Demyan’s POV
Her weight in my arms was the only thing keeping me sane. If I let her walk on her own, she’d run, hide behind Rowan’s too-friendly smile, or worse, let him touch her again. The memory of his hand on her cheek kept replaying in my head, an image that made my blood thrum with violence.
I tightened my hold on her, ignoring her small fists pressing against my chest. She didn’t understand, she’d never understand that she belonged here. In my arms. In my bed. In my life.
The forest grew darker, the trees crowding around us, but I knew exactly where I was going. A place no one dared to step foot in, a wooden house abandoned, shunned, whispered about. Perfect. No eyes. No interruptions. No Rowan.
She stirred as the house loomed ahead, its silhouette faint in the moonlight. “Demya
