She trespassed into my den—bleeding, hunted, marked as property. She thought I’d kill her. I kept her, instead. She flinches when I’m kind. Freezes when I get close. Sleeps like she’s waiting to be dragged back in chains. But I see the fire she hides. The hunger. The way she softens when she thinks I’m not watching. She says this is temporary. That she’ll leave when the snow melts. She’s wrong. This isn’t a shelter. It’s a claiming. She’s mine. A home for my heart… …and a hearth for my eggs. Read on monster obsession, nesting, survivor heroine, forced proximity, and a naga who wraps, watches, and never lets go. HEA guaranteed.