Fear.
His eyes were wild, his movements frantic as he loomed over her. Instead of the predatory lust she’d come to expect, his expression was raw and unsettled.
“Let me see,” he demanded, his voice rough.
“See what?” She pushed herself up onto her elbows, confusion momentarily outweighing all else.
“Your throat.” His hands were already reaching for her, fingers hovering just above the place where Braen’s had wrapped around her neck. “The bruises. Let me see them. Drop this hideous illusion of yours and let mesee.”
“They’re gone.” She tried to worm out from underneath him. “I heal quickly, the bullet proved that.”
His hand pressed down on her shoulder, once more flattening her to the bed. “Show me anyway.”
There was something in his tone—something that went beyond just his usual obnoxious commands—that made her pause. She tilted her head back, baring her throat to him in a gesture that felt far more vulnerable than it should have.
And dropped her glamor. At least far enough that she still had her legs.
His fingers traced where the bruises should have been, featherlight and searching. When he found nothing, some of the tension seemed to bleed from his shoulders, though his expression remained tight.
“What is this about?” She almost didn’t dare ask. “You’re acting like?—”
“Like what?” he snapped, drawing back.
“Like you care,” she finished, holding his gaze.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You’re not his to touch.”
The words should have enraged her. To a certain extent, they did—a flare of indignation burned inside her chest. But there was more to it than simple possession.
“Is that what this is? Your property was touched by someone else, and now you need to make sure it’s unmarked?”
“No.” The denial was quick, forceful. Almost desperate in its vehemence.
“Then what?”
“I know what he does—” Raziel turned away, running a hand through his hair. The usually composed vampire looked utterly undone. “When you told me?—”
“You’ve seen me nearly die before,” she reminded him. “You’ve watched me get shot.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Because it wasn’t personal then.” He met her gaze again, his eyes blazing crimson. “Because it wasn’t someone putting their hands on you with the intention of taking you for themselves.”
There it was again—that possessiveness. But beneath it, something else lurked. Something that made her breath catch.
“I am not yours to own.” The words came out far weaker than she’d intended.
“No.” He leaned in closer, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face. “You’re not. You’re something much more dangerous to me.”
The confession hung between them, neither quite willing to define exactly what she had become to him. What they had become to each other.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, her throat tight. “I came here to fuckingkillyou.”
“And you were meant to be a foolish little human girl that I was going to break and discard in the span of two weeks.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “Yet here we are.”
“Where exactly is that?” she asked, hating how she leaned into his touch despite herself. “What are we doing, Raziel?”
