"Leora," he groans.
He kisses me.
It is not a gentle kiss. It is an explosion. It is a desperate, starving thing. His mouth is hard on mine, his teeth grazing my lip. He tastes of despair and dark wine.
I should fight him. I should push him away. He is a monster. He is my captor.
But the emptiness in him calls to the fullness in me. My hands rise of their own accord, tangling in his long, platinum hair. I pull him closer, deepening the kiss, opening to him.
A groan tears from his throat, a raw, animal sound. His arms wrap around me, crushing me against his bare chest. His skin is cold, but where we touch, there is fire.
He lifts me, his strength effortless. I wrap my legs around his waist, instinctively seeking more friction, more contact.The magic flares between us—violet sparks dancing in the air, shadows curling around our bodies like possessive lovers.
He pulls back for a breath, his forehead resting against mine. His eyes are black holes, devoured by lust and confusion.
"I hate you," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "I hate what you do to me."
"I know," I whisper back.
He kisses me again, harder this time, a punishment and a prayer. He carries me to the bed.
He doesn't lay me down. He throws me.
I land on the velvet mattress, bouncing slightly. Before I can scramble back, he is over me, a looming shadow of muscle and intent. He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, his body pressing me down into the soft bedding.
"You took my god," he snarls against my neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. "So now... I will take you."
11
LORD IMAS
Iam a creature of structure. Of hierarchy. Of control.
But as I press Leora into the velvet mattress, pinning her wrists above her head with a single hand, I am none of those things. I am a starving animal that has finally caught the thing it has been chasing in the dark.
She gasps, her chest heaving against mine, her nipples hardening against the bare skin of my chest. Her skin is flushed, damp with the sweat of fear and the heat of the storm raging between us. I look down at her, drinking in the sight of her surrender. Her Purna eyes are wide, the blackness swirling, swallowing the sapphire, reflecting my own desperate, ravaged face back at me.
"Mine," I snarl, the word tearing from my throat like a curse.
I do not wait for permission. The air in and around the room is heavy with the scent of arousal, a thick, intoxicating musk. I reach down, my hand trembling not with weakness, but with the force of my restraint snapping. I tear the silk of her gown, the sound of rending fabric sharp and violent in the quiet room. It shreds easily, revealing the pale, fragile expanse of her body.
I want her bare. I want no barriers between my skin and the source of the silence.
She whimpers—a high, keen sound that vibrates straight into my marrow. She flinches as the cool air hits her skin, but she does not struggle. Instead, she shifts beneath me, her legs parting, her thighs wrapping around my waist, instinctively seeking more friction, more contact.
“Imas…” she moans my name, over and over.
The invitation destroys me.
I position myself between her legs. The heat radiating from her is searing against the unnatural cold of my own flesh. I am hard, painfully so, my need a jagged ache that demands to be soothed.
I press the tip of myself against her entrance.
The contact is a shock of absolute voltage.
"Gods," I hiss through gritted teeth, my head falling back.
It feels like grabbing a lightning rod in a gale. A jolt of pure, white-hot energy arcs from her body into mine, searing through the numbness that has plagued me for days. It is not the jagged, painful electricity of Chaos magic. It is smooth. It is heavy. It flows like molten gold, filling the cracks in my soul, cauterizing the wounds left by The Serpent’s silence.
