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“Mine,” I growl, one hand gripping her hip as the other braces beside her head. “All mine.”

“Yes,” she whispers, the sweetest word in the English language.

The pressure builds rapidly, coiling at the base of my spine. It’s too good, too intense to last. With a groan, I pull out of her and grab my cock. After one pump, come shoots out in hot pulses all over her soft belly.

I collapse beside her, pulling her close as we both struggle to catch our breath, my body still trembling with aftershocks ofpleasure. “I’m sorry,” I pant. “I promise I’ll make it better for you next time.”

“That was perfect,” she says.

I bury my face in her hair. My heart won’t slow. Neither will the thought racing through my head.

God help anyone who tries to take her from me.

29

Ava

I’m surrounded by warmth. The kind that sinks into your bones. The scent of clean linen and something darker—faint spice and skin—clings to the pillow beneath my cheek.

Late morning sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, and I blink slowly, trying not to break the spell. There’s weight behind me—his weight—one powerful arm wrapped around my middle, anchoring me like he’s afraid I might vanish. His breathing is deep and steady.

Safety. That’s the feeling blanketing my heart. God, I haven’t felt safe in…weeks?

Or maybe this is the safest I’ve felt in my life. Which is crazy given what Damian told me last night.

At least now I know with certainty I’m not going to die, but I’ll be taken away, he said. He intends to stop it.

Damian. Someone who’s not even a member of the secret society that rules his life. Rules the world, he claims.

I’m not afraid. He says he intends to keep me, and I believe him.

I should be alarmed by the prospect of being kept. Damian isn’t the kind of man who compromises. If he means to keep me, it won’t be a choice. It’ll be captivity—for the rest of my life.

But somehow, I’m not horrified by this thought. I’m not even surprised by it.

Is this what it feels like to lose yourself? To forget everything you once believed in? I always thought I’d recognize the moment I betrayed my values. That alarm bells would sound, that guilt would crush me instantly. But it’s not like that at all.

It’s quieter. Warmer. More like sinking into a hot bath.

Maybe this is Stockholm Syndrome after all. Or maybe I’m just seeing Damian clearly for the first time—not as a monster, but as a man shaped by a monstrous world.

And last night. God, last night. We had sex until the sun began to rise and purple light began to creep into the room. He worshipped every inch of me, whispered my name like a vow, and kissed me like he had all the time in the world.

Damian’s lashes flutter, then his eyes open—sharp and instantly aware. The softness of sleep evaporates in an instant. “You look pale.” His voice is raspy.

I blink. “What?”

He sits up, scanning my face. His fingers brush my cheek and then slide to my forehead.

“You’re hot.”

He must think I have a fever. I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. My head is too fuzzy.

“I’m fine,” I say after a beat.

Damian frowns. “No.”

“It’s just warm in here.”