tightened his grip on my wrist just enough to remind me who was in control. He didn't move me yet. Instead, his other hand—cold, gloved, and utterly dominant—slid up my bare arm. He didn't bind me with silk or leather. He bound me with his touch.
His fingers traced the line of my collarbone, moving slowly, deliberately, until he rested his palm flat against my throat. Not squeezing, just resting—a terrifying promise of absolute power.
My frantic pulse fluttered helplessly beneath his cold skin.
"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dropping low enough that it bypassed my ears entirely and seemed to vibrate directly in my chest. "Sweaty. Bruised. Your little feet cut by the earth. And yet, still defying."
He nudged my hair aside with his lips, then trailed a chilling kiss down my neck, stopping exactly at the silver locket. He pressed his mouth there, cold and firm, before pulling away just enough to speak.
"This," he commanded, his voice suddenly sharp, "is where you belong. Caught. Claimed. Where your foolish human will struggles against the certainty of my ownership."
His words hit me like a physical blow and for a split second the terror inside me twisted into something hotter, sharper. Something furious.
"No," I choked out.
His fingers at my throat flexed. Not squeezing, no not yet, just reminding me how easy it would be.
"No?" he echoed, amused. "Little runner, you say that word as though it carries weight."
"It does." My voice trembled, but it didn't break. "I'm not a thing you get to own. I'm not some—some heirloom your creepy vampire cult passed down."
That earned a soft, dangerous sound from him. Pleasure, yet full of warning.
"I admire your fire," he murmured. "Mortals often whimper. You bare your teeth."
"I'll do more than bare my teeth," I snapped, adrenaline surging. "Let me go."
His grip didn't loosen. If anything, it became more precise. His hand sliding from my throat to the curve of my jaw, tilting my head back against his shoulder so effortlessly it made my stomach drop.
"You ran," he reminded me softly. "You hid. You armed yourself with useless tools."
A pause. "And still, you did not break."
His lips brushed the shell of my ear, cool enough to raise goosebumps across my entire body.
"Do you know what that makes you?"
"A hostage," I hissed.
"A challenge," he corrected, voice deepening into something darker. "And I do not walk away from challenges."
He stepped forward, guiding me back with him, his arm like an iron bar across my torso. The shed seemed to shrink around us, the air thick with gasoline, damp earth, and him.
"You want to run still?" he asked, his tone almost gentle. "Go on. Try."
"I can't exactly move with you glued to my spine."
"You could still fight," he murmured. "Scratch. Kick. Bite."
His voice dipped to a whisper. "You've done none of those."
My breath caught. "Because they wouldn't work."
"No," he said smoothly. "Because you don't truly want to."
That hit something inside me. Something hard and humiliating.
"I DO want to!" I snapped, shoving back against him with all the strength I had left.
He didn't budge.
Not even an inch.
My body jolted painfully from the impact, my breath knocking out of me, his arm steady around my middle like a steel belt.
"See?" he whispered against my jaw. "Your defiance is lovely. But it is not enough."
Rage flared bright enough to burn away the fear.
"I'm not yours."
A low, rumbling sound rose from his chest, something ancient and displeased.
"You were sealed to me long before you were born," he said. "You cannot undo what was written in blood."
I swallowed hard, my voice a thin thread. "Watch me."
That did it.
His hand slid from my jaw to my chin, turning my face toward him even though I couldn't fully see him in the dark. His cool breath ghosted over my lips, too close, too intimate, too controlled.
"You will fight," he said. "You will resist. You will run from me again."
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. Barely a touch, but enough to spike every nerve in my body.
"And every time," he continued, "I will catch you."
He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive point just below my ear.
"Because I am not your nightmare, Nomi English."
His voice was soft as snowfall, deadly as a blade.
"I am your fate."