Page 35 of Crimson Possession
He scrambled out of sight, leaving us in silence.
Sorcha turned on me, her chest rising and falling, her eyes bright with fury. “What the hell was that? He was just doing his job!”
I towered over her, my breath ragged, my chest still heaving with restraint. “His job doesn’t include putting his hands on what’s mine.”
Her lips parted, her hands balling into fists. “I’m not an object. I’m not a possession for you to growl over every time someone breathes near me!”
“You are not an object,” I bit back, my voice low, raw, vibrating with something deeper than fury. My hand gripped her chin, tilting her face up so she couldn’t look away. “You’re my mate. My woman. And I will never…” my voice fractured into a growl, the sound scraping up from my chest like fire through steel, “do you hear me? Never allow another man to touch you. Not here. Not anywhere.”
The air between us charged, crackling with the kind of violence that didn’t need fists to wound. My eyes locked on hers,unblinking, every word hammering against her chest as hard as the thundering pulse beneath her skin.
Her lips parted, but whatever argument she’d had ready faltered, burned out by the sheer weight of my vow. I wasn’t asking. I wasn’t negotiating. This wasn’t jealousy it was law, bone-deep and absolute.
I softened only enough to press my forehead to hers, my breath ragged, still laced with rage. “You don’t understand yet. You are mine. That doesn’t mean chains or cages. It means protection. It means no one else’s hands on you, no one else’s eyes burning into what belongs to me.”
Her breath hitched, her lashes fluttering as though she wanted to fight me, wanted to push back but the bond betrayed her, tethering her pulse to mine, her trembling body pressed too close to deny the heat between us.
My voice dropped to a rough whisper, possessive and almost reverent all at once. “The day you walked into my life, Sorcha, was the day every other man in this world lost their right to even think about you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making damn sure you know it.”
The ride home was silent, heavy, her arms crossed, her body turned slightly away even though I could feel the bond thrumming between us. Fury and desire tangled in my chest, burning hotter with every mile.
By the time we were inside the mansion, I snapped.
I hauled her against me, her back colliding with the wall, my mouth crushing hers in a kiss that was all teeth and fire. She shoved at me, then gripped me, pulling me closer even as her anger sparked against mine.
Clothes fell away fast, rough, careless. My hands roamed her body with possessive urgency, leaving no part untouched. The sex was fierce, almost brutal, her nails scoring my skin, my thrusts punishing, claiming. Every cry that tore from her throat was another brand, another vow that she was mine.
But when it broke, when the fire gave way to the trembling aftershocks, I gathered her close. My lips softened against her temple, my hands smoothing over the bruises I’d left. I laid her down on the bed like she was made of glass, covering her body with mine, but gentler now.
“I will never let you go,” I whispered against her skin, my voice a low vow. “Never.”
Her arms curled around me, her breath warm against my neck, and for the first time since we’d stepped into that boutique, the storm inside me eased. She drifted off in my arms, her lashes fanning against her cheeks, the soft rhythm of her breathing lulling me into stillness.
When her body finally went limp with sleep, I pressed a kiss to her hair, then carefully slid out of the bed. Pulling on a shirt, I left the room, the predator in me wide awake though my mate rested in peace.
The halls were quiet, heavy with the silence of night. Outside, I found Jericho leaning against one of the stone columns near the drive, a cigarette unlit between his fingers. He straightened when he saw me.
“She’s asleep?” he asked.
I nodded. “For now. Tell me about the girl. The woman’s daughter.”
He exhaled, finally lighting the cigarette, the ember glowing in the dark. “I reached out and passed a message, but nothing too obvious. She knows her mother’s alive, that she’s safe. The kid sounded shaken, but… relieved.”
Relief twisted into something sharper in my chest. “Good. Keep it quiet, Jericho. No names, no details. She needs reassurance, not a target painted on her back.”
His eyes flicked to me, sharp and knowing. “You’re already thinking further.”
I looked out into the darkness, my jaw tightening. “Arrange a meeting with our contact. The one feeding us scraps about the Irish. I want more than scraps this time. How they’re taking the women. Who’s involved. I want every name.”
Jericho frowned. “You don’t trust him.”
“I don’t trust anyone touched by demons,” I said flatly. “And that stench is all over this. If the Irish and demons are working together, then our contact either doesn’t realize he’s compromised, or he does. Either way, I’ll know by the time I’m done with him.”
Jericho gave a single nod, flicking ash to the ground. “I’ll set it up.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. When I pulled it free, Draugr’s name glowed on the screen, a missed call waiting. I called him back immediately.
He answered in a growl, no preamble. “I’ve got one. Keller. He’s the one arranging the pick-ups for the Irish. He’s been funnelling women into warehouses like the one we hit.”
