Seduction of a Psychopomp: Erogenous Hand Holding and Other Ways to Tame your Reaper (The Boundlands, #3)

by Elsie Winters

Perhaps “betrothed” was the correct title, as we hadn’t performed the ceremony yet,

but to me it didn’t matter. She would be mine, and so she already was.

I blinked at her in horror, the heaviness of her words feeling as though they would crush my chest. As if this woman’s prettiness or lack thereof dictated her value.

In whatever way she wanted, be that as a friend or a husband. Whatever pleased her and made her feel safe.

very primal way she belonged with me.

He leaned closer, every muscle in his body tensing as his fingers gripped the armrest tightly, and a primal kind

of possessiveness flared behind his eyes. “I’d like to see them try.”

“You might not feel yet that you are mine, but that doesn’t mean I don’t. This mark,” he stated, jerking up his sleeve to reveal the ink-black lines spreading out from the healed wound that lay beneath, “means that I have been bound to you for all eternity. Life and death will fade away and every version of this planet will crumble into dust, and I will still belong to you.”

“Your preferences have value,” he told me. “The things we love make us who we are. You are allowed to want things. Ask for whatever you want, and I will do my best to provide it for you.”

She was mine, and I was hers. Darkness and light. Two halves