Dante kept a firm hold on Brynn's elbow as they materialized back at his palace. Firm enough that she couldn't just walk away from him again.
He could feel the fury radiating off her. But he wasn't ready to unleash his own. Not yet. Not where his people could witness whatever was about to happen between them.
Their footsteps resonated on the floor. Hers were pointedly loud, a defiant statement echoing through the halls, while his were quiet.
"I suppose dragging me away like property was your idea of diplomacy?" The words dripped with sarcasm. "Very lordly of you. Very controlled."
He said nothing. Couldn't trust himself to speak yet.
Because if he opened his mouth, he'd tell her exactly what it had felt like to watch Caelum's hands on her. To hear that bastard call hermy dearlike he had any right. To watch her smile at every male who'd touched her while she'd barely looked at Dante all evening.
A shadow-servant pressed itself against the wall as they passed, wisely giving them a wide berth. Even his bound servants could sense the storm building between them.
"Oh, wonderful. The silent treatment." Her voice sharpened withfrustration. "Because that's exactly what this situation needs. More of your dramatic silences and brooding."
His jaw clenched. The shadows trailing behind them grew thicker, darker, writhing as they responded to his emotional state.
A pair of his courtiers rounded the corner ahead, their conversation dying mid-sentence as they took in the scene: their lord gripping the tribute's arm, shadows billowing like storm clouds, the air around them crackling with tension.
They immediately found somewhere else to be.
"Every Death Lord in existence just watched you lose control like a jealous—" She cut herself off, but the unfinished word hung between them like a challenge.
Jealous what? He wanted to snarl at her to say it. Call him what he was.
But he kept walking, kept silent.
"Are you planning to speak to me at all," Brynn continued, her voice rising slightly with each word, "or just grunt like a caveman who's claimed his prize and is dragging it back to his cave?"
A decorative vase on a side table developed hairline cracks that spread. The cold flames in the wall sconces flickered and dimmed.
"I can walk by myself, you know." She tried to pull free, but his fingers tightened fractionally, making it clear she wasn't going anywhere until they reached his chambers. "I'm not actually property, despite tonight's performance suggesting otherwise."
Wasn't she? The thought was dark, possessive, and he didn't try to fight it anymore. Wasn't she his? Hadn't she been his since the moment she touched his face and didn't die?
They passed the great hall where court was usually held. The massive oak doors were closed, but he could hear whispered conversations of courtiers within—no doubt discussing tonight's spectacle.
The Reaper's loss of control.
His public claim of the human tribute.
Let them talk. Let them gossip and speculate and draw whatever conclusions they wanted. None of it mattered compared to getting her alone.
"This is ridiculous," Brynn muttered, but her voice had shiftedslightly. Lost some of its sharp edge. "I can't even look at you right now."
Her tone made him glance down at her. Her jaw was set in stubborn lines, her chin lifted in that defiant angle he'd come to know meant she was fighting tears or anger or both.
But there was vulnerability beneath the defiance now. A fragility that hadn't been there before. As if his silence was cutting deeper than his public possession had.
As if being shut out by him hurt worse than being claimed by him.
His hold on her elbow gentled fractionally before he caught himself.No. Don't soften. Not yet.
They turned down the corridor leading to his private wing. Here, the shadows were always thicker, always moving with awareness. They reached for her automatically, curling around her ankles and wrists like they were greeting her. Like they'd missed her.
She shivered at the contact, and he caught the way her breath hitched. Not from fear. Want. The recognition made his blood run hotter.
"You're being childish," she said, but her voice had lost its bite. "Whatever I did, we should discuss it like adults. Like?—"
