Page 69 of A House of Gold
“Yes, you do.” His voice drops, dangerous. “You made a deal with Seraph without consulting me. Offered yourself as a wager. Risked your life to prove a point. And now you’re here, barely breathing, telling me you’re fine when you can’t even hold yourself up.”
Anger flares through the exhaustion. “What did you want me to do? Let Seraph take me for a week? Let him have access to me whenever he wanted?”
“I wanted you to trust me to handle it.” His gold eyes are blazing now. “I wanted you to let me protect you instead of throwing yourself into danger because you’re too stubborn to accept help.”
“I don’t need protection. I’m not some delicate thing you need to shelter.”
“No, you’re a human sin eater. You’re mortal, Raven. Fragile. Breakable. And you keep forgetting that.”
The words hit me hard. “I’m not fragile.”
“Yes, you are.” His voice softens, but there’s something almost cruel in it. “You break. You bleed. You die if you push too hard. You’re not immortal like me. You’re not invincible. You’re human, and humans have limits.”
“I know my limits.”
“Do you?” He leans closer, and I can smell the unexplainable smoke on him. “Because from where I’m standing, you just shattered past your limits and are now trying to convince me you’re whole.”
“I’m fine.”
“Stop lying.” His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “Stop pretending. Stop hiding behind walls and pride and the belief that needing help makes you weak.”
“It does make me weak.”
“No.” His forehead touches mine. “It makes you human. And right now, that’s exactly what you are—human and hurting and trying so hard to be strong that you’re forgetting how to survive.”
The tears come harder now. I can’t stop them. Can’t do anything except lie there in his arms while eighteen years of carrying other people’s sins and my own stubborn refusal to break finally catch up with me.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“I know.” His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head. “But I’m not letting you go.”
“You have to. Eventually. One year. That’s the deal.”
“Fuck the deal.” The words are quiet, vicious. “You’re mine, Raven. Not for a year. Not temporarily. Mine.”
“That’s not?—”
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not asking. Just takes my mouth like he did the last time I said no, like he has every right to it, like the contract gives him ownership of more than just my time and service.
But this time is different.
This time, I’m just me, tired and hollow and so desperately lonely that his mouth on mine feels like the first real thing I’ve felt in years.
I should push him away. Should remember all the reasons this is wrong: he’s an angel, he owns me, this is possession not love, I can’t let myself want this. But I’m so tired of fighting, tired of being strong, tired of surviving alone.
So I kiss him back.
My hands find his shirt, fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer even though he’s already pressed against me. His mouth is hot and demanding, and he tastes like heaven.
He makes a sound, low and satisfied, and deepens the kiss. One hand stays in my hair while the other slides down my spine,pressing me against him like he’s trying to pull me inside his skin while he holds me.
It’s not romantic. It’s not tender. It’s claiming, raw and possessive and desperate in a way that should terrify me but doesn’t.
I kiss him harder, let him devour me, let him take everything I’m too exhausted to protect. Right now, being claimed feels better than being alone. Being wanted feels better than being strong. Being his feels better than being no one’s.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, and his voice is ragged. “Mine.”
