Page 94 of Rebellion

“Baby, you think you can resist me if I want to take you there?” he said in a low voice.

A touch of nervousness filled her, and he obviously saw it as he put the plate down and cupped her face with his hand. “I’ll never use my power to abuse you. That’s something I will promise you right now. And if I ever did, you’re to go find Rogan straight away and tell him what I did. He’ll keep you safe.”

He seemed to think that she was his.

“Colm . . . you . . . I . . .yourpower?” she finally had to ask.

“Hmm. My power over you. I only used a fraction of it last night. But you know I have the ability to do what needs to be done. You felt the urge to submit to me, didn’t you?”

Had she?

Maybe she had, and honestly, that was kind of terrifying.

“I don’t want to be a doormat. I won’t be. Not again,” she told him as firmly as she could.

Even though a part of her was screaming that she should give him whatever he wanted if it meant he’d love her.

God. What was wrong with her?

“And, again, I ever treat you as anything less than my fucking queen; you go to Rogan and you tell him to take me out. And I will tell him the same thing. Sofia Anisimov is no one’s doormat. She is no one’s punching bag. Or pavement.”

“Pavement?” she whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in her throat.

“For someone to walk over,” he explained.

Wasn’t that exactly who she was?

Someone to be used. To lie to and manipulate.

“Sofia Anisimov is a queen who everyone should fucking bow down to and worship,” he told her fiercely.

“I don’t want anyone to worship me.”

No one except him.

And, really, all she truly wanted was to be loved.

“Too late,” he whispered. “But even queens need looking after. In fact, they need it more than most because they can forget to take care of themselves. They need soldiers willing to do what it takes to ensure they are healthy and happy. That’s what you get. The soldier. The caretaker.”

“Hmm, I think you’re more warrior than soldier,” she told him.

“Is that so?” He grinned. “Your warrior?”

She sighed. She wished. If he could be her warrior, she’d always be safe.

19

“Hey, everything is going to be okay, baby,” he murmured to her, running a finger down her cheek.

“Is it?” she asked, not really meaning to.

The words just slipped out, the need for reassurance something she couldn’t ignore.

“It will be. I promise.”

She smiled sadly. “You can’t promise that.”

“Sure I can. I just did. And I always keep my promises.”

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