Finally, Kieran turns, and his hand takes mine, his grip firm and possessive. “Come,” he says quietly.
I follow him out of the throne room, my heart pounding. Rage radiates off him in waves, his magic crackling just beneath his skin. Every step is controlled, measured, but I know he is only a heartbeat away from violence.
We walk through the corridors in silence. Guards step aside, their eyes widening at whatever they see in Kieran’s face. Servants press themselves against walls.
By the time we reach his chambers, my entire body is shaking. Not with fear, but with primal awareness.
The door closes behind us with a heavy thud.
Kieran stands in the center of the room, facing me. His shoulders are rigid, hands clenched into fists at his sides. A tremor runs through him, his barely contained fury threatening to explode.
I move before I can think better of it. My hands press against his chest, and I use all my weight to push him backward until he hits the wall. He lets me.
“Relax,” I tell him.
His body is thrumming with rage, coiled tight like a spring about to snap. But his hands don’t move to touch me. They remain at his sides, shaking with the effort of controlling his wrath.
“How can you ask me to relax?” he asks incredulously. “After what Theodore said? After what they want to do to you?”
“I was upset at first,” I say softly, my fingers sliding into his hair. I loop my arms around his neck, pressing closer. “Terrified, even. The thought of being reduced to a pleasure slave, of being taken from you, and of you being given to that vile woman…It made my stomach turn.”
His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath his skin.
My lips curve into a small smile. “But then, I remembered who my mate is.”
Burning with intensity, his gaze locks onto mine.
“They can’t do anything to me,” I whisper.
“Daciana—”
I kiss him. Softly. Gently. My eyes stay open, watching his face.
He doesn’t respond. His body remains rigid against the wall, every muscle taut.
I kiss him again, a little firmer this time. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly.
Still nothing.
On the third kiss, I bite his lower lip. Just a little. Just enough.
His hands suddenly clamp around my waist, his grip almost bruising. Then, the room spins.
My back slams against the door, and Kieran’s mouth crashes down on mine with a ferocity that steals my breath. This isn’t gentle. This isn’t tender. This is raw need and fury and desperation all rolled into one. His rage, redirected. Not at me, never at me, but transformed into physical need. All that furious energy channeled into the way his mouth devours mine, the way his body presses against me until there’s no space left between us.
His hands slide up my waist, fingers splaying across my ribs. They move higher, over my breasts, and I gasp against his mouth.
The sound seems to snap something in him.
There’s a sharp, tearing sound, and suddenly, cool air hits my skin. He has ripped my shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor.
A thrill runs through me. I like this. I like it when he loses control, when the civilized veneer falls away and all that’s left is the predator beneath. The beast. The alpha who would destroy the world for me.
I like feeling this powerful, knowing I can reduce him to this. My hands reach for him, desperate to touch, to claim, to take.
He catches my wrists before I can make contact. In one smooth motion, he slams them up against the door above my head, pinning both in one large hand. His other hand slides down my side, and his mouth moves to my throat. I arch against him, my breath coming in short gasps.
“Kieran—”
