Page 108 of Princess of Vengeance

“Take off your shirts,” she says.

Again, there’s no hesitation as we shrug out of our shirts and stand still while she examines the circular marks on our chests—the ones she gave each of us, binding us to her.

She approaches me first. “This might hurt a bit,” she warns, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells me she knows I won’t mind.

The tip of the blade presses against my skin, just beside the circle that already marks me as hers. The sharp sting makes me hiss through my teeth, but I don’t move away. I watch as she carves a small, simple design—a line that curves to meet the circle, forming something new.

When she’s done with me, she moves to Atlas, then Killian, adding the same mark to each of us. The pain is nothing—welcome, even, because it’s from her hand.

“There,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. Blood beads along the fresh marks, trickling down our chests in thin red lines. “Now you’re all officially mine.”

“And you’re ours,” I say, reaching out to wipe a smear of my blood from her fingers.

“You can’t mark me yet, though,” she says, frowning. “Not until I’m free from Malcolm. So you each owe me one.”

I pull her against me, not caring about the blood smearing between us. I kiss her hard, letting every ounce of what I feel for her bleed into it.

“I love you,” I tell her when we break apart, even though the words don’t feel adequate to describe the way I feel inside. “More than I’ve ever loved anything in this fucked-up world. More than I thought I was capable of loving. You’re everything, mia cara. Everything.”

“You’re the heart I never thought I had,” Killian says quietly, his hand finding hers.

“You’re home,” Atlas adds, his voice rough with emotion. “The only home I’ve ever really known.”

Quinn looks at each of us and smiles again. “The four of us,” she says, reaching out so we’re all connected, a tangle of hands and blood and promises. “This is forever. No matter what happens with Malcolm, no matter what comes after, this is unbreakable.”

In this moment, my family feels complete. Not the family I was born into, but the one I chose. The one that chose me back.

35

QUINN

It’s getting lateby the time I slip back into Malcolm’s house, but I don’t care. My heart is still full from the ceremony my men and I just shared. The marks on their chests are a physical reminder of what we all know in our souls—that we belong to each other, and we’re bound by something stronger than paper or traditional vows.

But here, in this cold mansion that feels more like a prison than a home, I have to bury those memories as deep as I can for now while I pretend to be Malcolm’s obedient wife.

He’s in the living room when I walk in, reading something on his tablet. He glances up, tracking me with that predatory focus that makes my stomach twist.

“Where have you been?” His tone is almost casual, but there’s no way to miss the hint of accusation, or at least suspicion, underneath.

“Blood and Ink,” I answer smoothly. “We’re making such good progress with the renovations.” I hang up my jacket, moving with deliberate casualness. “I lost track of time.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time there.” He sets his tablet down and watches me. “Your dedication is… admirable.”

“Well, you’re the one who gave me permission to rebuild. I want to make it worth the effort.”

“And is it?” His eyes never leave my face. “Worth the effort?”

“It will be.” I force a smile. “It’s the only thing I have left of my old life. I want to do it right.”

“Of course. As long as you remember where your new life is.”

“How could I forget?” I do my best to keep my tone light even though the words nearly choke me.

We go through our nightly routine—that awful ritual of preparing for bed in the same space. I stay aware of every move he makes, of the way he watches me as I brush my teeth and change clothes. After what happened this morning, every nerve ending in my body is on high alert, ready to fight if I need to.

I crawl into bed first and he slides in next to me, turning toward me as the mattress dips under his weight.

“Have all your old people returned to the fold now that you’re building a new home for them?”

---