I can hear people speaking in hushed tones around me. Russian, I think, because I can't understand a word. My head feels heavy, as though it's detached from my body. I'm drenched in a cold sweat. My body aches.

The mattress dips and warm fingers trace over arm. "Krasivaya," Ronan says quietly. When I finally manage to drag my eyes open, I flinch against the light pouring through the windows behind him. I go to sit up and a sharp pain rips through my torso, forcing me to fall back onto the bed. He holds out his palm. "Take these."

I grab the pills from his hand, toss them in my mouth, and swallow them. "Where am I?" My voice sounds raspy and broken.

"My house, where you belong."

I don't remember coming here. My memory is patchy. I remember the man at the bar, the knife, and then... Nothing. "I'm alive. That's good."

"You are. Yes," Ronan says in a clipped tone. His entire body seems tense. He looks like he's somewhere between wanting to kiss me and kill me, and as thrilling as that eternally dangerous ground is, I'm not capable of dealing with moody Ronan right now.

I narrow my eyes at him. "What now?"

A slight smirk plays on his lips and he leans over, gently kissing my cheek before he pushes up from the bed.

The slightest hint of panic grips me. "Ronan, where are you going?"

He doesn't answer me, of course, just leaves the room. I never know what he's thinking or what he's going to do next. It's the most aggravating thing. My eyes grow heavy, my head swims from the painkillers, and close my eyes allowing them to take hold and pull me under.

It's dark outside when I wake. A fire crackles in the fire place and I manage to sit up in bed despite the pain in my stomach. I slowly move my legs over the edge of the bed and stand up, fighting the head rush as I glance down at the pajama bottoms and tank top that I'm wearing. I didn't think Ronan had it in him to purchase something so casual.

When I open the bedroom door, Donovan turns to face me. "Really? He has you guarding the door...in his own house?" He gives me his standard scowl and turns away. When I slip past him, he falls into step behind me, and I whirl around, pointing at him. "Definitely not."

"I have orders from Mr. Cole."

Just great. Of course, he couldn't possibly defy holy Mr. Cole. I make my way downstairs, wincing with every step until I find Ronan in his office. I step in and slam the door in Donovan's face. Ronan's gaze instantly crashes with mine, his eyes surveying every inch of my body before lingering on my stomach. Glancing down, I see a fresh bloodstain seeping through the white material of my shirt.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," he says, his gaze still locked on the blood.

"Well, I might not be if I didn't have to find you." I lift a brow at him.

"Do you need something?"

For a second, I feel that crippling vulnerability that I loathe so much. "Do I need to need something?" I snap. He arches a brow. I roll my eyes on a sigh and turn away, pulling the door open. "Dick," I mumble. Of course, Donovan is right in front of me like Ronan's prized lap dog. "Ronan, tell your fucking dog to heel before I snap his neck."

"Come back here, Camilla."

I spin to face him with a smirk. "Don't mistake me for one of your pets, Russian."

Inhaling, he pushes up from his desk and crosses the room. The second he's in front of me, he's fisting my hair and yanking my head back. "Oh, I don't." He grins.

Pain reverberates through every inch of my stomach, but I mash my teeth together, refusing to show it. The door slams shut behind me and then it's just me and him again, that familiar tension crackling between us. The dominance, the pain, the ruthlessness of war...such a heady blend. He tightens his hold in my hair, bringing my face mere inches from his. The warmth of his breath washes over my face and I close my eyes, succumbing to his allure.

"I expect you to treat me with more respect." His lips brush mine with each word.

"I get stabbed at one of your stupid parties, and you can barely be bothered to speak to me. And you want to talk about respect," I practically growl.

One side of his lips curl. "I've been busy."

I try to break from his hold but he won't let me. "Ah, yes. World domination. Of course."

"No." He backs me against the wall. His fingers trail down my throat. Softly, gently. "Torturing and killing the man that dared to touch what is mine." His eyes light up with a sadistic pride, flickering like the flames of hell.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You don't get your hands dirty."

"What can I say," he leans in by my neck, "sometimes emotions get the best of me." His teeth rake along the side of my throat, sending goose bumps scattering over my skin.

"You don't have emotions," I say on a shaky breath.

"I didn't think so either... But nobody touches what's mine."

I lift my hand to stroke my fingers over the stubble on his cheek. "You killed for me?" I ask, biting my lip on a grin. Ronan Cole broke his rules for me...again.

"Someone else made you bleed." His tongue traces over my collarbone and I tilt my head to the side.

"Pity. I wish I'd seen it," I breathe, scraping my teeth along his jaw as my pulse picks up.

"He begged for his life," he groans against my ear.

My nails rake through his hair. "Was he alone?"

"No. Just a hitman."

"Do you know who hired him?"

"Not exactly." He grins against my throat. "So much more blood to spill, krasivaya."

I bite back a moan when his fingers trail over my side, sliding the material of my tank up slightly. "I want him, Ronan. When you find him, I want to slit his throat and watch him choke on the blood while he burns."

"So savage." A groan slips through his lips. "They don't understand what you mean to me..." His hands slide along the back of my neck, into my hair. "But they will."

My pulse races and I sway toward Ronan as if pulled by an invisible thread. My lips brush his as a shuddering breath leaves me. I shouldn't like his possession, but I love it. I shouldn't crave this madness, but I revel in it. I need it. I need him. "You'll find him for me?" I kiss him. "So I can do horrible things to him..." I whisper against his lips. His fingers tighten in my hair before he tips my head back, scraping his teeth over my lip.

"Would you really want to take that simple joy away from me?" He kisses my throat, his hands roaming over my body as he backs me against the desk.

Sliding my fingers beneath his shirt, I scratch my nails over his taut stomach and watch his jaw clench. "I'll let you slit his throat if I get to burn him." He swallows hard on a groan. "I know how much you like the blood," I whisper.

There is no greater rush than this, than being wanted by him, than knowing that I and I alone have the ability to unravel his rigid control. He's killed for me and I've been willing to die at his hand. Such bonds are not easily broken, but I'm not sure it scares me as much as it should anymore. His lips trail over my neck, and with each kiss, his hold on my hips grows tighter. His breaths grow ragged, strained. "He made you bleed..."

I stroke his cheek. "He bled more."

"You should be untouchable because you belong to me." He sighs. "But therein lies the problem, no one knows you are mine."

I glance up at him. "I've been seen with you at some of the biggest public events in the country. I'm pretty sure they all assume."

A sly grin works over his lips. "You'll marry me, and then you will be untouchable. We'll be untouchable."

I freeze, and then I laugh. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Russian." I push him back a step, forcing some space between us. A stern expression hardens his face. He's not laughing. Oh my god. "Ronan...don't be ridiculous," I stammer, backing away further.

"You'll be fitted for a dress once your wound has healed."

"No." I shake my head. "This is not... we are not..." I edge around the desk until it's between us, and he eyes the piece of furniture with disdain.

One brow cocks. "It wasn't a question, little kitty."

"You can't just order someone to marry you!" I fold my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

"I thought all savages preferred being dragged to a cave..."

"I do not want to marry you. Jesus, you put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger a week ago!"

"Don't lie to yourself, Camilla." He rounds the desk and I work my way to the other side, determined to keep this piece of furniture between us. "The power beckons you." He smiles.

"I'm Catholic," I blurt.

"Tsk. Tsk. And sharing a bed with the devil, how very unorthodox of you." He stops behind the desk and leans over it.

I lift my middle finger. "You do know, marriage is for life?"

"You do realize I take what I want?"

I throw my head back on a groan. "Ronan!"

"I don't understand why you pretend you hate this." He steps around the desk and takes my hand, that electrical current between us palpable. "We both know you don't. You want me every bit as much as I want you." He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses over my knuckles. "I own you." His gaze lifts to mine. "You own me."

"A man like you cannot be possessed," I whisper. And that's what terrifies me. If I agree to this madness – and it is pure insanity on a level only Ronan could possibly come up with—and marry him, I will never escape him, and god knows I need to before it's too late.

"So certain, little kitty." He presses his body to mine, breathing hard against my cheek. His hands rub over my arms, the stubble on his chin creating friction on my jaw. "I think you're just bad enough I'd allow you to possess me. Mind. Body." He bites at my ear. "Soul. And that is quite the feat."

I place my hands on his chest, staring at them for a moment. "You want to marry me to protect me," I clarify.

"Yes."

"And what if I hadn't been stabbed?" I lift my gaze to his and tilt my head to the side. "You're acting out of fear. It's not you, Ronan. You don't let emotions cloud your judgement."

"This is not fear." He laughs. "It's simply pride." He threads his fingers through my hair. "No one takes what is mine—and you are irrevocably mine, krasivaya."

He's not going to let this go. If I know one thing about Ronan, it's that he always gets what he wants. He will chase me down and force me into this if he has to. I still have time though... until I heal. With any luck, he'll calm down and be rational—if I agree. If I deny him, he'll force the issue on pure principal. I know him. "Okay," I say. "I'll marry you."