The certainty in his voice should feel arrogant. Instead it just feels true.
"What if I don't want this?"
His jaw tightens. "The bond is real whether you accept it or not. But I won't claim you fully without your consent."
Relief loosens the knot in my chest. Choice. He's giving me choice even though everything about him screams possession.
"Tell me the rest," I say. "All of it."
He moves to the coffee table, sits facing me. Close enough to touch but not touching. His forearms rest on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees.
"My bear is corrupted. Unstable. You saw what happened—the flicker, the shadow tendrils." His gaze doesn't waver. "Calder says I'm running out of time. The corruption is spreading. Eventually it'll consume me. Both man and bear."
Cold spreads through my stomach. "How long?"
"Days, maybe weeks. Depends on how fast the shadow advances." He leans forward slightly. "Completing the bond could save me. Or it could kill us both. I won't lie about the risk."
Kill us both.
The words hang between us like smoke.
"But I spent six months fighting to get back here." His voice drops lower, more intense. "To you. To what I knew was mine."
What's mine. The possessiveness should trigger every warning bell about men who think they own women. But this isn't about ownership. This is about belonging.
"You said the bond could save you." I keep my voice steady. "What are the odds?"
"Unknown. Never been tested with this level of corruption."
Great. Russian roulette with mystical consequences.
"And if we don't complete it?"
"I seal the shadow tears from inside. Go back to where I came from and close them permanently." Matter-of-fact, like discussing weather. "The clan survives. Problem solved."
"You'd die."
"Probably. But everyone else would be safe."
The casual acceptance in his tone makes my chest ache. Like his life is just a variable in an equation. Like martyrdom is the obvious solution.
"That's your backup plan? Suicide mission?"
"It's strategy. Acceptable losses to protect the clan."
"No." The word comes out sharp. "That's not acceptable."
His eyebrows rise fractionally. Surprise that I'm arguing.
"You just told me I'm your mate. That we're bound whether I accept it or not." I lean forward, matching his intensity. "You think I'm just going to nod and smile while you throw yourself on a metaphorical grenade?"
"Maren—"
"I'm terrified of people leaving. Of choosing wrong and getting abandoned again." The admission costs me, but he needs to hear it. "Every time I let myself care about someone, they've left. Every. Single. Time."
Something softens in his expression.
"So forgive me if the idea of finally finding someone who looks at me like you do, who makes me feel like I matter, and then watching you walk away to die alone makes me want to scream."
