Something flickers in his expression—understanding, maybe, or recognition. But it passes too quickly for me to be sure, replaced by the same implacable determination that's been driving him since we left his club.
"You won't be owned." His voice carries a conviction I don't trust. "But you also won't be left to die from magical exhaustion because you're too stubborn to accept help." He glares at me. "I refuse to let you take me down with you."
"I don't need your help."
"The bond forming in your chest says otherwise."
He's right, and I hate him for it. The pulling sensation has grown stronger during our argument, like invisible hands trying to draw me closer to his massive frame. It's not painful exactly, but it's wrong—a foreign presence in my body that I can't control or escape.
I want to rip it out with my bare hands.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I repeat, but the words sound hollow even to me.
"Yes, you are." He starts walking again, and this time when I resist, he simply lifts me off my feet. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but we are leaving this temple."
I swing at his face, putting all my weight behind the punch. He catches my wrist without even looking, his reflexes inhumanly fast.
"The hard way, then."
Before I can react, he spins me around and presses me against the chamber wall, my back flat against cold marble while his body cages me in. One hand holds both my wrists above my head, the other braced beside my face as he leans down to bring us eye level.
"Listen carefully." His voice drops to something barely above a whisper, but it carries more menace than shouting. "I have a daughter at home who's expecting me back. I have business obligations that won't wait for your philosophical objections to divine interference. And I have exactly zero patience for stubborn humans who would rather die than accept that some things are beyond their control."
His proximity does things to my body that I absolutely don't want to acknowledge. Heat radiates from his skin in waves, surrounding me in warmth that makes me want to lean closer instead of pulling away. The scent of him—smoke and cedar and something darker—fills my lungs with each breath.
"If you don't stop fighting me," he continues, his golden eyes boring into mine, "I will tie you up and carry you out of here like a package. Is that what you want?"
The threat should terrify me. Should make me recoil in horror at the thought of being bound and helpless. Instead, traitorous heat flares low in my stomach, my body responding tothe dominance in his voice with interest I definitely don't want to feel.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
"You wouldn't dare." The words come out too breathy, betraying the confusion warring with anger in my chest.
His eyes narrow as he studies my face, reading whatever emotions I'm failing to hide. Then his mouth curves in something that's not quite a smile, predatory and knowing.
"Wouldn't I?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications that make my pulse race for all the wrong reasons. I can feel my cheeks heating under his scrutiny, my body's treacherous reaction to being pinned and threatened by someone who could probably snap me in half without trying.
He's gorgeous in the way that dangerous things are gorgeous—like fire or lightning or the edge of a blade. All sharp angles and controlled power, built for violence but wrapped in enough dark appeal to make it tempting instead of merely terrifying. The kind of beautiful that gets people killed when they forget what they're looking at.
And he's a complete asshole who's trying to drag me off to gods know where based on some cosmic coincidence neither of us wanted.
Standard for xaphan, really. Beautiful, powerful, and convinced the universe revolves around their convenience.
"This is ridiculous." He releases my wrists and steps back, but doesn't give me enough space to run. "Fighting the inevitable only makes it worse for everyone involved."
"Inevitable for you, maybe." I rub feeling back into my wrists, glaring at him with all the venom I can muster. "I didn't ask to be part of your cosmic drama."
"Neither did I." His admission catches me off guard, the first crack in his absolute authority since this nightmare started. "But we don't always get what we want."
The Nashai clears her throat from somewhere behind us, a polite sound that still manages to carry divine displeasure. "Perhaps this conversation would be better continued elsewhere? The temple is meant for reflection, not territorial disputes."
Territorial disputes.Like I'm some piece of land he's trying to claim instead of a person with her own will and desires.
"We're leaving." The xaphan—Mihalis, the Nashai called him—straightens to his full height, wings rustling with barely contained impatience. "Now."
"I'm not?—"
