"Then tell me to stop," he challenges softly. "Tell me you don't want my knot. Tell me you'll face your heat alone, with nothing but your nest and your pride to keep you company while the fever burns through you. Tell me you don't need me, and I'll let you go right now."
I open my mouth to say exactly that—but the words won't come. Because he's right. My body knows what it needs, and it needs him.
The silence stretches between us, my inability to refuse him speaking louder than any words.
"That's what I thought," he says quietly, something almost gentle in his tone beneath the possession. Then his shadows drag me toward the center of the room, where they shift to hold me upright against a support beam. My arms are still bound above my head, but my feet touch the ground. More tendrils slide across my skin, finding the closures of my gown and undoing them one by one.
"What are you doing?" I gasp as cool air hits my skin. Heat rushes through my core as his pupils dilate, his fangs descend.
"Testing a theory," he replies, circling me as his shadows continue their work. My outer gown falls away, leaving me in just my thin silk shift. Malakai smiles as if he just read my mind. "I believe that, given the right circumstances, you'll beg for my touch. Beg for my knot. Beg for my bite."
The last word makes my scent gland pulse with need.
"I would rather die," I respond, but the conviction in my voice wavers as a shadow tendril brushes across my nipple, drawing it to a tight peak through the silk.
"So dramatic," he chuckles, his fangs fully visible now. "Death is so permanent. Pleasure, on the other hand..." His eyes darken as he watches my body respond. "Pleasure can be infinite when properly administered."
From a nearby table, he retrieves a strip of black silk. "Do you know what this is for, Seraphina ?"
I swallow hard, my heart racing. "You're going to blindfold me."
"I am, indeed." He moves behind me, draping the silk across my eyes. "Without sight, your other senses will heighten. Every touch, every sound, every sensation magnified beyond measure."
The loss of vision is disorienting. I can sense his movement around me, can track him by scent alone now—cedar and dark magic and pure musk—but can no longer anticipate his actions. It makes me vulnerable in a way that both terrifies and thrills me.
"I don't…" I begin, but the words die in my throat as I feel his breath on my neck, followed by the lightest brush of his lips—and his fangs—on the thin fabric that covers my right nipple.
"Don't what?" he prompts, his voice a dark whisper. "Don't want this? Don't need this? We both know that's a lie. I can smell how wet you are for me, Omega."
His hand slides into my hair, then he fists it and pulls painfully hard. The sharp sting sends a jolt straight to my core. "I can feel your desire through our mating bond. It burns as brightly as mine."
I try to deny it, but the only sound that escapes is a soft moan as his fangs—graze my pulse point, so close to my scent gland that I gasp. The shadows around my wrists loosen slightly, testing, but I no longer fight against them.
"That's it," he murmurs against my skin. "Surrender to what we both know you crave."
His shadows tear the silk shift down the middle, leaving me completely exposed to the cool air and his hungry gaze. I should feel shame, should struggle against this invasion, but instead, I arch toward the sensation—heat pools between my thighs, slick coating them in excess.
"Look at you," he breathes. "So beautiful in your surrender. Such a perfect Omega."
The praise sends an unexpected jolt of heat through me, making me gasp. He notices immediately, a soft growl of satisfaction escaping him.
"Interesting," he says, his hand cupping my breast, thumb brushing across the sensitive nipple. "You like being told how perfect you are, don't you? How exquisite? How utterly magnificent?"
Each word of praise sends fresh heat pooling between my thighs—a reaction I've never experienced before. Something about the combination of physical restraint and verbal adoration breaks through my defenses in a way I couldn't have anticipated.
"No," I lie, my voice barely audible.
"No?" His hand slides lower, across my ribs, my stomach, until his fingers brush the junction of my thighs. He dips his fingers into my entrance, and I moan. "Your body disagrees, Omega. You're dripping for me."
I bite my lip to keep from moaning as his fingers find my clit, as if he knows my body better than I do.
"I could keep you like this for hours," he continues, his voice a seductive rumble. "Suspended in my shadows, blindfolded, completely at my mercy. Would you like that, my perfect little assassin? My exquisite, dangerous bride?"
The praise, combined with his touch and scent, draws a broken sound from my throat.
"Please," I whisper, not sure if I'm begging him to stop or continue.
"Please what?" he presses, his fingers circling my clit without providing the pressure I desperately need. "Use your words, beautiful one. Tell me exactly what you want."
