Bound by Bloodline

Chapter 3

I should have let her go.

That thought hit me the second she pushed against my chest, her hands braced like she actually believed she could move me. Most people didn’t try. Most people knew better.

She didn’t.

And for some reason, that only made it worse.

My grip tightened before I could stop it, not enough to hurt her, just enough to keep her exactly where she was. Right in front of me. Right where I could feel her.

Because that was the problem.

I could feel her.

Not just where I was touching her, not just the heat of her skin under my hands, but deeper than that. Something had locked into place the second I saw her, something sharp and unrelenting that refused to loosen no matter how much I pushed against it.

I had spent years building control.

Years making sure nothing and no one got close enough to disrupt it.

And now she was standing in front of me, breathing too fast, eyes flashing with defiance, and my entire body was reacting like she belonged there.

Like she had always belonged there.

I didn’t like it.

I didn’t trust it.

And I wasn’t letting it out of my reach.

“I’m leaving,” she said, her voice tighter now, like she was forcing it to stay steady.

I almost let out a short breath at that.

Almost.

She said it like she believed it. Like this was just another situation she could walk away from.

She had no idea.

“You can try,” I told her.

Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I don’t need your permission.”

There it was.

Fire.

Sharp, quick, real.

Not fear. Not submission.

Defiance.

I felt something in my chest pull tighter in response.

“Good,” I said quietly. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

She blinked, just for a second, like she hadn’t expected that answer. Then her jaw set again, stubborn.

“I’m serious,” she said. “Let go.”

“No.”

The word came out simple. Immediate.

Final.

Her breath hitched, frustration flashing across her face. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“That’s not how this works,” she shot back. “You don’t get to decide something like this just because you feel something.”

I stepped closer without thinking.

She noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

“Back up,” she snapped, pushing at me again, harder this time.

I didn’t move.

Her hands pressed against my chest, and for a second, neither of us did anything.

The contact wasn’t new.

But it felt different.

Stronger.

The bond reacted instantly, tightening like something alive between us, something that didn’t care about logic or reason or what either of us wanted.

Her breath caught.

Mine didn’t.

But it got harder to ignore.

“Say that again,” I said, my voice lower now.

Her brows pulled together. “What?”

“That I don’t get to decide.”

Her eyes searched mine, like she was trying to figure out what I meant, where I was going with it.

“I don’t,” she said anyway. “You don’t get to just claim me because your instincts are acting up.”

A sharp, humorless breath left me.

“Instincts,” I repeated.

She nodded, like she had it all figured out. “Yeah. That’s all this is.”

I stared at her for a second longer than necessary.

Then I shook my head.

“If that’s all it was,” I said slowly, “you wouldn’t be shaking right now.”

She froze.

Just for a second.

Then she pulled her hands back like the contact had burned her.

“I’m not shaking,” she snapped.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” I repeated, watching the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides, the way her breathing refused to steady no matter how hard she tried to control it. “And you felt it before you saw me.”

That shut her up.

Her expression shifted, just slightly, just enough for me to catch it.

Fear.

Not of me.

Of this.

Good.

At least she understood that part.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she said after a second, quieter now, like she was trying to convince herself as much as me. “Bonds don’t happen like this.”

“I know.”

Her eyes snapped back to mine. “Then why are you acting like this is normal?”

“I’m not.”

“Then why won’t you let me go?”

The question came out sharper this time, more desperate than she probably intended.

And there it was.

The real question.

I could have lied.

Could have said something simple, something easy.

I didn’t.

“Because the second you walk away,” I said, my voice dropping, “I’m going to follow you.”

Her breath caught.

I didn’t look away.

“And if you run,” I continued, “I’m going to find you.”

Her pulse jumped. I could see it, feel it.

“And if you try to disappear,” I added, quieter now, “it’s not going to work.”

She stared at me like she didn’t know whether to be angry or concerned or both.

“That’s insane,” she said.

“Maybe.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to.”

Her expression hardened again, that same stubborn resistance snapping back into place.

“That’s not enough.”

“It is right now.”

“No, it’s not,” she shot back immediately. “You don’t get to just decide that I belong to you because of something neither of us understands.”

Something in me shifted at that.

Not anger.

Something deeper.

More certain.

I stepped closer again, slow enough that she could have moved away if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

Her back hit the wall behind her instead.

Good.

“Listen to me,” I said, my voice steady, controlled, even as everything in me pulled tighter with every second she stayed this close. “I don’t like this any more than you do.”

Her brows pulled together. “That’s hard to believe.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” I replied. “I care about what’s real.”

“And what is real?” she challenged.

I held her gaze.

“This.”

The word settled between us, heavy and undeniable.

She shook her head immediately. “No. This is wrong.”

“I know.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.”

Her frustration spiked again. “Why?”

Because I can’t.

The answer sat right there, clear and undeniable.

I didn’t say it.

Instead, I watched her for a second, taking in the way she stood, tense and ready, like she was still deciding whether she could get away from me if she tried hard enough.

She couldn’t.

Not anymore.

“Because I’m not losing you,” I said finally.

The words came out quieter than I expected.

But they were the truth.

Her expression changed again, something flickering across her face that she quickly tried to hide.

“You never had me,” she said.

I almost smiled at that.

Almost.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It does to me.”

“I know.”

“Then act like it.”

I leaned in slightly, just enough to make her breath catch again, just enough to feel the way the bond reacted instantly, tightening, demanding, refusing to be ignored.

“I’ll give you time to accept it,” I said.

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not going to accept anything.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She stared at me for a long second, like she was trying to decide whether I was bluffing.

I wasn’t.

“You’re not walking away from this,” I said, my voice low, certain, leaving no room for argument.

Her breath hitched again.

“And I’m not letting you disappear.”

Silence didn’t stretch this time.

It didn’t need to.

Because we both knew exactly what that meant.