Everything stopped.
His hands went motionless. The water stilled to glass. Even her breath caught at the sudden stillness in him, not the controlled calm he usually wielded but something raw underneath.
The word hung between them. Home.
Without warning, his hands moved under her arms, lifting. Water streamed from her body as he pulled her from the bath with urgent strength. No words. No explanation. Just movement born of something she couldn't identify.
Terror and anticipation warred in her chest. She knew she should fight, or scream, do anything but let him carry her like she belonged in his arms. But that treacherous warmth pulsed with such satisfaction that her resistance crumbled before it could properly form.
This is wrong,her mind insisted, even as her body curved into his chest. She had kissed Arion hours ago. Gentle, sweet Arion who offered freedom, not this beautiful monster who promised only captivity.
Her back hit the bed, water soaking immediately into the covers, but he didn't seem to notice or care. His hands framed her face, tilting it up, and when their eyes met, she saw something fractured in his control.
Then his mouth was on hers.
Not cruel like before. Not calculated. This was desperation barely leashed, the kiss of someone trying to confirm something through touch. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming and searching at once, while that warmth in her chest exploded outward in recognition.
She knew she should resist, that she should push him away. But her body betrayed every rational thought, arching into his hands, her fingers tangling in his still-dry hair, pulling him closer.
Self-loathing crashed through her even as she opened for him. What kind of person responded like this to their captor? What was wrong with her that cruelty made her burn while kindness left her conflicted? The warmth sang between them, building with each point of contact, drowning out the voice in her head screaming that this was surrender, this was giving him exactly what he wanted.
He pulled back just enough to speak against her lips. "Home." The word came out rough, almost accusatory. "You dare call me that after—"
But he cut himself off with another kiss, harder this time. His hands moved over her still-wet skin with fevered purpose, relearning territory he'd already claimed. When he found the marks he'd left earlier, he pressed against them, drawing gasps that he swallowed.
The warmth guided him, showing him exactly where to touch to make her forget resistance. His mouth followed the path of water droplets down her throat, teethscraping over his earlier bite. Lower, mapping her collarbone, the curve of her breast. Each touch made that warmth pulse brighter until she could almost see it behind closed eyes.
He was using her body against her and she knew it, but her treacherous hands clutched at his shoulders pulling him closer instead of pushing away. She hated herself for the small sounds escaping her throat, hated how her body recognized his touch as if it had been waiting for this specific brand of cruelty all her life.
Arion's touch was gentle, she tried to remind herself, but the thought felt hollow against the intensity of what Eliam made her feel. And wasn't that worse?
That she craved darkness over light?
When his mouth closed over her nipple, she cried out, back bowing.
No, no, no,her mind chanted, even as her body sangyes, yes, yes.The warmth concentrated there, sending waves of heat through her. This was wrong, she knew it was wrong, it had to be wrong. He'd stolen her freedom, marked her like property, hunted her like prey.
She should feel nothing but revulsion.
Instead, she was drowning in want so intense it felt like betrayal of everything she'd fought for. What would her mother think? Would she be disgusted that her daughter spread her legs for the very creature that would destroy her.
Would she care?
"Feel that?" he said against her skin. "How your body knows me? How this warmth reaches for my darkness?"
His hand moved between her thighs, finding her already wet, already ready. Shame flooded through her at the evidence of her arousal. She wanted to close her legs, to deny him this proof of how thoroughly he affected her, but her body had become a traitor in his hands.
The first touch of his fingers made her hips lift desperately.You're proving him right,her mind accused.Every word about ownership, about belonging to him, you're making it true.But the self-recrimination couldn't stop the way she moved against his hand, seeking more of what she shouldn't want.
"So responsive," he murmured, but it lacked his usual mockery. This was observation that bordered on wonder.
He explored with focused intent, watching her face as he learned what made the warmth burn brightest. When he curved his fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her vision white out at the edges, the warmth pulsed so hard he gasped.
"I feel it," he said, voice rough with what sounded like amazement. "When it pulses in you, I feel an echo."
She couldn't respond, too lost in the sensation of his fingers moving with devastating precision. Part of her wanted to retreat into her mind, to separate herself from what was happening, but the warmth wouldn't let her hide. It forced her to be present for every touch, every claim he laid on her body. She was losing herself, the thought striking with sudden clarity.
From the moment she had first entered the forest she had been losing herself. Every time he touched her, marked her, claimed her, she became less Briar and more his. The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it made the warmth pulse harder, as if confirming a truth she wasn't ready to accept.
