Chapter 2
two
. . .
Sabien
I'm vibrating with fury as I walk her out.
Every cell in my body screams to turn around, go back, and tear those fuckers limb from limb.
Just thinking about their comments, their eyes on her, their disgusting plans—my vision blurs red.
My hand tightens on her waist, pulling her closer to my side.
Mine to protect. Mine to possess. I feel her trembling against me, this perfect little angel who had no idea what she was walking into tonight.
The cool night air hits us as we step outside.
I scan the street, eyes narrowed. My driver waits at the curb, the black Bentley gleaming under the streetlights.
But I don't move toward it yet. I need a minute.
Need to calm the storm inside me before I get her in that car.
Before I do something I can't take back.
She’s so small next to me. Delicate. Her white dress glows in the darkness like a beacon. I could snap her in half if I wanted to. But all I want to do is wrap her up, shield her, keep her safe from the wolves. Wolves like me.
"Are you cold?" I ask, shrugging off my jacket before she can answer. I drape it around her shoulders, engulfing her tiny frame. Something primal and satisfied growls in my chest seeing her in my clothes.
"Thank you," she whispers, pulling it tighter around herself. The jacket hangs to her knees, sleeves dangling past her fingertips.
I guide her down the steps, my hand never leaving the small of her back. Ready to catch her if she stumbles in those delicate heels. Ready to destroy anyone who looks at her wrong.
That's when she says it.
"I'm sorry for the trouble..."
I stop dead. The words hit me like a punch to the gut. She thinks this is her fault. This innocent creature believes she caused this situation. That she's responsible for the filthy thoughts of those men. For my reaction. For the scene I caused.
Rage surges anew, but not at her. Never at her. At everyone who made her feel like she should apologize for existing. For being beautiful. For trusting.
I grab her hand, the move sudden enough that she gasps. But I'm gentle as I press her palm flat against my chest, right over my thundering heart. I want her to feel it. Feel what she does to me without even trying.
"You did nothing wrong, baby." The endearment slips out without thought, natural as breathing. "Nothing. You hear me?"
Her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise. She nods, but I don't think she believes me.
"No one was touching this perfect little body tonight," I continue, voice dropping lower, rougher. "Or any night. Those men in there? They're nothing. Less than nothing. You're mine to protect. Mine to keep."
She trembles under my gaze, but she doesn't pull away. Doesn't try to remove her hand from where I hold it pressed against my racing heart. Instead, she leans in slightly, unconsciously seeking my heat, my strength.
“What’s your name sweetheart?”
“Clara Bennet,” she whispers.
Clara.
She's pure in a world of filth. She's innocent in ways that make me want to both protect and corrupt her. I know that from the moment I saw her, something fundamental shifted inside me—like tectonic plates rearranging my entire being.
"Come with me," I say, not a question but not quite a command either. I'm giving her a choice, even though every fiber of my being is screaming to just take her, claim her, make her mine right here against the building wall if I have to.
She hesitates, just for a heartbeat. "Where?"
"Anywhere you want." The lie slips out easily. There's only one place she's going—my penthouse, my bed, under me while I claim what's mine. But she needs this illusion of choice right now. "Dinner? Your place? My place? Just name it, little one."
I watch her consider, watch the emotions play across her expressive face. Fear. Curiosity. And something darker, needier that makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
"Dinner would be nice," she finally says, cheeks flushing pink. "I haven't eaten all day. I was too nervous about the auction."
Something protective and possessive surges in me. "You need to eat." My tone brooks no argument. I lead her toward the car, opening the door myself instead of waiting for my driver. I want to be the one to usher her into my world. "I know a place."
As she slides into the leather seat, her dress rides up just enough to reveal another inch of those perfect thighs. My mouth waters. I want to drop to my knees right there on the sidewalk, push that dress up to her waist, and feast on her until she's screaming my name.
I slide in beside her, closer than necessary. She doesn't move away.
As the car pulls into traffic, I realize with brutal clarity: obsession has me by the throat. This isn't just want or need or lust. This is something darker, more consuming. Something that won't be satisfied by fucking her once or twice and moving on.
I want to worship between her thighs until she cries, then fill her so full she'll feel me for days. I want to mark her, claim her, ruin her for any other man. I want to see my ring on her finger, my child in her belly. I want to lock her away where only I can see her, touch her, taste her.
I want her to be mine. Forever.
She glances up at me, those wide innocent eyes questioning what she sees in my expression. If she could read my thoughts, she'd be scrambling for the door, running as far from me as possible.
Instead, she smiles shyly, and I'm lost.
"Thank you again," she says softly. "For everything tonight. For…saving me."
Little does she know—I'm not her savior.
I'm the biggest threat she's ever faced.
Because I’m never going to let her go.