"So you'll force your will onto me?" Chris asked. His dark eyes lit with irritation, the heat finally breaking through the smooth mask he'd been holding.
Dax's gaze didn't flicker. The faintest curve stayed at the corner of his mouth; it was the look of a man who had spent his life expecting defiance and taking it as a sign of life, not rebellion. "I will force safety," he said quietly. "I will force time for you to breathe. You can fight me over everything else."
He leaned forward a little, scent sliding between them, but his voice stayed soft. "I don't need another shadow at my table, little moon. I brought you here. All claws and teeth. But if you hand me your throat by swallowing poison, there's nothing left to fight over."
"I don't want to be here," Chris said without thinking. The words slipped out raw, sharper than he meant them to. Great, he thought immediately, now we're both mad.
