to it; his stance was clear.

However, his words meant he saw her as property to claim, not a soul to cherish, nor a woman he respected enough to thread the needle of their highly complex relationship together.

Until now, needing to keep things casual, she hadn’t wanted to give thought to the forbidden nature of their union. She’d been having fun, exploring her sexuality, reveling in a different world.

No doubt, Xander lit her up yet, by claiming her, he was rushing her, pushing her toward a decision she was not ready for.

Her heart clenched and pushed off from the column, spine stiff.

There was no need for confrontation.

No reason to air her demands and share her hurt at his assumptions.

Her approach would be to retreat and maintain dignity.

Still, her heart ached so much that her vision blurred, and she stumbled into the hallway, where the noise of celebration faded.

Eventually, she found a sign etched with a soft-glowing symbol she recognized. Finally.

She entered the women’s bathroom, empty and echoing with sterile silence.

Cool light flooded the sink as she leaned over it, turning on the tap and cupping her hands beneath the stream.

She splashed her face, once, twice, chasing away the heat of shame burning her cheeks.

Then she glanced up to gaze at her reflection.