Roman turns then, his hands bracing against the black tabletop behind him as he looks at me through slitted eyes and dark lined lashes. “He instills unyielding fight into our blood. He blesses us with unimaginable ruthlessness.”
“You meancruelty,” I correct. But he ignores the statement.
“And he does it by showing us first-hand how it feels. Every day of our lives. Until we no longer cry to be saved. When our whimpers fade and our heads still rise to face his punishment, that’s when he knows we’re ready to carry his name across realms and lands. He makes us, Cersia. And soon, he’ll make you his bride.” That smile cuts across beautiful features in a haunting look of asinine pleasure.
A chill scratches across my flesh, and I can’t break his gaze. I couldn’t look away from this demented psycho if I wanted to.
I left a man who would protect me for a man who will hurt me. And I did it without thinking twice.
Why? Why am I so blind when it comes to love? Mika loved me! He did.
I just didn’t deserve it. I deserve war. I deserve this.
And that’s why I’m here.
My spine straightens, and I sit up in the massive bed. “I can take it,” I say with nothing but confidence.
One of his eyebrows arches in an adorable way that I can’t ignore.
“Really?” With force, he shoves off from his leaning spot across the room, and he prowls toward me, one foot in front of the other, with perfect predatorial pride. When he’s near enough, his knee lifts and he props himself there at the foot of the bed. A safe space of four feet separates me from the arrogant Hell Cunt whose nose I’ve already bloodied once tonight.
Does he want to clean up his pretty boy face all over again?
Every move he makes is accounted for. I glare at him hard, but I note every single ticking muscle that tenses beneath that golden skin of his. His palms flatten against the smooth black blanket. One by one, his fingers dig in, fisting the fine cloth into his palms.
And then he pounces.
He shoves off from his perch so fast I don’t process it at all. It’s a blur of movement. And a slamming of hard body weight forces me down beneath him.
“You can take it?” he growls as his nails dig into my wrists above my head.
Power radiates off of him in heated waves, but I never move. I let him show me everything he’s harboring. Every inch of his body aligns with mine, his hips hard between my thighs as his lips graze along my jawline.
And still I do nothing but watch him.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Confusion lines his brow, and he searches my face.
He embarrassed me, covered me in his mucus, and now he forces me down to show me who’s in charge.
I see the role here. I do. And I know exactly what the point is he’s trying to make.
Will I break in this kingdom of hell?
“Where’s your fucking fight now?” He jerks against my wrists harder, stretching me out even more beneath him. I don’t so much as shift against his dominating frame. “Fight, Cersia!” he commands, but it isn’t like Zilo. It isn’t the sound of dominance.
It’s the sound of desperation.
How did his prince break him so hard for his tortured soul to be so hellbent on hurting everyone he meets?
“No,” I whisper so softly it hurts to say the simple word to him.
Why do I have this reaction to him? Why do I have the sudden illogical urge to wrap my arms around him and never let anything in this world hurt him?
