I blinked.What’s mine.The words settled in my chest like a stone dropped in still water. My brain rejected them. My heart betrayed me.
I took a step back. “I’m not--”
“You are here,” he interrupted. “And that makes you mine.”
There was no passion in the claim. No warmth. Just an undeniable truth, stated like gravity. I didn’t know if it was because I was his prisoner, his mate, or something worse. But the way he said it sent my pulse skittering.
“You’re disgusting,” I muttered, though my voice lacked bite.
His mouth quirked. “I’ve never pretended otherwise.”
Then his gaze flicked to the side, toward the door that led to his sanctum—like he was already done with the conversation. Like my soul wasn’t currently trying to claw its way out of my body to make sense of him.
“And if Harvest gets in?” I asked, voice quieter now. “What happens to me?”
His eyes met mine once more—unblinking, unyielding.
“I won’t let him hurt what belongs to me.”
I didn’t say a word.
“You learned I might be your mark recently,” the Devil began. “I’ve carried the knowledge in my head since you were a babe. I had plenty of chances to kill you as a child. Spent a good portion of my time trying to find ways to subdue you for an eternity or stop your immortality.”
My eyes bulged, even though he had already told me before he wanted me dead. But finding ways to subdue me? “Did you find a way?”
He grunted. “I had enough resources to put you to sleep forever, but your father discovered me returning to the woods and put an end to it before I could.”
“So, you’re telling me you’re a mercy compared to Harvest after admitting that?” Unbelievable. I could only gape at the Dark One. “I’m supposed to be thankful I’m not trapped in another curse—one of sleep.”
It was a constant shock to the system that I actually felt attraction to him. How disappointing to learn I was becoming a victim of Stockholm Syndrome.
He turned quickly, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he gestured to me. “Would you stop? I told you I can’t stand that face.”
“What face?” I asked, folding my arms.
“Disgust. Anger.” He tossed a hand up in frustration. “It’s hard to tell anymore. You cycle through both constantly.”
“You mention my looks every time you get uncomfortable.”
It was his turn to be still.
“Yeah,” I said, catching the shift. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You don’t know how to handle me. So you deflect.”
“I don’t deflect,” he snapped, but his tail lashed sharply behind him. A dead giveaway.
“You just told me you planned to put me to sleep for eternity,” I said, voice flattening. “And now I’m…what, supposed to feel flattered that I’m locked in Hell with you instead?”
“I didn’t say that,” he growled.
“But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” I challenged. “For me to see you as the lesser evil.”
A long silence passed. His hands dropped to his sides. His expression shifted—less fury, more fatigue.
“I never said Iwantedto be your better option,” he said finally. “Only that I am.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel safe?”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s supposed to make you accept your fate.”
