Page 40 of His Temptation

It was over. For now.

Daragh reached for Siobhan, his fingers brushing over her skin. “You’re hurt.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So are you.”

His body ached, his skin littered with minor cuts and bruises, but he ignored it. “I heal faster.”

“So do I,” she murmured, her gaze flicking to his claiming mark at her neck.

Something dark and possessive coiled inside him. She was his. No matter what came next, no matter who tried to take her, she would never belong to anyone else.

He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest. “Let’s get you patched up, kitten.”

She hummed in agreement, resting her head against his shoulder. “You owe me for this, you know.”

Daragh chuckled, carrying her through the carnage, his grip unrelenting. “Oh, kitten. You have no idea how much you belong to me now.”

Siobhan didn’t argue.

Daragh carried Siobhan up the stairs, his blood still running hot, his muscles vibrating with the aftermath of his shift. His pantherpaced just beneath his skin, barely contained, the need to protect her an instinct so fierce it made his bones ache.

He held her in his arms; she bled, breathing shallowly, but remained unbroken. No, his mate was a fighter. Even as she shivered against him, her fingers curled into his chest, grounding herself.

His. The word settled deep, final and absolute.

She had taken a bullet for him.

His grip tightened around her, his jaw clenched so hard it could have cracked.

She had thrown herself in front of a bullet meant for him without hesitation.

Something dark and possessive took root inside him. He knew what this meant.

She had acted on instinct, just as he would have for her. The bond—this connection that had bound them since the moment he’d claimed her—was no longer something theoretical, something she could fight or deny.

It was real. Undeniable. Unbreakable.

And he would kill every man in Ireland before he let anything take her from him.

“Daragh, I can walk,” Siobhan gritted out, her voice hoarse.

His gaze snapped down to her, the sight of her pale face nearly sending him into another rage. “Don’t test me, kitten. You’ll stay exactly where you are.”

She huffed a breath, her head tipping against his shoulder, too tired to argue. “You’re impossible.”

His lips twitched, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “And you’re reckless.”

The blood leaking from her wound made his gut twist. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to fear. But the second he’d seen her stumble, the scent of her blood filling the air, he had known something inside him had permanently changed.

They reached his bedroom, and he laid her down on the bed, stripping off her ruined robe to get a better look at the wound. His fingers traced the torn flesh just below her ribs, his panther snarling at the sight of her blood staining his sheets.

They shouldn’t have hurt her.

He should have protected her better.

The bullet had gone clean through. It wasn’t fatal, not to a panther shifter, but that didn’t matter. He had seen the moment she’d made the choice to take the hit, the way she had moved without thinking—instinct overriding sense.

She hadn’t just acted on emotion. She had acted on the bond.

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