Briar felt her stomach twist as she she followed him through the connecting door, each step feeling like walking to an execution. His chambers still smelled of autumn, the fire casting shadows that moved wrong.
"Wine?" he offered, gesturing to a decanter.
"No." She wouldn't make this easier for herself. If she was choosing this to protect Eliam, she'd face it clear-headed.
"Proud even now." He moved closer, circling her slowly. "Take off the shift."
Her hands shook as she reached for the hem. The fabric whispered against her skin as she pulled it over her head, each inch of exposure making her stomach clench. The cold air hit her like a slap—her nipples tightening, goosebumps racing across her flesh. She could feel his gaze like touch, cataloguing every mark, every bruise he'd left before.
The warmth in her chest contracted, pulling so deep she could barely sense it, like it was trying to hide from what was coming.
"Lovely," he murmured. "Come here."
Her bare feet were silent on the cold floor. Each step felt like walking through mud, her body fighting the command even as it obeyed. When she reached him, his hands settled on her waist, and revulsion rolled through her so strongly she thought she might vomit. His skin was too cool, too smooth, wrong in every way.
"You're trembling," he observed, his thumbs stroking her hip bones. "Fear? Or anticipation?"
"You know which."
"Do I?" His mouth found her throat, lips resting against her pulse. She could feel him inhale, scenting her. "Your body says you're afraid. But you came willingly. You chose this."
"To protect—"
"Yes, yes, to protect him." His hands moved lower, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "But you still chose. That's what matters."
When he kissed her, she held herself rigid, neither responding nor pulling away. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tasting, claiming. He tasted of spiced wine andsomething metallic. The warmth in her chest recoiled so violently she felt physical pain, like something tearing.
"You're not trying," he said against her lips. "Should I send for Eliam after all? Let him watch what you're willing to do for his life?"
The image of Eliam chained, being forced to watch, broke something in her. She kissed him back, hating herself for the small sound of satisfaction he made. Her hands came up to his chest, feeling the expensive fabric of his shirt, the hard muscle beneath. Nothing like Eliam's body, but she pushed that thought away viciously.
"Better," he murmured. "But not enough."
He walked her backward toward the bed, his mouth moving to her ear. "I need to understand what makes you respond. What makes your blood sing." His teeth caught her earlobe, tugging. "Is it gentle touches?" His hand skimmed up her ribs, barely there. "Or something rougher?"
His other hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. The position made her vulnerable, made her heart race with instinctive panic. He licked a line from her collarbone to her jaw, and she shuddered, not with want but with the effort of not pulling away.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Your pulse speeds but your body fights. Let's try something else."
He pushed her onto the bed, but didn't follow immediately. Instead, he stood over her, slowly removing his shirt. "Watch," he commanded when she tried to look away. "I want you to see who's about to take you."
His chest was pale, unmarked by battle or labor. Beautiful in an ethereal way that felt cold and decorative. She watched his hands move to his belt, the leather sliding through loops with a whisper that made her stomach clench.
"Tell me you want this," he said as he removed his boots, then his trousers, taking his time. Making her watch every movement.
"I—" The lie stuck in her throat.
"Tell me, or Eliam loses a finger. Then another. I'll have them brought to you in a box."
"I want this." The words tasted vile, but she made herself hold his gaze as she said them.
"Again. Make me believe it."
She sat up, forcing herself to reach for him even as every cell in her body screamed in protest. "I want you."
He climbed onto the bed then, prowling over her on hands and knees. "Your body tells a different story. Still so tense. So resistant." He nudged her legs apart with his knee, settling between them but not pressing against her yet. Just hovering, making her aware of his presence, his intent.
His mouth found her breast, tongue circling before teeth bit down—not to feed, just enough to hurt. She gasped, her back arching involuntarily. He did the same to the other side, alternating between gentle and sharp until her body didn't know how to respond, caught between flinching and following.
