The hallway blurred at the edges.
My vision tunneled.
God help me—my feet wanted to move.
Toward her.
Toward the one thing I absolutely should not want.
“Get out of my head,” I snarled under my breath.
A low, rumbling amusement rolled through my chest.
She is ours.
The words branded themselves beneath my sternum, hot and electric.
I swallowed hard, forcing one foot to stay rooted where it was.
Shock held me still.
Fear anchored me.
This wasn’t attraction.
This wasn’t infatuation.
This wasn’t anything human.
Whatever lived inside me had just woken up.
The sinking feeling that followed was entirely my own.
Not the creature’s.
Not the echo in my bones.
Mine.
None of this should be possible.
And yet—
somewhere deep within me, in the marrow, in the places thought never reached—I knew the truth.
Euphemia was mine.
Ours.
The word shuddered through me like a second heartbeat.
Air.
Yes—air would help.
I needed to breathe, to think, to claw my way back into myself.
But his presence pressed against me—mocking, patient, hungry.
