Page 25 of Blood Red Rage

She was supposed to be with me. I’d told her, I’d made it clear, but it looked like my mate didn’t listen. She was mine to protect, mine to keep safe. And the thought of her wandering while I slept… while I was vulnerable… while enemies could be anywhere… made my hands clench.

I didn’t bother with the corridor lights. I didn’t need them. I hunted her through the mansion by instinct alone, the bond guiding me like a scent trail. Then I heard it, her laugh. It was light, sharp, bright with amusement. It echoed down the hallway like a gunshot. Every fibre in my body snapped.

Who the fuck was making my woman laugh? I moved faster, rounding corners like a storm, blood heating in my veins with violence ready to spill. I pictured hands too close. A voice too familiar. Someone getting comfortable.

Someone forgetting who she belonged to. I was ready to rip them apart. Then I turned into the kitchen, and stopped.

Bryn sat perched on one of the high stools at the long granite island, wearing one of my shirts like it belonged to her. It hit mid-thigh, swallowing her frame, the collar slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was a mess, tied back in a messy bun, her cheeks flushed with laughter.

Across from her stood Mara. Tiny, grey-haired, sharp-eyed. A woman who’d been with the Dragic family longer than my patience had existed. She held a tea towel in one hand and looked unimpressed by existence itself.

They were talking. Bryn was smiling. Mara’s mouth had twitched into something almost like affection. Then Bryn looked up and the second she saw me, her smile faltered.

And Mara… Mara took one look at my rumpled state, my bare chest, my expression, and decided she valued her life.

The kitchen fell silent. Bryn blinked. “Oh.”

I didn’t speak. I just stared at her, chest rising slowly, jaw clenched so tight it threatened to crack. I could feel the claim on her like a brand under my skin, pulsing with possession. She wasn’t in danger, but she could’ve been. And that thought alone made me want to tear the world apart and reassemble it with her locked safely at the centre.

“Hi,” Bryn said carefully, voice too sweet. Like she could hear the violence vibrating under my skin and was trying not to set it off.

My eyes tracked her bare legs, up to her throat, to the mark I’d left. My mark. Then the bond flared like a warning. Anger rushed through me, hot and fast.

“I told you,” I said, voice low, “to stay with me.”

Bryn’s chin lifted. “I wasn’t running.”

“I don’t care.”

Mara cleared her throat, probably for self-preservation, then muttered, “I’ll… check the bread.” And vanished.

Bryn slid off the stool, bare feet hitting the tile. She stepped closer, brows drawn. “Viking…”

“No,” I snapped, then forced myself to breathe. Forced my hands to unclench. “You could have been hurt.”

Her expression softened, just slightly. “I’m in a mansion full of your people.”

“This isn’t full,” I said, harsh. “It’s two of us. Draugr. A cook. And whatever ghosts still crawl through this city.”

That silenced her. Good. Because the truth was ugly.

London was crawling with eyes. Our name had risen back up into conversations it hadn’t been in for years. We’d been asking questions. Hunting the kind of man who cut throats for sport. Our uncle. The one who’d disappeared before we could put him down like the rabid animal he was, and Bryn was a lighthouse for his revenge, bright, soft, human.

A weakness everyone would aim for the moment they realized she existed. I stepped closer until she could feel my heat. “You don’t leave my side without telling me,” I said. “Ever.”

Her breath hitched. “You don’t own me.”

It would’ve been funny if it didn’t make my temper twitch. “That’s where you are wrong. I do own you,” I growled. “And I will not bury you because you wanted tea.”

Bryn’s eyes narrowed. “It was coffee.”

I stared at her. She stared back. Then, impossibly, she smiled… small, defiant, like she was poking at a beast to see if it would bite. My mate was insane. The bond pulsed with satisfaction.

I exhaled through my nose, forcing my rage down into something quieter and more useful. “Eat,” I ordered.

“I have been.”

“Eat more, you need your strength.” I said.