Blood on Your Tongue

Mara

He bit down like it was nothing.

For half a second I stared at his hand, at the dark line of blood that welled up and ran over his knuckles. Even though I just watched him do it, my brain still tried to file it under normal injuries. Bar fight. Stupid guy showing off. But nothing about him was normal, and the way the blood smelled—sharp, clean, almost metallic—made my stomach pitch.

“Are you insane?” I snapped.

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Open your mouth.”

“No.”

He lowered his hand, blood dripping onto the gravel between our boots. “Then you’ll run.”

“I might,” I said, even though I knew he’d catch me. “Or I’ll scream. Or I’ll do something that ruins your night.”

“That watcher will shoot you if you scream,” he said, voice flat.

The words hit harder than the cold. My gaze flicked past his shoulder again. The figure by the truck hadn’t moved. Still watching. Still waiting.

I forced my chin up. “So what, you’re saving me by doing… whatever this is?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not an explanation. Why? How does keeping my alive benefit you anyhow?”

“It’s a solution.”

I hated that my hands were shaking. I hated that my body wanted to listen to his tone, like it recognized command before it recognized logic.

He stepped closer, crowding my space. If I tried to slip past him, he’d block me. If I tried to swing, he’d catch it. He didn’t have to touch me to prove I was outmatched; the certainty in his posture did it for him.

“Back up,” I said.

He didn’t. “I’m not hurting you.”

“You already broke my window.”

“Glass is replaceable, your life is not.”

I barked a laugh, short and angry. “Oh, great. That makes me feel so much better.”

His gaze dropped to my lips again. “Open.”

“Make me.”

His jaw flexed, and something rough moved under his voice. Not a growl this time—controlled, but close. “Don’t test me.”

“Don’t order me around.”

His eyes flashed brighter, gold turning hard. “You’re in my territory. You’re a witness. And you’re alive because I’m standing here taking responsibility for you.”

“Responsibility,” I repeated. “Is that what you call claiming people?”

He went still for a beat, like the word irritated him. “This isn’t a claim.”

“Then what is it?”

“A tether,” he said. “A temporary one.”

“Temporary,” I echoed. “Like handcuffs are temporary.”

He didn’t smile. “If you leave here unbound, you’ll do what humans do. You’ll call someone. You’ll tell someone. And then you’ll die.”

“And if I let you… tether me, I won’t?”

“You’ll stay breathing long enough for me to move you to safety.”

I swallowed. “Where’s ‘safety’?”

“Packhouse.”

“Absolutely not.”

His hand rose again, blood glistening. He held it up between us like a line being drawn. “You don’t get to negotiate the destination.”

I took a step back. My spine hit the side of my car. Cold metal.

“You can’t just—” My voice cracked with fury. “You can’t just decide I belong to you because you feel like it.”

His gaze locked on mine, unblinking. “I can. And I did.”      

Something inside me flared—anger, pride, the part of me that had spent her whole life refusing to be handled. I lifted my chin. “Try it and I’ll bite you back.”

For the first time, I saw it. A flicker of surprise. Not fear. Not doubt. Just… interest, sharp.

Then it was gone, buried under control.

“Open,” he said again, softer, and somehow that was worse. Like he wasn’t threatening now—he was expecting obedience.

I clenched my teeth. “No.”

His other hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw. Not gentle, but not cruel either. Firm. He tilted my face, forcing me to look at him instead of the shadows, instead of the watcher, instead of the door that could have been my escape.

“You don’t understand what you’re tangled  in,” he said.

“I understand plenty,” I hissed. “You’re a wolf in a man suit and you’re about to drug me with your blood.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Then explain it.”

His breath came out slow. “My blood carries my scent. My authority. If you’re marked with it, the pack won’t touch you without coming through me.”

“And if they want to come through you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Then they’ll have to try.”

That should have reassured me. It didn’t. It sounded like a dare.

My pulse beat hard in my throat. I could feel the watcher’s presence like pressure at my back. I could hear the bar’s music. I could hear my own breathing, too fast.

“Look,” I said, forcing my voice into something calmer. “I’m not trying to start a war with your… pack. I just want to go home.”

His mouth tightened. “Home is unsafe.”

“That’s not your call.”

“It is tonight.”

He pressed his thumb at the corner of my mouth. The contact sent a jolt through me that made no sense. Heat, quick and sharp, like my skin had decided to betray me. I hated that too.

“Stop doing that,” I snapped.

“Doing what?”

“Touching me like you own me.”

“I’m touching you like you’re about to get killed,” he said. “Pick a better fight.”

I tried to pull my head away. His fingers tightened, holding me in place. “Let go.”

“No.”

My fear turned into a cold, focused thing. If I couldn’t run, I could still control one choice. “If I do this, I want terms.”

His eyes didn’t change. “You don’t have leverage.”

“I do,” I said. “I have what I saw. I have what I heard. Crowe. Fire. Purge. Council. And I have a recorder running.”

His gaze flicked, just once, to my jacket pocket. A tell. Confirmation.

“Turn it off,” he said.

“After.”

He exhaled, slow. “You’re playing with your life.”

“Maybe, but it’s my life. Not yours.

For a long second, we stared at each other—me furious and shaking, him steady and lethal. Then his hand with the blood rose again.

“Open,” he said, and this time it sounded like the last warning before force.

I swallowed. My throat felt tight. My whole body screamed no, but the watcher was still there and Gage was still between me and whatever came next.

Fine. I could cooperate without surrendering completely.

I parted my lips just enough to breathe.

His thumb slid against my lower lip, and the touch made my pulse jump. Then he pressed his bleeding hand to my mouth.

Warmth hit my tongue. Metallic. Wrong. Real.

Every nerve in my body lit up like someone flipped a switch. Heat rolled through my chest and down my spine. My knees went weak. I grabbed his forearm without thinking, fingers digging into his skin like I needed something solid.

His eyes widened.

Not much. Just enough to prove he hadn’t expected this reaction from his weird… tethering thing.

The air between us thickened. My skin prickled. My heartbeat stuttered, then sped up, then changed—like it found a new rhythm.

Something snapped into place inside me.

Not a feeling. Not a thought.

A connection.

Gage went rigid, his hand still at my mouth, his breath catching hard. The gold in his eyes flared, and the color drained from his face so fast it looked like someone yanked the blood out of him.

He went white-still.