He wanted to do it more than anything—to gather her up, to hide her away where no one else could reach her—but he knew he never could.
"Because I understand this, Rory," Yuel said quietly, his voice steady but filled with feeling. "You don't belong to me alone. If I ever locked you away, even with love, you would stop being yourself."
He looked at Rory the way one might look at something sacred—something fragile, precious, and utterly irreplaceable.
"My Rory should belong to herself first," he continued softly. "Only after that… can she choose me."
For her, he was willing to bury every trace of jealousy, every dark, possessive thought that stirred in his heart. He would rather become a gentle vine that supported her, that curled around her waist protectively, than a cage that trapped her against her will.
Rory suddenly shifted, rolling over in one smooth motion and pinning him beneath her.
