Memories from last night flicker through my mind, confessions I made while not having to look at him, hands mapping my skin to distract me while I spilled truths I never intended to share.
I squeeze my eyes tighter, fighting both the hangover and the vulnerability of knowing I’ve given too much of myself away.
The bed dips as I roll onto my side, burying my face in a pillow saturated in Ezra’s pheromones. The scent sends heat coiling through my stomach despite the pounding in my head, and I reach up to rub my neck in a futile attempt to massage away bone-deep tension.
My fingers encounter cold and unfamiliar metal that hugs my nape.
My eyes snap open, hangover forgotten as I trace the contours of a collar locked around my throat. Panic surges through me, awake now as I scramble to sit up, sheets tangling around my legs.
“What the fuck?” I claw at the solid band, fingers searching for a clasp, a seam, anything that might release it.
The nape guard sits flush on my skin, covering the sensitive scent gland at the back of my neck where an Alpha’s bite would leave a mating Mark. It’s not tight enough to choke, but snug enough to make its presence known.
“Morning.”
The greeting cuts through my panic, and my head whips toward it to find Ezra standing in the doorway to his closet, dressed in low-slung sweatpants, his chest bare. His expression is neutral as he tracks my movements.
“What did you do to me?” I spit the words, still fumbling with the collar.
Ezra crosses the room, barefoot and silent on the hardwood floor. “It’s a nape guard.” He stops at the foot of the bed. “Custom-made. And the key is stored somewhere else right now, biometrically coded to only work with my fingerprints.”
“Take it off.” I try to sound steady, but fear and anger bleed through.
He tilts his head, studying me. “No.”
The single syllable lands between us, heavy with finality.
My heart pounds hard, a caged animal sensing danger. “You put a fucking collar on me while I was unconscious?”
The betrayal cuts deeper than I want to admit. Last night, I let myself believe we could build something real, and now this.
“I’m not risking you getting Marked by another Alpha before I can get my teeth into you.” He delivers this explanation withsuch matter-of-fact confidence that it takes a moment for the meaning to sink in.
“You’re insane.” I gather the sheets around my naked body to put a flimsy barrier between us. “I’m not your property.”
“Aren’t you?” Ezra steps closer, one knee rising to dent the mattress. “You came back, Ren. You always come back.”
“This is illegal.” My fingers move over the smooth metal band in search of any weakness.
“It’s protection.” He leans forward, weight shifting onto the bed. “How many Alphas have you let close over the years, playing your games? How many almost got their teeth into you before you disappeared?”
None. The answer sticks in my throat. In all my years of deception, I’ve never let anyone close enough to risk a Mark. No one except Ezra.
“Take it off,” I repeat, hating how shaken I sound.
“I was crazy to ever let you out of my sight before.” He moves closer, and I scramble away until my back meets the headboard. “I won’t make the same mistake a third time.”
“You can’t collar someone without their consent.” I tug at the nape guard again, fingers slipping on the smooth metal.
“I can when that someone has a habit of vanishing the moment things get real.” His hand reaches out, not touching me but hovering close enough for the heat radiating from his skin to seep into me. “Twice, Ren. You’ve walked away from me twice already.”
A charge fills the air between us, urging me to move forward, to close the distance and put myself back in his hold. It would be so easy to become the man Ezra needs, to paint myself over into a new person.
Instead, I clutch the sheets tighter, aware of my nakedness beneath the thin cotton, of my vulnerability in this space where Ezra holds all the power.
“Why don’t you freshen up?” he suggests, his focus unwavering. “There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom. Towels in the cabinet.”
The abrupt shift throws me off-balance, this mundane offer of hospitality clashing with the reality of the collar around my neck.
