Chapter 22

"No." He was lying. He had to be. This was a trick. "You don't own me, Brady."

His eyes glittered, and while he didn't do anything to combat my statement, every muscle in his body stiffened in a way that made me shiver. "It's true," he said in an overly even and controlled tone.

I pulled away, and Brady held firm for a moment before reluctantly letting me go. He ran a hand through his hair, then gripped either side of his head and stared at the ground beneath him.

Crab walking backwards, I tried to ignore the pull in my chest at the sight of him that way. It was a trick. Magic. It wasn't real. "I'm sorry," I murmured as I continued to move away. Why was I apologizing? It's not real. There's no reason to apologize, but still, when Brady looked up at me, I did it again. "I'm sorry."

His suddenly seemed darker, even the moonlight knowing to keep its distance. "For what, Sweetheart?"

As if he were a deadly snake, I creeped slower than what I thought was possible, each movement a precise decision, each time checking for a reaction from him. "Humans don't have soulmates," I said, equally as slow.

Brady watched me intently. "That's true."

I let out a sigh.

"But, for some reason, you do."

"Are you sure?"

My heart jumped as he shifted. "Yes." His muscles were poised, as if he actually were a snake readying himself to strike.

"And, uh, you can't just find someone else?" I said around labored breaths. My arms ached, my legs had grown stiff, and I took a moment to assess my position and how it must look to him.

"No."

His eyes were bright neon blue. Where was I even going? There was no escape. For all I knew, this was a deserted fucking island. I let my butt hit the sand and hugged my knees tight, as if balling myself up would somehow protect me.

Brady relaxed a bit when I stopped moving, and to my relief, he let me keep the distance I'd gained. Soulmate. Forever. Nobody else. I hadn't even dated. I'd barely begun to live. Not to mention, he was the monster. "I'm not ready for that," I said, giving a normal answer to a not so normal question. Understatement of the year. "I'm young." I watched him closely, but Brady's face was an unreadable mask. His eyes glimmered and glowed, and seemed to shine even more compared to the darkness surrounding them.

"I want to live," I continued awkwardly. "To have friends and be normal, to go to school, achieve my dreams and have a career." Brady listened, unmoving, and the darkness seemed to grow and stretch. "Humans don't just jump into stuff like that," I scrambled. "They date and get to know people, they have boyfriends and then decide–"

The cobra struck.

A flash of blue stole my breath, and the next moment, I was on my back, pinned to the ground by a very intimidating Brady. "Humans get divorced. Father's leave their wives and children for younger women. Men beat, abuse, and disrespect their spouses. Human men will try to take advantage of young girls," he growled the last part, staring pointedly down at me as the memory of the party filtered through my mind.

I shook it away, and tried to remain rational, to ignore the heat already filling my stomach, the magic coursing through me. "Not all men are like that," I said weakly.

Brady hummed. "Not all, but most. They have no tie, no bond. Those that don't stray do so out of a sense of duty. They all think about it, at least once. They meet some young woman." His fingers touched my cheek. "Beautiful, and new, and they think about it."

"I'm a human." My voice was far too breathy and not helping.

Brady let out a humorless chuckle. "Trust me, Sweetheart. I know. If you were a Jinn we'd already be mated. You'd feel it the way I do." He leaned down and placed a kiss onto my neck, then my collar bone, sending a shock more powerful than any I'd experienced before. His teeth lightly grazed my skin, and my back arched. I moaned, a deep soulful sound I didn't even think I was capable of making.

Brady hummed again. "Take that feeling," His voice was rough, "and multiply it times one hundred, and that's how I," he kissed me gently one last time on the shoulder then met my eyes again, "feel about you."

I sucked in a deep shuddering breath and tried to shake away the feelings he'd caused, but it was too hard with our position, with him so close. "But I don't feel–"

Brady kissed me then, not hard or demanding but soft, torturously soft and languidly. I couldn't fight the temptation. It was too nice, too perfect and amazing. I wasn't strong enough to push him away, to make the smart choice. Before I knew it my hands found the back of his head and held him to me as he continued. Slow and sweet, his tongue massaging mine, evoking emotions I couldn't even try to explain. "When we mate," he finally spoke in between his torturous kisses, "you'll feel it too. You won't want anyone else."

My logic drifted back to me at the finality in his statement, and Brady must have sensed it because he suddenly lifted my leg up and put himself even closer.

I'll feel it too. Like a zombie, a Brady loving zombie. "Can't you just–" It was hard to speak, to articulate while his body was pressed so closely with mine. I could feel every inch of him, his hands gripping me, his weight trapping me in a cocoon I never wanted to break free of. "Give me a while?" I finally managed. "Let me live a little, then maybe later–"

"Live a little how?" he demanded. "You're living in the dorm. You're going to school. You can do all those things. You can go to any school you want. Have anything you want." His tone was sharp, his grip tighter. "You want to be a psychiatrist? I can hand you a degree now." He met my eyes, locked me in with his fierce look. "But I can't let you be with other men. I'm sorry. I can't." He ground himself against me, and the feeling it caused made me cry out. He held me steady, his brilliant blues locked on my face. "I can deny you nothing else."

"You already have," I managed to say despite my racing mind. "You denied me my sanity, my childhood." The more I spoke, the more level headed I became. "From the first time," my breathing eased, and my anger began to rise, "When my mother sobbed because she thought I was crazy. That I'd written those words inside my closet. That I'd made you up."

Brady leaned back slightly, and his eyes darkened back down to their original color as he listened to me speak.

"All the nights you tormented me. All the games. Night, after night, after night." My voice rose, and I pushed him away. Brady let me, his gaze intense.

"I was five! Five years old. My father left because of you. My mother almost lost her mind because of you!" My words died as Brady's eyes began to glow red.

I stared at him, holding my breath as my heart began to try and run away before the rest of me. His shoulders were tense, his hands fisted. Every muscle in his body seemed to ripple with visible rage, just waiting to be released.

I started to move backwards, to once again escape even though I knew there was none to be had.

The moment I moved, Brady's hand came up, and I was locked into place. As if chained, I struggled to break free, but there was no use. Fear gripped me, and a whimper made its way past my lungs.

Brady heaved a breath in through his nose, and his voice was tight when he spoke. "I'm not going to hurt you, Sweetheart."

The glowing red of his irises, combined with my current state, lead me to believe otherwise.

"When did it start? The first time?" His voice was controlled, monotone, as if he were fighting to keep hold of whatever demons truly did reside within him.

Confusion filled me at the question. "You already know," I accused.

Brady's look hardened even further. "No, Sweetheart. I don't. That wasn't me."

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