For Me,There Is Only You |18+|

63. Reassurance

"How many times are you planning to declare yourself happily married in front of everyone, husband?"

Ansel's eyes darkened at my words.

Then, he closed them and exhaled softly—like he was committing this moment to memory, like my words were something to be cherished.

A strange warmth curled in my stomach.

Before I could dwell on it, his arms moved.

One second, there was space between us; the next, he pulled me flush against him, my chest colliding with the hard planes of his body.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.

"Damn, I love the sound of that from your lips."

A shiver ran down my spine.

"Make her say it again, insect," Zev growled in satisfaction. "And then maybe once more for good measure."

Ansel didn't answer him.

Instead, his fingers brushed along the inside of my wrist before curling around it.

"Let's go."

"Where?" I stumbled after him, barely keeping up with his long strides.

"To find the pastor." His smile was downright sinful. "We're officiating our wedding right now."

I nearly tripped over my own feet. "You can't be serious."

His pace didn't slow. If anything, it picked up.

"Completely serious, Mrs. Starknight. I want you to be mine—officially."

My breath hitched at the way he said it—low, certain, like a vow rather than a tease.

"She's already ours," Zev murmured, indulgent arrogance lacing his voice. "A ceremony is meaningless. A flimsy human attempt at permanence. As if ink on paper could ever compare to the bond we share. But I suppose humans need their little rituals. So be it."

I narrowed my eyes. "Ours? Aren't you being a little too agreeable with Ansel today?" Suspicion laced my tone.

He huffed—a sound both disdainful and amused.

"Not really, mate," Zev drawled lazily. "But for once, the insect is making himself useful. If this human ritual makes you feel more bound to us, then fine. It doesn't matter. In the end, you'll still be ours."

"You said 'us' and 'ours' again," I pointed out, disbelief threading through my voice.

Where was the jealous Zev—the one who always says 'me' and 'mine,' the one who expects me to choose him above all else?

"I am practicing, mate," Zev said. "Just like you are practicing. I've heard it enough times in your thoughts—I should treat them equally. I think I can manage that much for you, if I try." He paused before adding, almost begrudgingly, "And it's not like I can kill this insect for good and have you all to myself."

He sounded genuinely annoyed.

I wasn't sure what to say.

"I've told you countless times to stop invading Neev's privacy," Ansel bit out.

"And I've told you countless times that I don't care what you think, insect."

I barely noticed when Ansel had already led me into the hallway near the elevator.

"Just take mate to complete those insignificant human rituals and vows," Zev continued, dismissive yet satisfied, "so she can call me husband sooner. If she prefers something grander, she may call me my beloved, my dearest, or even my divine—I don't mind either of them. But if she insists on indulging in modern absurdities, love, darling, or honey will suffice... though I expect better from my mate."