I don’t let her finish. Because I kiss her. And everything else disappears. It’s not gentle. Not hesitant. It’s intense. Consuming. Like we’ve been holding back for so long that letting go is the only option left. And God help me?—
She doesn’t pull away. She kisses me back. Just as fiercely. Just as desperately. Because whatever this is—it’s real.
I feel it in the way the world narrows down to us both. In the way my body responds without hesitation. In the way something deep inside meclicksinto place like it’s been waiting for thismoment all along. My grip tightens, pulling her flush against me, and the contact sends another wave of heat through me.
The bond reacts instantly. I don’t have another word for it. It’s like something invisible wraps around us, pulling tighter, stronger, deeper. My breath catches against her mouth, my fingers tangling in her hair as I hold on like she’s the only solid thing in the world. This?—
This is what he meant. When he said it couldn’t be undone. When he said it would change everything. Because I can feel it. The connection. The awareness. The way every movement, every breath feels… shared. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“Tessa,” he says, his voice rough.
I swallow, my heart racing.
“That was… not a biological impulse,” I manage.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips.
“No,” he agrees. “It wasn’t.”
I search his eyes, looking for doubt. For hesitation. I don’t find either.
“What does this mean?” I ask quietly.
His expression sobers.
“It means the bond is stronger now,” he says. “More stable. More… permanent.”
“And us?”
His hand tightens slightly at my waist.
“It means I’ve claimed you as my mate.”
The words should scare me. They probablydoscare me. But underneath that fear is something else. Something steady. Something that feels like… right.
“And I agreed to that?” I ask, arching a brow.
“You didn’t stop me,” he points out.
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it.
“Convenient interpretation.”
His gaze softens slightly.
“You can still walk away,” he says. “Even now.”
I know he means it. That’s the thing. He’s not trapping me. He’s not forcing me. He’s giving me a choice. And for some reason…
That makes it easier to stay.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
The words come out steady. Certain. His tiger reacts—I don’t see it, but I feel it. A surge of something powerful and possessive that tightens the air around us for just a second. Then it settles. Barely.
“Then we need to talk about what happens next,” he says.
17
