I should’ve run.
Every nerve in my body told me that as Asher backed me toward the bed, the imprint burning between us like wildfire in dry brush. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. There was something electric in his gaze—possessive, dangerous, but tethered to a desperate kind of reverence that confused me.
He didn’t touch me like someone claiming a body.
He touched me like someone trying to piece together a soul.
“My memories,” I whispered, fingers twitching at my sides. “You broke them.”
“I did what I had to,” he said hoarsely. “Because they were already breaking you.”
He stared down at me like he wanted to say something more, something that didn’t fit into language. Then he cupped the side of my face, thumb brushing the hollow beneath my eye with a gentleness that didn’t match the re
