Page 191 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

My mind flickers to Brennan—his voice, his steadiness—and then back to Dorian, standing here stripped bare in a way I didn’t think he was capable of.

“Don’t,” I say, the word shaky and low. “Don’t say that to me unless you mean it.”

He looks at me, unflinchingly, emotion in his eyes. “Isla, I’ve never meant anything more.”

The truth—or the possibility of it—makes my hands tremble. I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted to be loved andchosen without condition, without an agenda. And now that it’s here, I don’t know whether to run from it or fall into it.

“You’re my everything.”

Then—without warning—he takes a step back. Another. The distance feels like a tear in the air between us. He turns toward the door, slow, deliberate, like he’s leaving this choice in my hands.

When his fingers close over the doorknob, my own truth hits me. I’m terrified. And I don’t know that I have the courage I need.

“Dorian.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Isla

“Wait.”

He goes still.

Not a muscle shifts, and he doesn’t breathe. His hand stays on the knob like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world. His shoulders are rigid.

With hope?

The moment stretches, heavy enough to bend the air between us.

My own heartbeat is too loud, crowding out the faint hum of traffic beyond the cracked door.

Slowly, he turns his head. Just enough that I catch the edge of his profile—the firm line of his mouth, the shadow of stubble that wasn’t there the last time I touched his face.

Then his eyes find mine.

In the depths, I don’t find the cool calculation I’m used to or a predator’s focus. This is something unguarded, almost dangerous in its honesty, like he’s deciding whether to comeback to me or keep the safe distance he’s convinced himself I need.

“When you say my name like that”—his voice is so low that it barely crosses the space—”you make it impossible for me to go.”

Calypso vanishes deeper into the apartment, leaving my lap cold, my hands empty. It’s just him now, standing in the doorway with the night at his back, holding my gaze like he’s waiting for me to either close the space between us…or close the door on any future we might have.

“Isla.”

How I now ache to hear him call melittle one.“I…”

He takes his hand off the knob. Lets it fall to his side.

That tiny movement punches the air out of me because it means he’s not leaving—not yet—and I’m the one holding him here.

“You can still tell me to go.” He turns to me. “And I will.”

His words are simple, and they mean the world to me.

My pulse hammers harder, so loud I swear he can see it beating in my throat. I don’t know what will come out if I open my mouth—something too much, or not enough—and the thought terrifies me.

So I just shake my head.

It’s barely a movement, more breath than gesture, but his eyes sharpen like he’s caught every bit of meaning in it. The kind of meaning I’m not ready to put into words.