Shes Mine Novels & Stories

“You are not my mate,” I muttered into my empty office. “But you are mine.” The urge to possess and dominate choked me. “No one else can have you.” I did not try to understand the feeling. All I knew was that it was there. Amethyst was mine and anyone that tried to take her from me would meet a cold end.

But us didn’t matter. Only her. “She will learn,” I said softly. My wolf surged beneath the surface, claws scraping bones, voice a low, possessive snarl. ‘MINE.’ The word escaped my lips in a whisper so dangerous, obsessive, absolute. “She’s mine.” And that single truth shook the entire night.

I am war. And yet, she stays. She always stays. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve her. But I’ve claimed her anyway. Like everything else I’ve taken, I’ve wrapped her in chains of my own making and convinced myself it’s protection, not possession. But the truth is simpler. She’s mine. Not in the way the world defines ownership—not with rings or titles or declarations. No. She’s mine in the way breath belongs to lungs. In the way gravity belongs to the earth. Essential. Unrelenting.

It was of the way her voice had curled around that single word earlier, possessive, certain, like a claim neither of them had spoken aloud before. Mine.

His mansion again? I stroked his fur slowly. “I know. I’m disappointed in me too.” “Dianna! If you’re hiding in your room, who’s going to help me get this chicken into the oven?!” That shrill voice again. I called back without energy. “Not me.” “Ay, Dios mío!” Mama shrieked. I shut my eyes. Five seconds. Ten. Not nearly enough. My gaze slid back to the suitcase. I inhaled, then snapped it shut.

"What the fuck is there to like?" "Everything." "Rosarie." "Kyliano." I closed my eyes. God give me strength. "Come on. Let's go." "No." She patted the space beside her. "Sit with me." I stared at the spot, then at her. "You're joking." "Do I look like I'm joking?" Considering that she had just informed me about pregnant male seahorses and demanded applause for her contribution to my education, I wasn't sure how to answer. I hesitated. She narrowed her eyes. "You're scared of getting dirty."

As it turned out, the girl in the white dress was me. As my memories slowly returned, I heard shouting outside my hospital room. "My son is not a murderer! Why was she dressed in white on the mountain behind the village? What was she doing outside at such a late hour?" a voice yelled. The person continued, "That mountain is an extremely dangerous place. What was a young girl like her doing there alone? She was definitely meeting up with a man!" Feeling enraged, I clenched my fists. I wanted to defend myself, but I couldn't come up with any retorts.

"Mine. Say it. Say you're mine." "Yours, Daddy! Only yours! Forever yours!" "That's right. And no one takes what's mine. No one even looks at what's mine. MINE!"

“You’re officially mine.” It hit me like a punch. I looked at her, my voice barely a whisper: “You… you’re insane.” She smiled. A dangerous, beautiful and terrifying smile. “And you love it,” she said. I was trapped completely. “You’re officially mine,” Eve whispered again, just to make sure I understood.

"You — please — I belong to you—" "And will you let anyone else touch you?" "No." She shook her head desperately. "No, Damien. Never. I won't — I promise — please—" "Who," he said softly, his lips brushing her jaw, "is the only one who gets to have you?" "You." The word came out like a prayer. "Only you. You and no one else — Damien—" The vibrator roared back to life. His fingers began to move. Hard. Deep. Relentless. His pace climbed and she stopped forming words entirely — there was nothing left but sensation and his name and the headboard rattling above her and the coil inside her pulling so tight she couldn't breathe—