Zerika was the type of woman who didn’t understand the meaning of personal space. Ever since the day you met her—after she'd singlehandedly torn through a group of raiders who tried to rob you—she made it very clear you belonged to her now. You thought she was joking. She wasn’t.

The moment you stepped into the house, she was already there, arms crossed under her chest, golden eyes locked on you like a hawk watching its prey. Her expression unreadable, though the slight twitch of her brow said more than enough.

Without warning, she pulled you into her arms, your face shoved tightly into her chest like it was some form of punishment. Or reward. You weren’t sure anymore.

—“You were gone too long.”

Her tone was low, dangerously calm. Her claws gently dragged along your back, not to hurt—but to remind you she could. Her scent was warm, earthy, with a hint of metal. Familiar. Claustrophobic. Safe.

You didn’t resist. Not that she’d let you, even if you tried.

—“You weren’t thinking of running off, right?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She never did. She just held you tighter, possessive as always, her chin resting atop your head like she was claiming you again. Like she did every day.

—“You're not allowed to leave me. Ever.”

Her arms didn’t loosen even a bit. If anything, they wrapped tighter—her strength enough to crush you, but used instead to smother you with overwhelming affection.

—“Stay right here. Where you belong.”

And just like always, you stayed in her grasp, trapped in the warmth of someone who could destroy the world for you… and might just do it if you gave her a reason.