Chapter 3

I didn't run. Instinct told me that running would trigger something I wasn't ready to face. I walked, briskly, back to the funicular that led up to the estate.

I stormed into the main hall. Damien was exactly where I had left him, though the bottle of Pinot was now empty.

"I didn't sign it," I said, my voice shaking. "I didn't agree to this."

Damien stood up slowly. "The money is for your comfort, Clara. I know you worry about money. You worry about the rent. You worry about being invisible." He took a step toward me. "You aren't invisible here."

"The statue," I choked out. "The people... they aren't residents, are they?"

"They are my pack," Damien said simply. "They are here to ensure no harm comes to you. The outside world is chaotic, Clara. It’s dirty. It’s dangerous. Men look at you with thoughts they shouldn't have. Drivers run red lights. Muggings happen."

"So you bought a town?" I backed up toward the door. "You evicted everyone and filled it with... with guards?"

"I built a sanctuary," he corrected. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating in his chest. "I have waited five years, Clara. I watched you struggle. I watched you cry over bills. I waited until I could build something worthy of you."

"You watched me?" I hit the glass door. I reached for the handle.

It didn't move.

"Open it," I commanded.

"No."

The word was soft, but it carried the weight of a falling mountain.

"You can't keep me here! This is kidnapping!"

"This is destiny," Damien said. He was closing the distance. "You felt the spark when we touched. Don't lie to me. Your heart is beating so fast I can hear the valves opening and closing. You know what I am."

I did. My grandmother used to tell stories about the mountain wolves, the ones who mated for life, the ones whose love was a heavy, suffocating thing.

"I want to go home," I whispered.

"You are home."

He cornered me against the glass. The sun had set. The town lights below flickered on—a grid of golden bars in the darkness.

Damien placed his hands on the glass on either side of my head. He smelled of rain and cedar and something wilder, something metallic.

"I’m leaving," I said, reaching into my purse. My hand closed around the heavy brass letter opener I’d seen on the foyer table and pocketed in a fit of paranoia.

I brought it up, pressing the dull point against his chest. "Let me go, Damien. Or I swear to God..."

He didn't flinch. He looked down at the brass blade pressing into his silk tie, then back up at my eyes.

He smiled. And this time, his eyes shifted. The amber flooded with gold, glowing in the dim light.

"Beautiful," he breathed.

He leaned *into* the blade. I gasped, pulling back, but he followed, pressing his chest against the metal until I was the one pinned.

"You have fight in you," he murmured, his face inches from mine. "Good. I was worried you would be too fragile."

"I will hurt you," I threatened, though my hand was trembling.

"You can try." He lowered his head, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "But we both know you won't. Because your body knows it belongs to me even if your mind is still catching up."

He kissed me.

It wasn't a question. It was a conquest. He devoured the space between us. And God help me, the static returned. It wasn't a shock this time; it was a current. It wrapped around my spine, warm and narcotic. My hand went slack. The letter opener clattered to the floor.

I kissed him back. I hated him. I was terrified of him. But the bond—the ancient, biological imperative—roared in approval.

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