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“Stay here,” I tell her, leaving her in the room with Brom following me to mine. I unlock my door and light a couple of candles at the window before I grab my pillow and an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and bring it back to Kat, Brom grumbling the whole way like an ornery dog.
“You’ll be safe here,” I tell her, placing the items in her arms, while taking the rest of the leather straps from her. “I promise you, my vlinder.”
I put my arm around her and bring her forward and kiss her on the top of her head. When she pulls away she looks up at me with longing in her eyes, fear, and my attention go to the dried blood and bruise forming on the corner of her forehead. I swallow down fire.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell her thickly, waiting for Brom to either do something or say something. But his demeanor is no longer defensive and dark. Instead I see shame and guilt on his brow, his posture hesitant.
“Good night,” she says quietly and I notice she avoids looking at Brom.
We leave the room and go back into mine. Once inside I let go of the reins and turn my back to Brom, closing the door behind me. I take a moment, breathing in deep through my nose, resting my forehead against the door.
I’m not a man with a temper. I do fairly well keeping calm. My mind might be chaos at times—I believe the teacher at school said I had “hypermetamorphosis”—but I’ve gone my whole life learning to control my unstable nervous system, been able to find ways to mask my eccentric ways by burying it under academics. A lot can be excused when you’re a professor.
But the rage I have building inside me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
It’s all directed at Brom, unfairly or not.
I turn around and see Brom standing there in the middle of my bedroom, the loop relaxed around his throat, the reins dragging on the floor.
I feel as if I’m on fire.
I march toward him, winding up and deck him square in the face. My knuckles explode in pain but I ignore it and the hit is enough for him to stumble backward against the wall.
“Fuck!” he cries out, holding onto his nose.
“That’s for Kat,” I tell him, coming at him again and grabbing him by the throat, my fingers wrapping around the leather. I push him back against the wall, squeezing tight.
His face goes red and I know he can easily fight me off until I have him completely restrained, but he lets me do this to him. “You already shot me, isn’t that enough?” he ekes out, his Adam’s apple moving against my palm.
“Do you think it’s enough?” I challenge.
He meets my eyes, trying to breathe in and out. A caged animal.
Finally I let go of him and he bends over at the waist, coughing.
“Do you want me to punish you, Brom Bones? Because I’ll give you whatever punishment you think you deserve.”
He looks up at me, his hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot.
“Who are you to punish me?” he grumbles.
Worry shoots through me. He might remember what we had together, but he might not have any interest in having that continue, no matter how attracted to me he still might be.
“I deserve whatever wrath Kat wishes to inflict on me,” he goes on hoarsely. “This has nothing to do with you. How did you…” he shakes his head, as if trying to get sense back into him, “how is it that you’re here? And with her?”
I turn over the hobbling leather in my hands, keeping an eye on him. “The universe works in mysterious ways.” I pause, dragging the strap slowly between my fingers. “I’ve had more time to adjust to the idea of you and Kat together than you’ve had adjusting to the idea of her and I together. But make no mistake about it, pretty boy, that witch is mine.”
His confusion turns into a scowl, his anger radiant and consuming. “I’m supposed to marry her.”
I ignore the sharp spike of fear in my chest. “Are you sure about that?” I come close to him again, tugging at the straps in my hands while keeping my gaze locked on his. My goodness this man carries such wildness inside him even when he’s not possessed. “Because from what it sounds like, marrying her has never been your idea. It’s been your parents. Her parents. It’s been arranged since birth.”
The line between his brows deepens. “You don’t get to tell me what I want or how I feel.”
“Perhaps not,” I say smoothly. “But I do get to tell you how I feel. And as long as you’re possessed, you’re not to lay one fucking finger on her. You’re not marrying her. You’re not going to be with her. And you’re certainly not going to fuck her. At least not without my permission and keen supervision.”
