Violently.
Not from exertion.
From the sheer effort of not tearing my own skin open as my body tries to obey a command my mind is screaming at it to ignore.
“No, no, no, no,” I whisper hoarsely, my breath coming in ragged, uncontrolled pulls. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to decide this. You don’t get to touch her.”
The jalshagar howls in my chest like a living thing being flayed alive.
Claim her.
Bind her.
Now.
I squeeze my eyes shut and lock my jaw until my teeth creak.
Alliance conditioning slams into place like a steel cage being dropped over a wild animal.
Restraint protocol.
Control sequence.
Override hierarchy.
I force my spine straight.
Force my shoulders down.
Force my breathing into slow, brutal, counted cycles even as my heart tries to beat its way out of my rib cage.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Again.
The instinct surges.
I shove it back.
Again.
I build a white-knuckled cage around the feral thing screaming inside me and pour every ounce of discipline I’ve ever been beaten into learning into keeping it there.
My body is slick with sweat.
My hands are trembling so hard I have to tighten my grip on her just to keep from dropping her.
She makes a soft, broken sound in her throat.
My entire nervous system nearly collapses in on itself.
“Oh God,” I whisper, my voice wrecked. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I am not letting you die in my arms. You hear me? You don’t get to die. You don’t get to do that to me.”
The word me feels wrong and dangerous and entirely too intimate.
