Page 179 of Unholy Obsession

The vulnerability in her voice breaks my heart. I pull her closer, cradling her face in my hands.

“You’re it for me, Moira. The beginning and the end. My fucking salvation.”

She laughs softly, the sound warming me from the inside out. “That’s blasphemous, Father.”

I grin, my hand sliding up her thigh. “Wait until you hear what else I plan to do to you tonight.”

She shivers, her body already responding to my touch. “Tell me.”

I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I’m going to take you to the bedroom—our bedroom—now.”

Her breath catches. “But what about… everyone downstairs?”

“I’ll tell them to text me their answer. I’ve got more important things to attend to.”

“Like what?” She arches an eyebrow sexily at me.

I tug her closer. “Like laying you out on that massive four-poster bed and fucking you in every way I’ve been dreaming about for the past six weeks.”

“That sounds... thorough.”

“Oh, it will be.” I nip at her earlobe, relishing her gasp. “By morning, there won’t be a single doubt in your mind about who you belong to.”

She tilts her head, giving me better access to her neck. “And who’s that?”

I growl against her skin. “Say it.”

Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to send a spark of pleasure-pain down my spine. “You,” she breathes. “I belong to you, Bane.”

Satisfaction rumbles in my chest. I stand, lifting her effortlessly in my arms. She curls into me, trusting, yielding in a way the old Moira rarely did.

But as we reach the door, she suddenly stiffens, pulling back to meet my gaze.

“Just so we’re clear,” she says, eyes glinting with that familiar spark of defiance, “you also belong to me. And I plan to stake my claim just as thoroughly.”

I laugh, deep and genuine, feeling something tight in my chest finally release.

There she is. My Moira. Still wild. Still fierce. Still perfectly, gloriouslymine.

I carry her through the door, toward our future, leaving the ghosts of the past behind us.

EPILOGUE

December, 9 Months Later

MOIRA

Domhnall’snew house is fucking ridiculous.

I mean, I’m not one to talk anymore. I’m literally staying in a castle right now. An honest-to-God British castle with towers and turrets and creepy suits of armor that I still swear move when I’m not looking.

But Domhn’s place is ridiculous in a different way—all sleek lines and sharp angles and more security than the Pentagon. It’s a fortress disguised as a modern architectural wet dream. He moved again after everything went down. I know he keeps hoping that if MadAnna comes back—no,whenshe comes back—he doesn’t want her to worry about being in danger ever again.

“Stop bouncing your leg,” Bane murmurs, his hand settling on my knee like a warm anchor.

I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. I glance down at his fingers splayed across my skin, and something inside me settles. Just a little. Just enough.

“Sorry,” I whisper back, but there’s no real apology in it, and we both know it.

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