She glanced at the door again. It would take three steps, maybe four. But he'd moved again while talking, closer, the angle worse now. Her mind calculated distances, possibilities, as he continued speaking.
"The way you opened that door, already speaking... you expected him." His smile was soft, almost sympathetic. "How disappointing to find me instead. Tell me, does he make you wait often? Like a pet hoping for attention?"
"I wasn’t waiting—I need to—" She made her decision, darting toward the door.
Briar was fast, but Malachar was faster. She’d made it two steps when his hand caught her braid, yanking hard enough to snap her head back. Fire blossomed across her scalp as a cry of pain and anger tore from her lips. He pulled again causing her to stumble. Before she could regain her footing, his arm snaked around her waist, dragging her back against his chest. His other hand clamped over her mouth before the scream could form.
"Shh." His breath was cold against her ear. "Now, now, no need for all this drama."
She stood frozen, chest heaving, mind reeling. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. She was in Eliam's castle, in her own rooms, this was supposed to be safe. The warmth thrashed against her ribs, desperate, calling for something, someone—
His hand at her waist moved, slipping beneath the robe. The shock of cold fingers against the thin silk of her nightgown broke her paralysis. His hand traveled higher, closing around her breast through the fabric, and the violation of it, the casual possession, made bile rise in her throat.
She couldn't move, couldn't think. His touch was ice where Eliam's had been fire, wrong where the other had felt—no. She wouldn't compare them. This was assault, not seduction. This was—
"So warm," he murmured against her neck, the silk tearing as his hand sought the bare flesh beneath. "And so still. Like a rabbit in a snare. Like a pet who knows its place."
The words snapped something in her. She bit down hard on his palm, tasting winter and metal and wrongness. He cursed, jerking his hand away, and she managed half a scream before his hand cracked across her face.
The world exploded in stars and cold. She hit the floor, robe falling open, the room spinning. Her cheek burned with frost, spreading like poison across her skin.
"Spirited little thing." He stood over her, examining his bitten hand with mild interest. Blood welled from the teeth marks. "Good. I was beginning to think you were all surrender."
She tried to crawl backward but the floor was already icing over, her limbs growing numb. He followed unhurriedly, crouching beside her.
"Let me tell you what happens now," he said, fingers tracing the frost on her cheek. The warmth recoiled from his touch, shrinking into itself, pulling away from the wrongness of winter where forest should be. "You're going to be quiet. Compliant. And we're going to explore exactly what has the Forest King so... distracted."
His hand found the edge of her robe, slowly pulling it from her shoulders. The green velvet pooled around her, leaving her in just the translucent nightgown. She tried to move but her body wouldn't respond properly, the cold seeping into her bones.
His fingers ghosted over the nightgown's torn neckline, frost spreading from his touch. The delicate silk grew brittle under the cold, tiny ice crystals forming along the seams. His other hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb tracing her lower lip with false gentleness.
"Such warmth," he murmured, tilting her face up. "I can see why he marks you so thoroughly. All that heat just begging to be extinguished."
She tried to jerk away but her limbs were sluggish with cold, movements slow and clumsy. He smiled at her struggle, fingers tightening on her jaw.
"Now, let's see what else he's been enjoying."
He leaned down slowly, giving her time to see it coming, to dread it. She pressed her lips together, tried to turn her face away, but his grip was iron beneath the gentle touch. His free hand tangled in her hair, holding her completely still.
Then he kissed her.
It was nothing like Eliam's demanding heat. This was cold, invasive, taking rather than claiming. His lips were ice against hers, numbing on contact. When she kept her mouth closed, he bit her lower lip, not playfully but with cruel precision, just hard enough to shock her into gasping.
His tongue invaded immediately, bringing winter into her mouth. She tasted frost and metal and wrongness, felt the cold spreading from the kiss through her jaw, down her throat. It was violation in its purest form, not passion but power, not desire but degradation. His tongue explored slowly, thoroughly, as if cataloguing what Eliam had tasted, comparing territories, staking claim.
She made a sound of distress, muffled against his mouth, and he swallowed it with satisfaction. When she tried again to turn away, his hand in her hair tightened to the point of pain, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
When he finally pulled back, her lips were numb with cold, frost crystals clinging to them. The warmth had gone nearly silent, shocked into stillness by the violation, curled small and wounded in her chest.
"He'll kill you." Her voice came out rough, gritting her teeth against the cold that seemed to sink into her very bones.
"Will he?" Malachar murmured against her mouth, fingers rising to trace the frost on her cheek. They burned like brands. "For examining his pet? For testing what he was too proud to share?" His finger moved lower, following the thorn marks at her throat. "I think not. Oh, he'll rage. Threaten. But kill another Great Lord over a human plaything? That would mean admitting you matter."
Malachar’s touch turned colder, and Briar whimpered as frost spread down her throat, across her shoulder until it began a lazy spiral down her arm, following the path of Eliam's marks. Claiming over claiming.
“Don’t,” she gasped.
He paid her no mind. Instead his fingers hooked in the nightgown's neckline, the fabric crumbling away at the barest touch, exposing her to his hungry gaze.
