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“I can’t,” I choke.

“And why is that?” he growls.

I push against him, frustration and anger rising fast enough to burn away everything else.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” I shake my head, even as his grip keeps me in place. “It’s the bond. This isn’t real. It’s forcing—”

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you? Go ahead, pretend this is something you can fight and walk away from.”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear.

“It changes nothing.”

My breath stutters.

“Because you’re fucking mine,” he murmurs. “Fight the bond all you want, but it changes nothing when you can’t say the words to reject me. And I’d be willing to bet my kingdom that even if I did kill him, you still wouldn’t be able to say the words.”

“You hurt him and—”

“Right now I am trying very hard not to kill your boyfriend. If you want to keep it that way, you’ll make him go home before I do something I won’t regret.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Then don’t make me!” With that, he lets me go and heads for the door.

As he reaches for the handle, panic flares in my chest. If he leaves now, like this, I don’t know when I’ll see him again. I don’t know how many more nights I’ll spend with the bond pulling at me while he stays away until hunger forces him back.

“Wait.” My feet carry me forward, drawn by that invisible thread that connects us, the one that demands proximity, even when it brings nothing but pain.

He pauses with his hand on the door but doesn’t turn back.

I can’t bring myself to say what I want to say, so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Am I allowed to leave the room?”

I watch his shoulders rise and fall with a breath, see the slight tightening of his grip on the door handle, and I wonder what is happening behind those crimson eyes, what he’s weighing in that mind of his.

“I don’t care what you do.” With that, he leaves.

I stand frozen for a moment, staring at the closed door as if it might open again, as if he might return and say something, anything, that doesn’t leave me feeling hollowed out. The bond aches, throbbing in time with my heartbeat, demanding something from him that he clearly has no intention of offering.

My hand rises to my throat where his bite still lingers, and I press my fingers against the spot, searching for evidence of connection. Instead, I find only smooth skin and the ghost of sensation that brings more pain than comfort. Eventually I force myself to get dressed knowing that if I stay in this room, it will drive me crazy.

As I reach for the door handle, I hesitate. Part of me expects it to be locked, despite his words, but it opens easily. I step into the hallway and head to the infirmary.

It’s warm when I step inside, filled with the scent of herbs. Eagan’s standing at one of the tables, grinding something into a paste. He glances up briefly when I enter, his gaze flicking over me before returning to his work.

“You’ve come out of your room.”

“Kylian said I could.” I move further into the room, drawn by the promise of distraction. This is something useful to do with my hands that doesn’t involve dwelling on the ache in my chest or the memory of crimson eyes looking at me in betrayal.

“You never needed his permission. Kylian may be angry, but he would never hold you against your will.”

“Yeah because he knows the bond will do that for him.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

I say nothing as I peer into the bowl he is grinding herbs in.

“I take it he came to you?”