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"I don’t—I don’t feel good. Tell them I’m sick. I can’t—I can’t?—"

He’s on me in an instant. One hand snaps around my wrist, yanking me back against him. I fall onto the bed, and he pulls me into him, his chest solid and immovable against my spine. His breath is hot at my ear, his voice low. Dark.

"You. Are. Mine."

A shudder wracks through me, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself.

"I found you," he continues, his grip tightening. "I took you. I’ve punished you."

His lips graze along my jaw. His next words steal my breath.

"No one is going to touch you, my little witch. No one is going to hurt you. And if anybody so much as fucking lays an eye on you, I’ll deal with them."

I want to fight him, push him away, snarl that I’m not his possession, that I don’t belong to anyone—but the truth? The bold, honest truth?

There’s a part of me that’s been running, hiding, being nothing but a ghost, that wants to believe him.

So I play it all off like I always do because being serious and honest is sometimes painful. “What if someone cut in front of me in line at the checkout?”

His lips twitch. “Toast.”

I almost smile back. “What if I were driving and someone cut me off?”

“I’d slash their fucking tires.”

“What if?—”

He tilts my chin up until my eyes lock onto his. I close my mouth. "You’re mine now. Do you understand me?"

This should terrify me.

Okay, it does.

And yet, a dangerous, reckless part of me exhales at the weight he just took off my shoulders.

Still, I shake my head and give him a curious look. "That’s not exactly how this works."

"It is now."

He’s so certain.

I stare at him, at all that ink and those stormy, brooding eyes. I can’t decide if I want to slap him or kiss him.

My fingers curl into the sheets. "And what if they don’t accept me?" I feel like a child on her first day at a new school.

"They’ll have to," he says, letting out a dark, quiet laugh.

"And if theydon’t?" I press, my voice sharper now. Wobbling. I hate that it wobbles.

His jaw ticks. "I thought I made that clear. Then they answer tome."

I know exactly what it means to answer to him. It’s a damn good threat.

Dangerous warmth creeps across my skin. I hate that it makes me feel so safe. I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m still a little scared."

What it takes for me to admit that… I’ve never told anybody I’m afraid. Ever.