Page 143 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“Every night I lay next to you wanting you,” he said, voice rough. “Telling myself to keep my hands off because you could barely walk.”

His thrusts grew deeper, more demanding. I met him as best I could. He was rough and desperate, but careful. Always careful with my injuries.

When the pressure coiled tight again I dragged my mouth along his neck and shoulder. My canines lengthened, the urge to claim him rising hard and sharp.

I struck first and my teeth sank into the curve of his neck.

Jackson’s entire body locked up. A raw, guttural sound tore out of him as the mating venom took hold, and his grip tightened around me hard enough to make me gasp.

For one suspended second neither of us moved.

Then his eyes opened. The look in them stole the breath from my lungs. Need. Possession. Certainty.

His canines had already lengthened. He turned his head and bit me deep, right where my neck met my shoulder.

Pain flared sharp and bright, then flooded with heat as the venom took. The bond snapped into place with shocking force.

It wasn’t soft or romantic. It felt like a lock clicking shut, like a missing piece slamming into place inside my chest. I could feel him then, not thoughts, but a steady, powerful presence layered under my own heartbeat. Solid. Unshakable. Mine.

My cat went completely still for a heartbeat, then flooded with pure, overwhelming satisfaction.

I gasped as another orgasm crashed through me. Jackson followed with a broken groan, hips jerking as he came hard, still deep inside me.

For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing. Then he rolled us carefully until I was sprawled across his chest with him still inside me. His hand moved slowly up and down my back.

“If anyone thinks they can take you from me,” Jackson said, voice low against my hair, “I’ll burn it all down.”

A low purr rumbled through my chest. I liked it. The possessiveness. The promise of violence.

He smiled against my hair but said nothing more.

I traced a slow line down his chest with one finger. “You were right,” I said quietly.

"About what?"

"Us being fated mates."

His chest rumbled under my cheek. "I'm always right."

I lifted my head, looked at him, and smacked his arm. "Cocky ass."

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through both of us, and pulled me closer.

The rest of the week passed in our newly mated bubble. The bond continued to settle and strengthen with every passing day.

I grew used to feeling him at the edge of my awareness — a steady, grounding warmth that never fully faded. His presence reached me before the sound of his footsteps did. The subtle shifts in his mood came just as easily, no need to even look at him. It should have felt invasive. Instead, it felt… right.

Jackson never left. He slept in my bed every night and woke up with me every morning. I was starting to realize I couldn’t picture it any other way anymore.

We kept working on the plan, refining it whenever one of us spotted another weakness. But Jackson was also making plans of his own.

On the third night, he slipped back into pack territory alone. I had given him the locations of the cameras I’d planted around John’s house, and a few hours later he returned carrying all six in a crumpled paper bag. He set it on my desk without a word. I wiped the memory cards, checked the footage one last time, then packed the cameras back into my equipment case. One more loose end gone.

The following morning, I woke slowly, still wrapped in his arms. Sunlight filtered through the curtains. I reached for the new bond carefully, wondering if he was awake. Soft amusement pulsed back before he stirred. He pressed a kiss to my head, voice rough with sleep.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

I smiled against his chest. The bond hummed gently between us, already familiar. For a second, I just lay there, letting his presence sink into my bones.