but Cass caught his wrist before he could. “You’re mine,” Cass said, his voice nothing but gravel as his fingertips brushed over the Source Mark on the back of Cyrus’s hand. His eyes followed the movement, transfixed on the black Mark. Cyrus could hear it in his voice, feel it in the tremble of his hand as he gripped his wrist. As his chest continued to rise and fall too rapidly. He was on the brink of losing control. He was doing everything he could to keep it. It struck Cyrus then that dragon possessiveness might rival Fae possessiveness. Not only that, Cassius was part-dragon, part-Witch.
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