Page 124

I blink down at her, one brow arching lazily like I don’t know exactly what she’s asking. “Do what?”

She lifts her chin, her stare sharper now, the weight of it pressing down on me like a blade to the throat. “That,” she says simply. “You call me that. By your last names.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s worse. It’s curiosity. The kind of curiosity that could gut me if I let it. For a second, I debate dodging the question. Making a joke. Telling her it sounds better than Moon, like I’m a self-important bastard naming her after myself.

But I don’t.

Instead, I let the quiet stretch between us, my hand slowing against her back, the heaviness of what I should’ve told her a long time ago sitting sharp on my tongue.

“It’s not a nickname, Moon,” I say finally, voice dipping low, something softer and dangerous beneath it. “It’s a fact.”

Her brow furrows slightly, lips parting like she’s about to argue, but I don’t let her.

“That’s what binding is for us,” I continue, my thumb dragging over her spine. “For humans, it’s paperwork and vows and rings they lose when they get drunk. For us, it’s magic in the blood. It’s choice wrapped in something older, something worse. Binding’s not a contract.”

My gaze drops to hers, snaring her there.

“It’s marriage,” I say quietly. “Without the paperwork.”

I feel her still against me like she’s trying to make sense of it, like she’s pulling apart everything she thought she knew.

“You didn’t just take our power when you bound us,” I murmur, voice slurring softer now, less teasing, more truth. “You took us.”

I drag in a breath, slow and rough, then add, “You took me.”

For a long, sharp moment, she doesn’t move, her fingers curling tighter against my ribs like she’s holding on to something she doesn’t know how to keep.

And then she exhales, slow and shaking, her voice slipping out like it hurts.

“I didn’t know.”

I smile into her hair, crooked and soft and a little bitter around the edges.

“Yeah, well,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple. “That’s the thing about us, sweetheart.”

I pull her closer, my voice sinking into her skin like a curse. “You never know what you’re binding yourself to until it’s too damn late.”

The words barely leave my mouth before she shifts against me, tilting her chin up, her eyes catching mine in the low light. There’s something sharp there, something soft curling underneath like she's trying not to laugh, but losing the battle.

“I want to speak to your manager,” she says flatly.

I blink down at her, my brow quirking because she’s clearly not done. Her mouth tips into that dangerous curve I know too well—the one that means she’s about to gut me and I’m going to thank her for it.

“I’ve got a complaint,” she continues, voice dry as hell. “Specifically about being married to Ambrose.”

The laugh punches out of me before I can stop it, sharp and loud and too fucking real. It rolls through my chest like she just set a match to something I didn’t know I was holding.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I mutter, grinning wide as I drag a hand up her back, fingers threading into her hair like I need to touch her to keep from unraveling. “You’re gonna need upper management for that one. The gods themselves couldn’t untangle you from Ambrose Dalmar now.”

Her eyes narrow, amusement glinting dangerous and warm all at once. “Then I’d like to file a formal grievance.”

I huff another laugh, shaking my head as I drop my forehead to hers, the weight of her, the warmth of her, anchoring me in a way nothing else ever has.

“Sorry, darling,” I murmur, voice rough around the edges. “No refunds. No returns. You bound him. You bound me. Hell, you even married Silas and Riven. You’re the worst impulse buyer in history.”

Her breath shudders out against my lips, and I feel her smile before I see it.

She pulls back just enough to look at me again, her expression soft but sharp underneath. “What happens now?” she asks quietly, the weight of everything she’s carrying bleeding into her voice despite the teasing.