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She looks magnificent, like I could blink and instead of a crowded concert hall, we’re in the middle of a battlefield. Never mind that she could’ve handled shit on her own. Coraline Carter calls to me like my very own, personalized siren song. She’s the kind of woman people write about. And I’ve never seen her look as alive as she does right now.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s something kind of fucked up about me that I welcome her bite. That when she snarks at me like that, it smooths some of the rough edges of this twisted, burned thing inside my chest.
God she looks fucking magnificent like this. All amped up, ready to breathe fire down on anyone who gets in her way.
Coraline Carter is beautiful, but when she’s mad, she’s fucking magnificent. She’s like some otherworldly creature, spitting fire and burning bridges in her wake without a single care. It’s fucking mad how much it turns me on.
Whoever did this to her is a fucking dead man, I vow. The thought of someone hurting her sends a surge of anger through me, so potent it’s almost blinding. But I force myself to stay calm. I don’t go off half-cocked without the facts. That’s never been me.
And I realize something with acute clarity. Coraline Carter is going to ruin me. It’ll be the most exquisite ruination, and I’ll welcome it with open arms.
“Let me take care of you,” I practically beg. “I don’t know how,” she whispers, her eyes filling with tears.
“You’re safe with me,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “I protect what’s mine, and you, Coraline Carter, are mine.”
My lips press against her forehead, a silent promise. I won’t let anything happen to her again. Not now, not ever.
