“That’s not what I—”
“I know, but the rest—you are my starlight. My bright point in the sky, leading me home. Fuck no. No, Sophie. My kind mate for life. My kind cherish their mates.”
“Why me? You don’t know me. It’s only been—”
His voice deepened at the same time he fisted her hair with a growl. “Stop that. Now.”
Her scalp stung, his tight grip relentless as he pulled her up to her tiptoes. Leaning down to her, he rubbed his nose along hers, one side, then the other, in the softest tease of a caress. Again and again, then over her cheeks, to her neck, where he sniffed and breathed her in, scenting her. Higher on her toes, higher, his fist pulling her up to him.
Sophie braced her palms on his chest, tiny sounds escaping. His nose changed to his lips, the slightest of caresses. Pain, pleasure. And love.
She felt wanted and adored. But didn’t understand it.
“Yes, I’m gonna fucking hurt you,” he said.
Micah never gave her time to think. His breath was hot on her cheek, near her ear, and along the column of her neck.
“Smells like mine,” he said. His voice had deepened even more to the low baritone of a growl. Eyes glowing, lit up like crystals, he watched Sophie, reading her. Extra teeth filled his mouth, the points scraping the tendon in her neck. “Who owns this body?”
She knew what he wanted, “Micah owns me.”
Shifter fast, he lowered her to her heels and spun her to face her room. “Micah owns you. I keep what I claim. Now get your shit. I want to get you home where I can fuck what’s mine.”
His crude words evoked a shiver, and her grief paled a little for the moment. Her legs were jelly as she avoided his heated gaze in favor of scooping up books from where they were stacked and pulling her clothes out to sort. Micah could be her order, she realized. He would guide her, protect her, structure her life.
Helping her without being invited, Micah examined and rejected what she picked with a frown, tossing her things in a corner.She didn’t know what he thought, but his over-emphasized disgust caught her off guard. Her emotions on edge, an unexpected grin broke out. His face was ridiculous and the whole moment felt surreal.
He shot her a puzzled glance and Sophie had to smooth her features flat. “Please, I want something comfortable to wear.”
He frowned at the discarded clothing like they were the carcasses of his enemy. Her bras, underpants, t-shirts, and the other two pairs of decent jeans. “Maybe. But you are not putting your pretty body in that disgusting granny shit.”
“Granny shit?” she repeated. Her giggle came out of nowhere, out of place in the situation, but Sophie couldn’t help it. Eyes crinkled and frown cutting deep lines in the sides of his face, Micah looked revolted by her clothing choices. This was standard red-blood wear, easily sourced.
Full attention darting to her face with the sound of her laughter, he reached out, snagged her arm and pulled her in. Bending down to her level, he spoke against the corner of her lips, teasing her with an almost kiss. “Fuck. That sound. Do that again.”
“Laugh?”
“Yeah, that.”
“What is wrong with my underwear?”
“Gross ten-year-old puke shit. I’ll get you new.”
“The strappy, bright stuff you give me is not decent underwear.”
“Fuckin’ right. That’s gift wrapping.”
His face. Those words. She couldn’t help it. The laugh burst out of her.
Pushing his lips against hers, he drank it up. Kissing her hard, stealing her breath, tongue licking into her mouth as if he could eat up her laughter.
Dante called out from downstairs, interrupting the moment. “It is getting close to dark. I don’t think we should be here then.”
Still kissing her, his hand moving to her throat and thumb petting her pulse point, Micah rumbled like a dog someone threatened to take a bone from.
Sophie pulled herself away. “He’s right. You don’t want to start a war with Cyril.”
“Fine. I’m just waiting on you. Hurry up. I’m serious about your clothes. I will get you something comfortable. I’ll even let you pick. So, what else you want?”
