Page 13 of His Temptation

From his coat pocket, he pulled the collar of iron and snapped it around her throat. Siobhan let out a choked gasp, her body seizing as the mist vanished, her half-formed transition snapping back into human form with violent finality.

Her knees nearly buckled from the force of it, her body fighting against the restriction. But Daragh was right there, catching her, holding her upright as she gasped for breath.

He let out a low, satisfied sound. “Nice try, kitten.”

Siobhan shook, her body still vibrating with the remnants of the aborted shift. She clawed at the metal collar with her fingers, but it remained locked.

“No,” she rasped, a wild, panicked sound. “Take it off.”

Daragh watched her struggle, his grip still firm on her arms, his voice impossibly calm. “I don’t think so. Have you ever wondered why it’s iron that prevents a shift? Why not diamonds or pearls? Both would look so much prettier around your neck.”

She snarled, a sound that would have been deadly in her panther form. Here, trapped in her human skin, it was desperate. Her fear was genuine.

He hated that he noticed it. Hated even more that some part of him wanted to soothe her, to ease the fear, even as he kept her bound.

“The more you fight, the worse it’ll feel,” he whispered.

Siobhan’s gaze snapped to his, pure hatred flashing in her eyes.

“You bastard,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You…”

He leaned in, just enough to silence her next words, his voice a dark promise against her ear.

“You’re mine now, kitten. We both know it.”

She went still, and for the first time, Siobhan didn’t fight. She just breathed, too fast, too shallow, too shaken to hide it.

Daragh felt it, the undeniable change between them—something dangerous, something irreversible.

He hadn’t planned on this. Hadn’t planned on her, but it was too late now, because she wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he.

She had thought she could shift and run. She had thought she could shift and disappear. She had thought wrong.

Siobhan’s eyes burned with pure fury, her breath uneven, her fingers trembling against the unyielding metal locked around her neck. She hated this. Hated him. Hate would keep her focused. It would keep her fighting. And he wanted her fighting, just not against him. Not anymore.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be prepared for this?” Daragh asked, his voice low, taunting. “MI5 might not know what you are, but the O’Neill has always known.”

“You’re not the O’Neill,” she snarled.

“No, I’m not, but I sit at his left hand and there are few who have more pull with him than me.”

Siobhan yanked at the collar again, frustration flickering across her face when it didn’t budge. “Take it off,” she growled.

Daragh chuckled. “No.”

Her jaw clenched, her breath coming hard. She twisted again, trying to break free of his grip, but he didn’t let her. Not yet.

She was magnificent, all power and defiance, but she had to learn. She wasn’t in control here. He was.

His voice dropped as he leaned in just enough to feel the warmth of her skin. “You didn’t actually believe we didn’t know what you are, did you?”

Siobhan went still. Just for a second. It was quick—so quick an ordinary man wouldn’t have caught it. But Daragh wasn’t ordinary.

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across her face.

A lesser man might have missed the way her body locked up, the subtle tightening of her fingers against the collar, the way her pupils flared before narrowing into something sharp and calculating.

Daragh felt it, the moment she realized she had underestimated them.

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