Page 41

Knox did not. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Maisie.”

“Knox.”

His eyes flashed with emerald fire. “You are not coming with me into danger.”

I stepped closer, lifted my chin, and glared up at all six-foot-four of stubborn Dragon Guardsman. “We choose, remember?”

The words struck him harder than any spell. I watched the line of his shoulders tense, then shift.

Not relax. Knox MacAllen probably couldn’t relax without a doctor’s note, two tranquilizer darts, and direct intervention from the Great Goddess Herself.

But something in him recognized the truth of what I had said.

He had told me Fate didn’t get to own us.

I was holding him to it.

Not with soft words.

Not with coy eyelashes.

Not with romantic destiny nonsense.

With choice.

Mine.

His jaw worked once.

For a moment, his eyes moved over my face like he was trying to memorize me and talk himself out of caring at the same time.

Good luck, Dead Guy.

Inside my own mind, Neysa went oddly quiet.

Then, softer than usual, she said, “He is afraid because you are choosing him.”

My eyes stayed on Knox. The fear in his face had nothing to do with Hell. He knew I was choosing danger. Choosing him.

Not because Fate forced my hand. Not because a Mate Bond snapped a leash around my wrist. Not because any ancient Magic told me I belonged in the blast radius of his life.

Because I had looked at the risk, planted my boots, and decided.

That made it worse for him.

I could see that.

It also made it real.

Knox drew in a slow breath.