“Have I?” His hand cupped her face with mock gentleness. “You still think I care. Still believe there's something soft beneath the monster.”
She couldn't deny it, couldn't lie to him when he could probably feel the truth through the mark. Her silence was admission enough.
“How tragically naive.” After what felt like an eternity his hand fell away from her face. “Next time you're at court, remember tonight. Remember that your failures have consequences, and that my patience is not infinite."
Tears burned her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Not here and definitely not for him.
They reached her door in tense silence. Relief flooded through her as she grasped the handle, ready to escape from his presence and from the weight of his threats.
"One more thing."
His voice stopped her cold. Before she could turn, his hand was in her hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands to angle her head back. The door handle slipped from her grip as he pressed her against the wood.
"You boldly accused me of lying." His breath ghosted across her cheek. "Said I care more than I admit."
"I—"
"Let me be clear about what I care about." His free hand came to rest at her throat, thumb tracing the mark there. "You are mine. Every breath, every heartbeat, every defiant thought that flickers through your pretty head. Mine to dress. Mine to display. Mine to discipline."
Fear and heat warred in her chest. She should have known better than to challenge him. "I know—"
"Do you?" His thumb pressed slightly against her pulse. "Then you should know this is mine too."
His mouth claimed hers before she could respond. Not gentle, nothing about Eliam was gentle. His kiss was possession made physical, a demonstration of ownership that stole her breath and replaced it with his. His hand tightened in her hair, controlling the angle, controlling everything.
Shock held her frozen for a heartbeat. Then heat flooded through her, unexpected and unwanted. Her body betrayed her, responding to his touch despite every rational thought screaming in protest. The mark on her arm pulsed warm, and that strange heat in her chest flared to life.
He must have felt it too because his lips curved against hers, not quite a smile, more like satisfaction. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry, and when she gasped at the sensation, he took the invitation she hadn't meant to give.
The kiss turned deeper, hungrier. He tasted of wine and power and dark promises. His tongue swept against hers with devastating skill, each stroke deliberate and claiming. When he nipped at her lower lip, the sharp edge of pain made heat pool low in her belly.
She made a sound that might have been a protest or a plea. She couldn't tell anymore.
Her hands rose to push him away but ended up clutching his jacket instead, holding on as her knees threatened to buckle. He angled her head back further, taking the kiss deeper still, until she could taste nothing but him, think of nothing but the demanding press of his mouth and the possessive sweep of his tongue.
He kissed her like he owned her. Like he had every right to devour her against her own door. Like her mouth was just another part of her that belonged to him.
And her treacherous body agreed, arching into him despite every rational thought screaming in protest.
When he finally released her, she could barely stand. Her lips felt swollen, her breath coming in short gasps. He looked perfectly composed except for the dark satisfaction in his eyes as he gazed down at her.
"There," he said softly, thumb brushing her lower lip. "Now you understand. Your anger, your pride, even your hate, they exist because I allow them. Just like this."
She knew she should say something, that she should slap him, or curse him, that she should do anything but stand there trembling with her lips still tingling from his kiss. But words had fled along with rational thought.
"Sweet dreams, little thief." He stepped back, and the absence of his warmth left her cold. "Try not to think too hard about why you didn't bite me."
Then he was gone, leaving her slumped against her door with her heart racing and her thoughts spiraling into chaos. She pressed fingers to her lips, feeling the lingering heat of his claim.
He was right about one thing. She hated him. But she feared him as well, and now she belonged to him in ways that law and magic had made absolute.
Once inside her room, she pulled off the formal shoes with shaking hands. Her reflection in the water mirror showed someone already changing—lips red from his kiss, eyes dark with confusion, marks spreading toward her throat with patient inevitability.
Briar touched her mouth again, remembering the possessive heat of his, the way her body had betrayed every instinct for survival by wanting more.
The marks pulsed with each heartbeat, spreading their claim a little further. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window, watching the forest breathe in the darkness beyond.
He'd been right about one thing.
