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I don’t know.
Crap.
“You’re mine, Summer.” His breath is cold as it tickles my ear, his words clicking something inside me into place, the answer to a forgotten question I’d asked long ago. “Do you understand? Mine, and I will slaughter anyone who tries to take you from me.”
Fuck.
My brain is scrambled. I can’t find the words to respond. The clarity of mind to articulate why this is a bad idea . . .
Why don’t I want this?
How could I not?
Holy mother trucker, the things running through my head right now would make Aunt Vi fall over dead.
Aunt Vi! Focus on Aunt Vi!
But, oh Lordy, there’s only a thin, wet tee between Valerian’s flesh and my bare thighs, and that shirt is pissing me off. I tug at it, growling like a deranged lunatic, single-mindedly set on murdering the overly expensive piece of fabric.
The rational part of me understands what’s happening. We’re both reacting to the magical bond between us, just as helpless to escape its grip as I was against the river’s immense power.
But the other part of me doesn’t want to understand. She doesn’t want to think about anything at all except the ache building inside her, begging for release.
When I succeed in twisting his damp shirt high enough that our flesh meets—his skin cool and hard and startling against my feverish thighs—he whips his head back to stare at me.
Our eyes lock, and a new wave of emotions slams into me, eclipsing my physical desires.
I gasp as a current of power blasts through my middle. It’s his—or mine. Or maybe both of ours merging into one stream.
The air around us shimmers hot and cold. Either I’m hallucinating or there’s butterflies and snowflakes swirling around us, a collision of hot and cold, summer and winter.
Whoa, this is some kinky, crazy stuff.
Muscles feather in his jaw as he murmurs through clenched teeth, “Summer, if you’re not ready, tell me now. In a few seconds, neither one of us will be able to stop.”
Won’t be able to stop. Why would I want to stop?
I blink. This is my choice, right? I know I want this, but . . .
Pale light draws my focus to the golden chain fixed to his wrist—
I throw my hand up, startled by the cold bite of metal circling my neck.
He notices my confusion and says, “I had to claim you before someone else could.”
Claim you. You’re mine. I’ll slaughter anyone else who tries to take you from me.
That’s not love, a nagging voice whispers, that’s possession.
Reality comes crashing in to ruin the party. The butterflies and snowflakes evanesce. My desire drains, leaving me overwhelmingly aware of my other physical needs.
I’m shivering. Half in shock from nearly dying.
“Put me down . . . please.”
To his credit, he reacts immediately, gently bracing his hands on my waist as he steps back, guiding my unsteady feet to the ground.
The moment we break apart, our flesh no longer touching, the predatory sharpness in his features softens, and his stare goes from ravenous, like I’m something to be guarded and devoured, to concerned.
