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Remember her? The woman I’ve obsessed over for nearly half my damn life? Who haunts my dreams, stars in my nightmares, and is the closest thing I get to finding any pleasure in this fucked-up world when I stand outside of her place, watching her through the window, knowing that so long as she’s safe, everything I’ve ever done—everything I’ve ever lost—is worth it?
Ten-year-old Lincoln? I knew. I’ve known since the pretty little girl with pigtails and an impish grin joined my kindergarten class that she was mine.
“I promise you this, pet: no one will touch you when Devil marks you as his.”
I’d never let her. She doesn’t know that, but even if she refused my offer, I’d help her.
I told her. I told her what she was getting into. Who she would be marrying if she agreed to be mine. They don’t call me Devil for nothing, and if I have to coerce her into being my bride, I will. Anything to have her. To hold her. To keep her close. To protect her.
She’s mine. She always was, and she’s always been, and now that I finally have the excuse to tie her to me for life, damn right I’m going to do it.
