Silence. Then her voice, raw, breaking through clenched teeth. “I do.”
The admission burned through me like fire in my veins. She sucked in a shaky breath, her next words almost strangled.
“I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to. But it’s there. It’s like… it’s like something’s tying me to you and no matter how much I want to pull away, I can’t.”
I closed my eyes, my arms tightening around her, possessive, claiming, but gentler now, too. “Good,” I said softly. “Becausethat bond isn’t just yours to fight, Sorcha. It’s mine. And I’ll never let it break.”
She shivered, caught between rebellion and surrender, but she didn’t move out of my lap. And that, for me, was enough. For now.
She didn’t pull away. Not when I brushed my lips over her temple, not when I let my thumb trace slow circles over the back of her hand. For a woman who claimed she didn’t know how to trust me, she stayed. Her pulse was quick, her breaths uneven, but she stayed.
I leaned down, murmuring against her skin. “You don’t have to fight tonight. Rest. I will take you to meet my brother Roman… and his mate. Layla. You’ll see what this bond becomes when you stop running from it. You’ll see their son.”
Her head tipped back slightly, her eyes catching mine, wide and wary. “You’re taking me there?”
“I am.” My answer left no room for doubt. “You’ll see my family. You’ll see what protection looks like when it isn’t a cage.”
That seemed to silence her, though I could almost hear the war raging in her head. I didn’t press. Instead, I shifted, easing us both back until she was sitting more comfortably across me, her cheek resting against my chest, my arms locked tight around her.
“Ivan” I call.
“Yes, my Lord?” he replies approaching.
“Prepare the SUV and call Troy and Jericho,”
“Of course, my Lord,” he turns to do my bidding.
“Are you ready to meet my family?” I ask placing my finger under her chin to lift her face until she is looking at me. She nods, and then slides off my lap, leaving her small delicate hand in mine.
Rising I guide her towards the main door hearing the SUV pull up outside, Troy was driving, Jericho was in the passenger seat, both sharp-eyed and silent. Ivan remained behind as I needed a changeling keeping the house secure. Sorcha sat beside me in the back, her arms folded, but I caught the way her gaze flicked to me every few minutes, like she was trying to read me.
I reached over, covered her hand with mine. “You’ll stay by my side when we arrive.”
She made a soft sound, almost a laugh. “I don’t exactly blend in, Lucien.”
“No,” I said, letting my gaze drag over her deliberately, claiming. “You don’t blend in, you are right, you stand out. Which is why you’ll be beside me. Always.”
Her pulse jumped, I heard it, felt it on her wrist as I stroked it with my thumb, but she didn’t argue again.
Roman’s mansion rose out of the dark like a fortress, iron gates yawning open, lights spilling across the immaculate drive. Inside, it was warmth and steel, family and power.
My brothers were already there. Roman, sharp and controlled, his gaze cutting straight to Sorcha the second we entered. Volken lingered in the shadows, his stare assessing, calculating. Viking grinned, the bastard always too quick with his amusement, while Draugr leaned silent against the far wall, a living shadow.
I drew Sorcha close, my arm firm around her waist. “My mate,” I said simply, the words enough to silence any question. Mybrothers didn’t touch her, didn’t step too close, because the warning was clear in my voice and my hold.
Roman inclined his head, his respect wordless. Then Layla entered, a baby in her arms, her dark hair falling around her shoulders, her eyes soft but sharper than most people realized.
Sorcha froze when she saw the child, her lips parting. Layla’s smile was warm, the kind of warmth Sorcha hadn’t felt in too long. “You must be Sorcha.”
“I…” Sorcha’s voice broke, her eyes darting to me, uncertain.
Layla stepped closer, undeterred, shifting the baby in her arms. “I know it’s overwhelming. I felt the same when I first met them all. But you’re safe now.” She tilted the child slightly, his small fist curled tight against her shoulder. “This is our son. Would you like to hold him?”
Roman stepped forward, a frown adorning his face, but Layla ignored his protective instinct as she held out their son to Sorcha.
Sorcha blinked, her throat working, and for a moment she looked at me, like she needed permission. I nodded once.
Carefully, Layla placed the child in her arms. Sorcha held him as though he were spun glass, her expression breaking, softening, something raw flashing in her eyes.
