Have you ever opened your eyes and instantly know your life’s about to go completely off the rails? Yeah. That was me.
The first thing I noticed was the skull-splitting headache. The kind that made my brain feel like it had been put through a blender set to “puree”. The second? The bite.
It throbbed, hot, raw, pulsing against the side of my neck like a brand I didn’t ask for. I bolted upright, adrenaline slamming through my veins as I took in my surroundings. The room was… ridiculous. Like, five-star-hotel-meets-secret-villain-lair kind of ridiculous.
Cream-colored walls and velvet curtains that probably cost more than my car. There’s a freaking chandelier and a bed so massive and luxurious it felt like it could’ve hosted a royal wedding.
But none of it mattered because it didn’t feel safe. It felt like a trap.
The windows were barred. The door had no knob, just a sleek panel with a red light that screamed you’re not going anywhere. I stumbled toward it, still dizzy, still hurting, and yanked.
Nothing. Of course.
“Hello?” I shouted, pounding my fist on the door. “Does anyone want to explain why I’m suddenly starring in a horror movie?”
Silence.
Panic set in like a switch had been flipped. My hands shook, throat wildly tightened and I spun around, searching the room for anything; phone, landline, laptop, smoke signal. Nothing.
No charger. No electronics. No vents I could crawl through. Even the mirror looked suspicious, like it might be hiding a camera. I was in his house. Pierce’s probably.
The bite still fucking throbbed. I touched it, winced, and immediately hated how real it felt. What the hell had he done to me? As hours passed, I paced and searched; considered hurling the lamp at the window, but it was probably bulletproof because, of course, it was.
Then, like something out of a horror movie script, the lock clicked. The door swung open and Pierce fucking Leneghan entered in a fitted black sweater like he’d just stepped out of a damn GQ shoot instead of, oh, I don’t know, kidnapping me?
He walked in holding a tray like this was brunch on a weekend getaway and not, you know, a felony.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, all casual-like, like we were a couple and not captor and captive.
I stared at him, deadpan. “Are you serious right now?”
He just smiled. Like this was his version of a grand romantic gesture. “Eggs. Toast. No coffee yet, you need to rest. Your body’s adjusting to the mark.”
My stomach turned. “The what?”
“The bite,” he said. “I need to check it.”
I flinched as he set the tray down. “Don’t come near me, you fucker.”
He moved anyway, calm, slow, terrifyingly at ease.
“You lost consciousness,” he said, stepping closer. “I stayed up all night to make sure your body didn’t reject the bond.”
“You make that sound like some kind of surgery. I didn’t ask for this.”
He tilted his head, gaze dark and steady. “It wasn’t up for debate.”
I didn’t move. “You bit me.”
He nodded, like that was perfectly reasonable. “You were mine the second you stepped into that club. The rest was formality.”
“Oh gee, I wonder why I didn’t walk right into your arms.”
“You followed me yourself, little fox,” he said, tone shifting, deeper, and sharper. “You hunted me. And now you’re mad I claimed what came too close?”
“Claimed? You think biting me makes me yours?”
“I don’t think, Lyra,” he said, his voice low and sharp like broken glass. “I know.”
I backed up a step, arms folded tight. “You’re delusional.”
“No,” he answered with a smirk. “I’m just stating facts.”
I reached for the plate and hurled it at him. It shattered against the door behind him, but that damned showoff didn’t even flinch. Just ducked slightly, unfazed.
“Temper, temper,” he murmured, lips twitching with amusement. “You’ll break all the good china.”
“Screw your china!” He took another slow step forward, but stopped himself. Like he was forcing restraint. That almost scared me more.
“You’re not a prisoner, Lyra,” he said, gentler now but not kind. “You’re home now.”
I laughed bitterly. “You really are insane.”
“Insane—is letting my mate walk around the world without protection. Without knowing who she belongs to.”
“Belongs to? You’re not supposed to talk about people like that.”
“You’re not ‘people’, Lyra,” he said, voice razor-sharp. “You’re mine.”
Then, it crushed me again—that damned pain on my neck, beneath my skin, inside that stupid ‘mark’. I had tried to ignore it, but it kept coming in agonizing waves—hot, searing, like something beneath my flesh was trying to crawl out.
The bite pulsed with every heartbeat, sharp and angry, like it was punishing me for rejecting him.
My hand hovered over it, afraid to touch, afraid not to. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming yet my legs began to tremble, my breath ragged.
It wasn’t just pain, it was wrong. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore.
I stumbled to the mirror and pulled my collar down. It was red and swollen. Veined with something dark underneath like venom trying to burn its way out.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed a cold hand to it, but it didn’t help. If anything, it made the ache worse.
Pierce now towering over me behind my back, hands in his pockets like he had nothing better to do. “You’re rejecting the bond,” he said, approaching slowly. “‘Cause of that your body’s trying to fight it and that’s exactly why it hurts.”
“No shit,” I snapped through gritted teeth.
“I can take it away,” he leaned to me, whispering in my ear. “Not the bond, but the pain. If you let me.”
“Touch me again? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He still reached for my hand and I slapped it away. Harder this time.
My pulse was rioting in my chest, watching how he just tilted his head like I was fascinating. Like I was something he’d waited to own.
“You’re not supposed to enjoy this,” I snapped.
“Oh,” he said, eyes glinting. “But I do.”
Before he turned around, his eyes darted on my swelling bite mark.
“If you really don’t want my help,” he said, tilting his head, eyes fixed on mine, “well, suffer then, I guess.”
His voice was calm, certain that I would and that it doesn’t bother him yet.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready to beg for it.” A pause. His smile curved, slow and cruel. “And believe me, you will.”
30
