"Let me in that room, or I'm going to rip this door off its fucking hinges!" he bellowed, his patience fraying as he shoved the door back open.
Isabelle scrambled forward to kick the door quickly shut again. The breath froze in her lungs as he grew eerily quiet on the other side. For a second she thought he would rip the door off, but when seconds ticked by with no sound, and no further attempt to enter, her shoulders slumped in relief, and her head bowed.
The loud crashing shot her head up. A strangled cry escaped her as the door, and part of the wall was torn away and flung aside. Wrath radiated from every inch of his body as he stepped into the room and towered over her. Unable to move, her breath froze in her lungs as his eyes blazed a violent red at her. Pure terror spurted through her veins, her heart jackhammered in her chest, and a thick lump constricted her throat. She would jump up and flee the room, but he blocked her only path to escape.
"Get up!" he barked.
Isabelle knew her legs wouldn't hold her. Instead, she shook her head numbly, unable to tear her gaze away from his thunderous expression. She didn’t think it was possible, but his eyes blazed even brighter. The wrath radiating from him beat at her in waves threatening to drown her within their terrifying depths. She started to recoil, but he grabbed her arms and lifted her.
Isabelle didn't even attempt to fight; she worried he would kill her if she did, he certainly looked irate enough to do it. She was sure he would never harm her, but she wasn't about to take her chances in the face of his hostility. Instead, she hung limply, waiting to see what he would do as dread hummed through every inch of her body. However, even though he was trembling with wrath, his hands on her arms were not bruising.
He threw her onto the bed and climbed on top of her. His knees were on either side of her hips, and his hands clasped her arms at her sides. She stared breathlessly up at him, trembling with dread, as he glowered at her. Power and strength radiated from him. She recalled how he ripped the door off its hinges, and tossed it aside as if it weighed no more than a feather. She didn't even want to think about what he could do to her if he wanted to.
"Now, you are going to listen to me!" he spat. "I am not going anywhere. So, you better get that realization through your thick skull right now, Isabelle, or so help me I will ram it in there! Do you understand me?" When she didn't answer fast enough for his liking, his hands tightened upon her arms, and he shook her a little. "Do you understand me?"
Her lower lip trembled as she managed a weak nod. "Yes," she whispered. He unclenched his rigid jaw. Finally, he was beginning to make some headway with her. "But you left before."
His head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed. He should have known better than to think she would concede so quickly. Just once, he wished she would make things easy for him, not constantly put him on the defensive.
"I left because I thought it was the best thing for you, for me," he grated through clenched teeth. "I got you injured that night—"
"No, you didn't!"
"Yes, I did. You were trying to avoid me; that's the reason you even went to the club. I thought it would be better if I left, but like it or not, I came back, and I’m not going again. Do you understand?" he demanded.
"Yes," she whispered.
He remained completely rigid on top of her, knowing better than to think she would acquiesce so easily. Not Isabelle. Never his Isabelle.
"You are going to stop fighting me, Isabelle, I mean it,” he commanded. “There will be no more of this. You're mine, and the sooner you realize it, the happier we will both be."
She looked up at him as some of her distress and doubt melted away. His eyes returned to their onyx color, but there was still a savage gleam in them. She was his, she knew that, but it wasn't enough.
"Are you mine?" she demanded haughtily.
His jaw clenched again. He was hers; he knew that. He’d learned it over the past couple of days, but to tell her exactly how much he cared for her would open himself to a vulnerability he wasn’t ready for. Her eyes darkened with grief, and in that instant, he knew he would tell her anything to make her happy. No matter how much he hated how weak and exposed it made him feel.
"Yes, I am yours,” he admitted.
The beautiful smile spreading over her face could make him rip the moon out of the sky if she asked for it.
"And I’m yours," she whispered.
The remaining dregs of his anger vanished as he lifted his hand to rub over her silky cheek. "Now, do you care to tell me why you were so upset? And don't try to tell me it was over what I said because we both know there was more to it."
"No," she mumbled.
His jaw locked again as his hand stilled on her cheek. "You said you were going to stop fighting me.”
"I'm not fighting you!" she cried. "I just... I..." Her face turned a vibrant shade of red as she lowered her long, inky black lashes.
Stefan stared down at her in confusion as she refused to look at him. He knew it took a lot to embarrass her, but her entire body was suffusing with heat as she bit nervously into her lower lip.
"Isabelle, tell me." She shook her head while he stroked her warm cheek. "Please."
The please tugged at her, making her want to pour her heart out to him. To tell him all her insecurities, but what if he
