Chapter Ten
Chosen
Knox
Briana says I am her mate, and something inside me goes quiet.
Not calm. But quiet in the way the world goes quiet right before a storm breaks.
She stands in front of me with her hand in mine, the door open behind her, Ari and Akasha staring at our joined fingers as if they were witnessing the birth of a new religion. Briana’s palm is warm against mine. Small and human but stronger than anything I have ever held.
She chose me. Not because of fate. Not because of the beast. Because I stood still and let her come to me.
My chest feels too small for my heart. The beast in me lowers its head.
Mate, he whispers.
This time, I don’t correct him.
Briana’s fingers tighten around mine, not enough to hurt. Enough to call me back. Her eyes are on Ari, but her pulse beats hard beneath my thumb. Nervous but not afraid. There’s a difference.
I know the shape of her fear now. The scent of it. The way it lifts sharp and metallic from her skin, the way her body braces before her mind gives permission. This is not that. This is want wrapped in uncertainty. This is choice standing on shaking legs.
I want to drop to my knees. I want to press my mouth to her palm and promise every brutal, bloody, impossible thing inside me belongs to the word yes when she gives it and stops dead at the word no.
Instead, I stand still. Because Briana is holding my hand, and for now, that’s everything.
Ari’s gaze flicks from Briana to me and back again. Her mouth trembles, caught somewhere between smug and emotional.
“If either of you makes me cry,” she says, “I will be furious.”
Briana’s fingers twitch in mine. “You cry over commercials.”
“Only emotionally manipulative ones.”
Akasha smiles, but her eyes stay soft. “The decoy collar is ready.”
The change in Briana is immediate. Her body doesn’t pull away from mine, but I feel the tiny shock that moves through her hand. The way her fingers go cold. The way her breath catches before she forces it steady.
My beast rises, but I keep him down.
Briana looks at me, and I know what she is going to ask before she speaks. Remind me. I turn fully toward her, ignoring the others, ignoring the hallway, ignoring the war waiting below us.
“It’s fake,” I say. Her throat works, and I keep my voice low. Steady. Hers. “It’s not theirs. You aren’t theirs.” My thumb brushes once over her knuckles. “You are yours.”
Her eyes shine before she nods. “And?”
The beast stills. I know this one costs her. I know because it costs me too. “And if you choose,” I say, the words rough enough to scrape, “I am yours to call back.”
Silence falls before Ari makes a small sound. Akasha looks away, blinking too fast.
Briana doesn’t. She holds my gaze, and the bond between us—no longer hidden, no longer nameless—pulls tight enough that I feel it in my teeth.
Mine. Hers. A vow waiting for blood and breath.
Briana steps closer until our joined hands are caught between us. “I want to talk to Knox alone.”
Ari clears her throat. “Absolutely. We were leaving.” Akasha picks up the tray she is carrying, then nearly drops it, then glares at Ari when Ari snorts.
“I am very composed,” Akasha says.
“You are carrying cursed jewelry and pretending not to cry.”
“It’s a decoy.”
“It’s still ugly.”
The two of them disappear down the hall, bickering in low voices.
The door closes, and Briana and I are alone.
Her apartment feels smaller with me in it. Softer too. Pale curtains. Flowers on the counter. A basket of snacks she has barely touched. The bed is unmade, sheets twisted from the sleep she doesn’t get enough of.
I don’t look at the bed for long. I am not that strong.
Briana releases my hand, and I let her. The loss is immediate.
She walks to the window and looks out over the city. I stay by the door, because distance is safer. Because I told her she chooses. Because every inch of me wants to go to her, and wanting is not permission.
“I meant it,” she says.
“I know.”
She turns. “Do you?”
“No.”
Her mouth curves slightly. Truth doesn’t wound her as much as guessing does.
“I want to,” I say. “I want to believe it. But wanting you has been a thing I locked down so hard I don’t know how to open my hands without grabbing.”
Her expression softens, and I hate that. I also need it.
She crosses the room slowly. “Then don’t grab.” My breath leaves me.
She stops in front of me, closer than before. Close enough that I can see the faint freckles across her nose beneath the makeup Ari probably helped her with. Close enough to see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat.
“Tell me what mating means for your kind,” she says.
My beast presses forward, listening.
“It can be different,” I say. “But for Minotaurs, claiming is not only words. The beast needs scent. Touch. A mark given and accepted.”
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and my body goes painfully still.
“A bite?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Fear flickers in her gaze, and I step back immediately. But she catches my shirt.
“Don’t run from my fear,” she says.
My hands curl at my sides. “I don’t want to feed it.”
“You don’t. You give it room to breathe.” Her fingers flex in the fabric. “Where?”
The word nearly destroys me. I swallow. “Wherever you choose. It doesn’t need to be your throat.”
Her relief is small. My rage at the creatures who made her throat a place of fear is enormous, but I bury it deep.
“My shoulder?” she asks.
“Anywhere.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
She nods once. “Okay.”
“Briana.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to do this tonight.”
“I know.”
“If this is because of tomorrow...”
She cuts me off, “It’s not.”
“If you think being mated will make you safer...”
She laughs. “I don’t.”
“It will make my beast worse if someone touches you.” She needs to know this before she decides.
“I assumed.”
“It will make me more aware of you. Your fear. Your pain. Your pleasure.” My voice breaks on the last word.
Her cheeks flush, and the scent of her changes, and I nearly bite through my tongue.
“Good,” she whispers.
My vision darkens, but not with rage, with restraint.
“Good?” I ask.
She lifts her chin, though her hands tremble slightly. “I don’t want to go into The Marrow House, belonging to fear. I don’t want that collar to be the only thing touching my skin tomorrow. I want...” She inhales. “I want your mark beneath the lie.”
The beast shudders, and so do I.
“Briana.”
“I want to choose something before they try to make me remember what it felt like not to have choices.” Her eyes hold mine. “I choose you. I choose your touch. I choose the bond. I choose the bite.”
A rough sound tears out of me. I go to my knees before I know I am moving, and Briana’s eyes widen, but I don’t touch her.
I kneel in front of her because if I stay standing, I might forget how sacred this is.
Because every instinct in me says claim, and I need the beast to understand that being chosen is not the same as taking.
“You kneel a lot for someone who looks like violence,” she whispers.
My laugh is broken. “Only for you.”
Her hand lifts, and I wait. She touches my hair first, fingers sliding through the dark strands tied at the back of my head. The touch is tentative, then firmer. Curious.
My eyes close.
“Knox,” she says.
“Yes?”
“Stand up.”
I do. Slowly. Her hand stays in my hair as I rise, and the pull of it nearly ends me. When I am upright, she looks almost startled by how close we are. I keep my hands open.
“Tell me yes,” I say, voice rough. “Tell me no. Tell me to wait. Tell me anything, and I will listen.”
Her breath trembles. “Yes.”
One word. My world breaks open. I don’t move until she moves first. She presses both palms to my chest and leans into me, not much, just enough.
My hands settle at her waist, where she allowed them before. Her body tenses under the first contact, then she breathes through it and stays. I feel the exact second fear loosens and want takes its place.
Goddess. I bend my head slowly, and she doesn’t pull away.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask.
Her eyes lift to mine. Dark, bright, terrified, wanting. “Yes.”
I touch my mouth to hers like she is a flame. Briana makes a small sound, not fear, not pain, something wondering, and my control shudders. Her fingers curl in my shirt. She kisses me back awkwardly for half a second, then with more certainty, her mouth parting beneath mine.
The beast roars, but the man holds still. I let her set the pace.
One kiss.
Then another.
Then her hands slide up my chest, around my neck, and she pulls me closer. I growl into her mouth before I can stop it. She freezes, and I stop instantly.
“Sorry,” I rasp.
Her eyes open slowly. Her lips are swollen, and her breathing is uneven.
“Do it again,” she whispers.
My hands tighten by a fraction. “Are you sure?”
Her mouth curves, shaky but real. “I’m starting to hate that question.”
“You will hear it anyway.”
Her eyes soften. “Yes, Knox. I am sure.”
This kiss is not careful. It’s controlled, but not careful.
I kiss her like a starving thing permitted to taste.
My hands stay at her waist until she guides one to her back, then the other.
Her body presses closer against mine. She trembles, and each tremor asks me to slow down, but she doesn’t stop. She makes choices with every breath.
Closer.
More.
When my mouth leaves hers to trail along her jaw, she gasps and clutches my shoulders.
“Still with me?” I ask against her skin.
“Yes.” The word is breathless.
My lips brush below her ear, then lower, avoiding her throat completely. I feel her notice. Feel her soften because of it.
“Shoulder,” she says.
I pull back enough to look at her. “Now?”
Her hands shake as she grips the hem of her sweater. Then she stops. For one terrible second, shame crosses her face.
I cover her hands with mine. “No rush.”
“I want this.” Her voice is tight. “I hate that wanting doesn’t make it easy.”
“Easy is not required.” Her eyes shine.