Chapter 5 #3
Her entire life had been a fight. Not just to survive—but to thrive. To command respect in a world that either overlooked her, underestimated her, or tried to control her. She’d sharpened herself like a blade, learned how to use her voice, her body, her mind—all of it—to carve out her own space.
She bent the world to her. Not the other way around.
So when Adonis Stavros scooped her up like she weighed nothing—his massive arms banded around her, chest solid and impossibly warm, striding out of that rundown building like a king carrying off his claimed queen—she wasn’t just surprised.
She was stunned.
Not because she wasn’t used to attention. She was a siren, after all. She could bring men to their knees with a single note. Had done it before. Could do it again.
But that wasn’t what this was.
He wasn’t under her spell.
And yet—he carried her like he had no intention of ever putting her down.
Like she belonged there.
Betsy huffed, folding her arms across her chest as she adjusted against his massive frame. “You know,” she drawled, voice dry, “I do have legs. Pretty sure they still work.”
Adonis didn’t even slow.
Didn’t glance at her.
Just shifted her higher against his chest with one powerful arm, the movement smooth, effortless. Possessive.
“Not interested.”
“In what?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
His golden gaze flicked down to meet hers. It burned. “In letting you go.”
The words should’ve annoyed her. Should’ve triggered that defiant spark she’d relied on her whole life to keep men in check. But instead?
Her heart tripped.
She let out a breath, quieter this time. Because despite her armor, despite the sarcasm always ready on her tongue, there was something about the way he held her that undid her in ways she didn’t know she could be undone.
Adonis was a giant. Six-foot-seven of lethal grace and ancient strength. The way he moved through the world—confident, commanding, utterly unshakable—she’d seen alphas before, but not like this.
He didn’t dominate the room. He was the room.
And still… he held her like she was breakable.
Not weak.
But treasured.
At five-foot-five and a solid, unapologetic 200 pounds, Betsy knew her body. She loved her curves, loved the power in her frame. But she also knew men rarely moved her unless she let them.
Hell, most didn’t even try.
But Adonis? He hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t asked. Hadn’t hesitated.
He’d just picked her up like she was his. Like gravity didn’t apply when it came to her.
And gods help her… she liked it.
She shouldn’t. She’d spent her whole life proving she didn’t need anyone to carry her. But something about this felt different. Not condescending. Not controlling.
Claiming.
And it wrecked her.
Because she hadn’t used an ounce of siren magic on him.
That fire she saw in his eyes? The way his hands tightened every time she shifted against him?
That was real. Raw. Feral.
It wasn’t lust glazed with guilt. Not appreciation filtered through conditions.
It was need.
Craving.
Possession.
He looked at her like she was everything.
And for once… she didn’t feel the need to make a joke. Didn’t feel like she had to prove she was strong enough to walk on her own.
Because Adonis already knew she was strong.
He just didn’t care.
He was going to carry her anyway.
Her fingers drifted down his chest, over the tight fabric of his black shirt, feeling the heat of him beneath. The steady, pounding rhythm of his heart. The way his muscles flexed every time she moved.
“You do this for all the women you kidnap?” she teased, but the edge in her voice had dulled, softened.
His jaw ticked. His gaze locked with hers. “No,” he said, voice like gravel wrapped in silk. “Just you.”
Betsy swallowed. Hard.
That answer… that truth in it… carved into her bones.
She stared up at him, heart slamming against her ribs. “That’s a lot of effort for one woman.”
Adonis didn’t blink. Didn’t waver.
“I’d burn down the world for my mate.”
He said it like a vow.
Like a promise the gods themselves couldn’t break.
The words sank deep. Anchored in her chest like something permanent.
Because he meant it. Every syllable.
He didn’t just want her. Didn’t just like her. He wasn’t trying to flirt or earn her trust.
He was claiming her soul.
And he didn’t need her permission to do it.
Her throat felt tight. Her siren instincts twisted inside her—not in warning, but in recognition. Something ancient and wild and right whispered through her blood.
His arms tightened around her just a fraction.
She let her head drop back against his shoulder, her body relaxing in his grip for the first time.
Not in surrender.
In understanding.
This wasn’t about weakness.
It was about choosing not to fight the one person strong enough to hold her.
And wanting to be held.
She closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m not easy, you know.”
Adonis didn’t stop walking.
Didn’t smile.
He just said, “Good.”
And in his arms, wrapped in heat and steel and absolute certainty, Betsy Laurent realized something terrifying and beautiful:
For the first time in her life…
She didn’t want to walk away.