Bound by Bloodline

Chapter 2

I should have pulled away.

The thought came immediately, sharp and urgent, cutting through everything else the second his hands closed around me. It should have been simple. Twist out of his grip, put distance between us, disappear the way I always did.

Instead, I stayed exactly where I was.

My body didn’t listen.

The moment he touched me, something inside me locked into place. The pull that had been building since I first saw him deepened into something heavier, something that settled beneath my skin and refused to let go. It wasn’t just awareness anymore. It was presence. It was him, everywhere at once, impossible to ignore no matter how much I wanted to.

I forced myself to breathe, slow and controlled, even as my pulse raced.

“Let me go,” I said again, quieter this time, but no less firm.

His grip didn’t loosen.

If anything, his fingers tightened just slightly, like he was testing whether I would actually try to fight him. The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to make a point.

He wasn’t letting me walk away.

Up close, the effect of him was worse than I expected. I could feel the heat of his body, the steady strength in the way he held me, the controlled tension that radiated off him like something restrained just beneath the surface. His presence pressed in on me from every direction, suffocating in a way that made it hard to think.

My instincts screamed at me to get out.

To break free before whatever this was could take hold completely.

But the longer I stayed there, the harder it became to move.

His eyes didn’t leave mine. They were dark, steady, searching in a way that made my chest tighten again. Like he was looking for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to find.

“You’re not running,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

The certainty in his voice sent a sharp spike of irritation through me, cutting clean through the panic.

“I am,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You’re just in the way.”

For a second, something shifted in his expression. Not surprise. Not amusement.

Interest.

His gaze flicked over my face again, slower this time, like he was taking his time now that he had me exactly where he wanted me.

“That’s not going to work,” he said.

I pulled against his grip, testing it, measuring it.

He didn’t move.

“Then you’re going to have a problem,” I replied.

His jaw tightened just enough for me to notice.

The air between us shifted again, tension coiling tighter, sharper, like something was building just beneath the surface. The bond pulsed in response, a sudden, intense flare that made my breath hitch before I could stop it.

His eyes darkened immediately.

He felt that too.

Of course he did.

“Stop fighting it,” he said, his voice lower now.

The words sent a wave of anger through me, stronger than anything I had felt so far.

“No.”

It came out before I could think about it, sharp and immediate.

“I don’t know what this is,” I continued, my voice tightening as I forced the words out, “but I’m not just going to stand here and accept it because you say so.”

Something in him stilled.

Completely.

The shift was subtle, but I felt it instantly. The tension in his grip changed, not loosening, not tightening, but settling into something more deliberate. More controlled.

More dangerous.

“You don’t have a choice,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

The certainty in them was enough.

I shook my head, pulling back again, this time with more force.

“I always have a choice.”

For a second, I thought he might argue.

Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to where his hand wrapped around my arm, then back to my face. Something unreadable moved through his expression, something that made my chest tighten again in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“Not this time,” he said quietly.

The bond pulsed again.

Stronger.

Deeper.

I sucked in a breath as heat spread through me, fast and disorienting, making it harder to focus, harder to hold onto the steady control I had built for myself over years.

This wasn’t normal.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Bonds weren’t supposed to form like this. They weren’t supposed to hit this fast, this hard, like something snapping into place without warning.

Which meant one thing.

Something was wrong.

The realization cut through everything else, sharp and clear.

His grip shifted slightly as if he felt the change in me, his thumb brushing against my wrist in a way that sent another jolt through my system. My breath hitched again, and I hated the way his eyes sharpened at the sound.

He noticed everything.

“Look at me,” he said.

I already was.

But something in his tone made it feel like a command.

I didn’t like that.

“I am,” I replied, forcing the words out evenly.

His gaze held mine, unrelenting.

“Then stop pretending you don’t feel it.”

My jaw tightened.

“I’m not pretending anything.”

The lie didn’t even sound convincing to me.

Something flickered in his expression again, darker this time, more certain.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

The bond made it impossible to hide completely.

I forced myself to steady my breathing, to push past the heat still spreading through me, the pull that refused to loosen no matter how much I resisted it.

“You’re going to let me go,” I said, each word deliberate.

His head tilted slightly, like he was considering that.

Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

The movement was small.

The effect was not.

The space between us disappeared completely, the heat of his body pressing in against mine, the bond reacting instantly, flaring so intensely it stole my breath.

I stiffened, every instinct firing at once.

“Back up,” I said, the words coming out sharper than before.

He didn’t.

His gaze dropped briefly, just for a second, to my lips before returning to my eyes.

“Make me.”

The challenge hit something in me, cutting through the fear, through the confusion, straight into something stubborn and unyielding.

I pushed against his chest.

Nothing.

It was like trying to move a wall.

His hand tightened on my arm again, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop me from trying a second time.

“You’re not leaving,” he said.

The certainty in his voice made something in my chest twist.

“I don’t belong to you,” I shot back.

The words came out stronger this time, fueled by frustration, by anger, by the growing panic I refused to let take over.

For a moment, he just looked at me.

Then something in his expression shifted.

Not softer.

Not gentler.

Worse.

More certain.

“You keep saying that,” he said quietly, “like it’s going to change something.”

My breath caught.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t saying it for him.

I was saying it for me.

Trying to hold onto something that was already slipping.

The bond pulsed again, slower this time, deeper, settling into something that felt far too permanent for something that had only just begun.

I could feel him.

Not just physically.

Not just where he was touching me.

Everywhere.

It wrapped around my awareness, constant and unrelenting, like something that had always been there and I had just never noticed until now.

It made my chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

That was what scared me the most.

“I’m leaving,” I said again, even though it sounded weaker this time.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t let go.

“You can try,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

Because something in the way he said it made it clear he already knew how it would end.

And the worst part was, I was starting to understand it too.