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His anger disappears.

“Belinda.”

“I am not my mother's pawn.”

“I never said⁠—”

“I am not my sister's consolation prize dispenser.”

Another spark.

“And I sure as hell am not yours.”

His entire body stills.

Fuck.

That landed somewhere deep.

I see it. For one second, something almost wounded crosses his face. Then it's gone.

“You’re wrong about that last one, Sweet. You are mine.”

“Is that what you think?”

My voice breaks. And I hate that most of all.

“Last night you told me you had nothing to give me except sex. This morning I find out you may have⁠—”

I stop.

His eyes sharpen.

“May have what?”

Oh, shit. I touch my neck without thinking.

Damian follows the movement. His gaze locks onto the bite beneath my hair.

Everything about him changes.

His wings slowly spread. His eyes burn crimson.

And the possessiveness that rolls off him naturally is suddenly so intense I actually feel it against my skin.

“What do you think you know, Little Witch?”

“You bit me last night. You claimed me.”

“Who told you that?”

My heart drops. Not exactly the denial I was expecting. But not the opposite either.

I straighten my shoulders.

“Clarissa explained it to me.”

His jaw clenches.