Chapter 7 · The Back-Alley Clinic

"Get your damn hands off me, Rhys!"

I didn't just pull away; I tried to shoulder-check him into the rusted siding of the alley. It didn't work. Rhys didn't budge, his grip on my upper arm like a vice, pulling me back toward him with one effortless jerk.

"We're twenty feet from the door, Mara. If you keep fighting me, we're both going to pass out in the gutter before Talia even opens the lock," he leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous grate against my ear.

I could feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the district. My heart was hammering—not just from the fight, but because the bond was screaming. Every time I tried to create distance, a sharp, jagged pressure bloomed in my chest, like a hook pulling me back to him. It wasn't just a magical link; it was a leash.

"I can walk on my own," I snapped, though my legs felt like lead.

"Clearly you can't. You're shaking."

"I'm pissed off, not shaking."

He didn't argue. He just tightened his hold, his thumb brushing against the skin of my wrist.