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Chapter 11

11

ISOLDE

B ut even as fear gripped her chest, her gaze stayed fixed on him—on the dangerous man who’d turned her world upside down.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow flickering over the luxurious sitting room. Isolde sat perched on the edge of the couch, her spine stiff and her hands clenched together as she glared at Callum. He loomed nearby, one broad shoulder leaning against the mantle, his gaze pinned to her like a predator studying its prey.

“You’re impossible,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. “You have no right—no right—to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Callum tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that infuriating, arrogant smile. “I don’t need a right, Isolde. I have a responsibility.”

“A responsibility?” she shot back, rising to her feet. Anger bubbled in her chest, hot and uncontrollable. “To who? To me? I never asked for this, Callum. I never asked for you. ”

The smile faded slowly away. His dark eyes narrowed, his face hardening into an unreadable mask. “No,” he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous, “you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t matter?” She took a step forward, her chin tilting defiantly. “You can’t just decide that you’re in charge of my life. I don’t care how big or bad you think you are. I’m not some possession you can lock away.”

“You’re under my protection,” he said evenly, though there was an edge to his tone now. “And that means I make the decisions.”

“Protection?” She laughed, but the sound was brittle, unsteady. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse to control me.” She wasn’t sure why she kept pushing at him, she only knew that it felt right to do so.

Callum pushed off the mantle in one fluid movement, closing the distance between them in two strides. Isolde’s breath caught as he stopped inches away, towering over her. His presence was magnetic, suffocating, and the heat rolling off him only made her pulse race faster.

“You think this is about control?” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety threat. “Do you have any idea what would happen to you if I wasn’t here? If I wasn’t keeping Lynch or Bradford—or whoever the hell else is after you—off your heels? You wouldn’t last a day.”

Her throat tightened, but she refused to back down. “I don’t care,” she bit out, though her voice trembled slightly. “I’d rather take my chances than be tied to a gangster and let you lock me away like a prisoner.”

He laughed—the sound bitter and with little amusement. “You wouldn’t be the first Fitzwilliam tied to the O’Neill Syndicate.” His gaze darkened, and she thought he might explode. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his jaw ticking as he fought for control. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said softly, his tone even more dangerous in its calm. “This isn’t a game, Isolde. This isn’t something you can argue your way out of. If you make the wrong move—if you ignore me—you die.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, choking the space between them. For the first time, she couldn’t just dismiss the fear that seemed to invade the space, tangling with her anger and confusion. She swallowed hard, her heart hammering as his words settled over her.

“You can’t—” she started, her voice faltering. “You can’t keep me like this.” She knew it was a lame thing to repeat, but she couldn’t seem to come up with anything better.

Callum stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to keep his gaze. “You think I want this?” he growled, the rawness in his voice taking her by surprise. “You think I enjoy dragging you around, keeping you locked away, cleaning up after your reckless decisions?”

Isolde’s breath caught, her body betraying her as the space between them shrank. The energy rolling off him was electric, intense—so much so it was hard to draw air. “Then let me go,” she whispered, though the words lacked conviction. What if he takes me up on it? Was he right when he said I’d be dead within the day?

His eyes burned into hers, his hands coming up to brace on either side of her, caging her in without touching her. “I can’t,” he murmured, the words rough, like they’d been dragged from him. “Because the second I let you go, they’ll take you—you witnessed a murder and you’re a threat to their plans; they want to silence you. And I won’t let that happen.”

The gravity of his words settled over her like chains, weighty and unrelenting. Isolde’s chest tightened as she tried to hold his gaze, her anger splintering beneath the force of his conviction. She wanted to fight him—wanted to scream at him—but all she could feel was the heat of his presence, the way his nearness made her pulse flutter and her knees weaken.

“You don’t own me,” she said again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Callum’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile as his gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Not yet, mo chroí ,” he said softly, the words a dark promise. “But make no mistake, you are mine—whether you like it or not.”

She shuddered as she exhaled, stepping back and leaving her feeling exposed and unsteady. “I won’t be controlled by you.”

“Won’t you?” he whispered. “I think you want someone to take control.”

“I don’t,” she said without much conviction.

“I think you want a man to take control—to dominate you—so you can find a little peace in this world. I know your mother died young, and your father leaned on you for what he needed in terms of social engagements, and now he’s enjoying himself while you slave away.”

“My father loves me,” she said hotly.

“I didn’t say he didn’t, but he allowed you to take on too much early on.”

“I wanted to help.”

“Maybe,” said Callum, “and maybe not. If we’d met before this started, you’d be wearing my collar and answering me in ways I think we’d both find more pleasurable,” he purred as he closed the distance between them.

Damn the man! “You don’t have the right to talk to me like that.”

“That, mo chroí , is a matter of opinion. I suspect once I have you on your back with my cock shoved deep inside you, you’ll purr like a kitten for me.”

Before he could say anything else she didn’t want to think about and wonder if he wasn’t correct, she brought her hand up to slap the arrogant look off his face. She whirled on her heel as her hand connected with his cheek, but it only took a moment for her to realize the critical error in judgment she’d made—or maybe it was what she’d wanted all along.

Callum’s hand snaked out and grasped her upper arm, spinning her around and pushing her over the back of the sofa. Flipping her skirt up over her back, he growled appreciatively as he saw the garter belt and panties she was wearing. When she’d changed in her office earlier in the day, they and the lacy pushup bra she had on were the only clean undergarments in her office closet. In the flash of an eye, he ripped the delicate, lacy underwear from her body, leaving her bare bottom to be framed by the garter belt.

“Lovely,” he murmured before bringing his hand down on the right cheek of her ass hard enough that the smack seemed to echo in the room.

Another harsh strike landed on her other cheek before he rhythmically began to tattoo her backside with an intensity that left her gasping, but oddly not crying out for help. Isolde struggled to get up, but he pressed her back down onto the back of the butter-soft leather sofa, pinning her down by placing the hand that wasn’t delivering what he called his discipline in the small of her back.

“Knock it off, you bastard,” she snarled as he continued to blister her behind.

“Not a chance, mo chroi, ” he chuckled as he rained hellfire across her buttocks.

Isolde wriggled to get away from him, but he held her in place and continued to punish her now aching globes. She continued to struggle, but she was no match for his size, strength, and determination. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of begging him to stop, regardless of how much his spanking hurt—but worse than the pain was her growing arousal. Her nipples were stiffening, their tiny pebbles irritated, in a good way, by the lace of her bra. Isolde could feel herself getting wet… soaked.

She chewed her lower lip to keep from crying out, which made him increase the sting to her ass. Impact play had never been her personal thing, but even she could feel that Callum Kavanaugh was a man who knew how to administer a spanking. Praying he wouldn’t figure out just how turned on he’d made her, she tried to tell herself fear was feeding her desire. The problem was that only a very small part of the combustible fuel his spanking had ignited was fear-based, the rest was pure arousal. Just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and she could catch her breath.

He rubbed the painful swell of her ass before trailing his finger between the cleft until he reached her puckered back entrance. She squirmed, trying to get away, but he had her trapped. He removed his hand and delivered another series of harsh blows, causing her to yowl.

Callum slid his hand between her thighs, pinching the sensitive skin when she didn’t soften to his touch and spread her legs. He inhaled deeply, then groaned as his fingers parted her labia. Gathering the slick that had gathered there, he moved on to find her throbbing clit. He dragged his hand away from her clit and shoved two fingers into her cunt, plunging them in and out, causing her to writhe where he held her. He inhaled again—making a deep rumbling sound that seemed to reverberate from his chest and invade her body.

“God, you smell sweet,” he crooned, moving his hand to stroke her aching backside.

From the corner of her eye she saw him step back, the bulge behind his fly in clear view.

“Upstairs, last door on the left. I have things to attend to. If you’re here when I get back, I’ll teach you how this should end.” He turned without another word, his footsteps echoing softly as he left the room.

Isolde stayed where she was for only a moment, her heart pounding and her skin prickling with unwanted heat. Damn him. Damn him for being so infuriating, so arrogant, so… everything.

And damn her for wanting him anyway.

Before he could return and make good on his threat—or was it a promise?—Isolde stood up and ran to the top of the stairs. She thought briefly about taking a different room and wasn’t sure whether or not she was willing to face the consequences of doing so.

And no matter how much she wanted to deny it, part of her felt safer here, in this gilded cage of his making, than anywhere else in the world.

CALLUM

What had he been thinking? Bending her over the end of the couch and blistering her backside? That alone would have been bad enough, but he had picked up the scent of her arousal. She might not have liked the sting, but she sure as hell had responded positively to the show of dominance. Callum shook his head. Good. She might as well start getting used to it.

He made his way to the back of the mansion and the changing rooms. The estate had high, solid walls that surrounded it and a myriad of trees. It would be difficult for anyone to spot a large black panther running across the lush lawns. As dangerous as it might be for Callum to shift and go for a run, it was far safer than remaining in the house with his fated mate and not claiming her.

As the rain stopped, the moon hung low over the O’Neill estate, its pale light spilling over the sprawling grounds like molten silver. Callum stood on the edge of a dense grouping of trees, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. The confrontation with Isolde still burned in his mind, every word, every fiery look from her amber eyes, seared into his memory. She had a way of pulling emotions out of him that no one else could, emotions that left him raw and vulnerable in ways he despised.

And then there was the arousal.

It coiled low in his gut, a fire that refused to die no matter how hard he tried to smother it. Her scent—something wild and untamed—lingered in his senses, mingling with the echoes of her defiance. It was maddening. Intoxicating. Unbearable.

He needed to run.

Callum exhaled sharply, his gaze shifting to the shadowed expanse of the grounds. The O’Neill estate outside Dublin offered a perfect sanctuary for what he was about to do—isolated, sprawling, and utterly devoid of prying eyes. He didn’t indulge in this part of himself often. It was dangerous, uncontrollable, and too tied to instincts he worked hard to keep buried.

But tonight, it was necessary.

He pulled off his jacket, letting it fall to the ground before unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. The cool night air kissed his skin as he stripped away the last vestiges of humanity. His shoes followed, then his slacks, until he stood bare beneath the moonlight, his body taut with anticipation.

The shift came like a thunderclap, a ripple of energy that surged through his entire body as the swirling mist arose from the ground to encompass him. His body morphed seamlessly from man to black panther. Callum dropped to his knees, his fingers clawing at the ground as his frame reshaped and fur spilled over his skin, sleek and black as midnight. All of his senses sharpened, and the muted world exploded into vivid color and detail.

When the transformation was complete, he stood on all fours, his massive panther form cutting an imposing silhouette against the moonlit backdrop. He flexed his claws, the razor-sharp tips slicing into the earth as his muscles coiled and uncoiled with barely contained energy.

The beast inside him roared its approval.

Callum bolted forward, the trees swallowing him whole as he moved like a shadow through them. The wind rushed past him, carrying the scents of damp earth and wild things. Leaves and branches parted in his wake, his powerful body propelling him forward with a grace and speed no human could match.

He ran to silence the chaos in his mind. To chase away the memory of the way Isolde’s lips trembled. To forget the way her eyes had glistened with a mix of anger and vulnerability that cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

The grass beneath his paws was soft, the night alive with nocturnal creatures that scattered at his approach. He barely registered them, his focus consumed by the rhythm of his movement—the pounding of his paws against the ground, the flex of muscle and sinew as he leapt over a fallen log and landed soundlessly on the other side.

The moonlight dappled the path along which he ran, and Callum’s enhanced eyesight caught every glimmer, every flicker of motion. He ran faster, pushing himself to the brink as the burning in his veins began to fade, replaced by something calmer.

When he finally slowed, his sides heaved with exertion, his black fur glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. He came to a stop in a clearing, the world around him eerily still save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. He sank to his haunches, his sharp gaze scanning the darkness as he forced his breathing to steady.

The run had helped. His mind was clearer now, though not free of the thoughts that haunted him. Isolde’s face lingered like a ghost, her scent still teasing his heightened senses.

She was like a flame, and he was drawn to her heat despite knowing it would burn him alive. No amount of running would change that.

With a low, rumbling growl, Callum rose to his paws and padded back toward the estate. He would let the beast have its moment, but it was the man who would have to face her again. And next time, he would be ready.

Or so he told himself.

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