“Then explain it to me,” she demands. “Explain why I can’t stop thinking about you. Why being near you feels like—like?—”
“Like what?” I press.
“Like I’m losing control,” she finishes, her voice quieter now but no less intense.
Something shifts in her expression. Not softer. More focused.
“Because you are,” I say.
Her breath stops.
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be,” I reply.
The honesty of that should annoy her. Instead, it does something far worse. I can almost see the spark of heat that seems to shoot straight down her spine.
“No. No, that’s not how this works. I don’t just lose control because some… bond says I should.”
“Then don’t,” I say.
She blinks.
“What?”
“Don’t lose control,” I repeat, stepping closer now, her presence beginning to overwhelm me. “Fight it. Push against it. See how far that gets you.”
The challenge in my voice appears to hit something in her that I probably shouldn’t indulge. But I do anyway.
“Fine,” she says, lifting her chin. “I will.”
“Good.”
We’re close now. Too close. I can feel the heat of her, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the way the air itself seems to tighten around us.
“Because I’m not just going to roll over and let some biological impulse dictate my life,” she continues, even as my pulse starts to race. “I need to know this is more than that.”
“It is,” I say immediately.
“Then prove it.”
The second those words are in the air, something changes. My restraint snaps. Not completely. But enough. I move fast, closing the last inch between us, my hand coming up to cup her cheek, firm but not forceful.
“You want proof?” I murmur.
Her breath stutters.
“Yes.”
Her words come out soft—almost breathless—as my thumb brushes her cheek, and the contact sends a sharp jolt through me.
“That pull you feel?” I say quietly. “That’s the bond.”
My other hand settles at her waist, drawing her closer.
“And this?” My voice drops even lower. “This is me choosing you.”
“Archer—”