“Congratulations, princess. You get the first tattoo of these Bonding Trials.”
With that, his free hand closes around my shoulder and shoves me down into the chair behind me. I sputter in indignation.
But for some reason, when Stark bends over me, suddenly closer than I’ve ever seen him before, I can’t tear my gaze away from his eyelashes.
It stuns me, briefly. Seeing him up close is different. All that menacing fury still hovers above me like an executioner’s ax, but his breath is on my cheek and I can see the precise details of the tattoos on his neck.
Training kills, then, just like mine.
Stark grips my jaw firmly with his calloused fingers, the heat of them sending sparks across my skin. I give him what I hope is a defiant look. I refuse to cower in fear for someone who would so clearly relish it.
He clicks his tongue in irritation and forces my head up at an uncomfortable angle.
The bite of the needle on my neck is sudden and jarring. I refuse to make a sound of pain, clenching my jaw and glaring up at him as the needle tears into me. His hand tightens on my chin like he thinks I’m going to bolt, but I’d rather die than run from him.
My dignity wouldn’t survive it, and I’m not sure I would, either, if I turned my back on him.
Still, my breath puffs from me as the needle sends shivers of pain-induced cold through my neck and shoulder. I try to conceal it, but he clearly notices.
A muscle in his jaw feathers, his dark gaze shifting away from the needle for an instant to bore into me, impossible lashes framing his dark eyes.
As the needle goes on, some part of me yawns wide. Hungry. Full of rage.
If this goes on like this for much longer, I might snap and grab the needle out of his hands and plunge it somewhere vulnerable. It’s taking all my focus not to give in to my fighter’s instincts and do something about the pain I’m in. It’s like he’s digging his teeth into my fucking throat, and I’m just sitting here baring my neck for him.
Finally, it relents. He tucks the device away again, hand still firmly on my jaw. Then, without warning, he forces my head to the side. He leans down, his breath now hot against my neck.
And histonguestreaks over my skin.
I can’t repress the sound this time, small and almost angry, like the very beginnings of a growl at the base of my throat. I think he hears it because his hand tightens on my jaw. It’s even more shocking than the pain was. My vision sinks into the distance as the slick heat of his mouth contacts my overly sensitive skin.
I want to be angry. I want to shove him off of me and beat the shit out of him. But I can’t move.
The wet touch of it soothes the angry stinging in a way that is shockingly intimate even as it’s violating. My hands dig into the armrests.
It feels like it takes forever, but a starving part of me wants it to keep going. I hate it, and still my thighs tingle and my nipples harden beneath my jacket. I squeeze my thighs together as a bloom of heat spreads through my stomach and lower.
For a moment, all my mind can focus on is the warmth of his mouth and breath, the tickle of his hair on my cheek, the musky smell of him, the firmness of his hand on my throat.
And a scar. It’s hidden, slashed right across the very edge of his jaw, up towards the base of his ear. For some reason, that more than anything compresses my lungs and sends my heart thudding against my ribs like a striking fist.
It’s like a secret he didn’t mean to share.
Then it’s over and he shoves my face away roughly, scowling down at me with cold eyes. The anger floods back to me, even louder and more violent for how lost I just was to my body’s whims.
My fingertips bleach against the armrests as he turns without a word and leaves me there.
There are whispers all around me as I stand, refusing to let my legs shake. My face is definitely flushed as I return to my table. Izabel and Venna are staring.
I swallow. “What was that?” I breathe, voice raw.
“A tattoo for your kill,” Izabel replies.
“No, why did helickme?” I demand, hands in fists.
Venna’s lips purse. “Oh, we lick each other’s tattoos when we’re done. It’s an instinct to help heal the surface of the skin.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, ignoring the tingling at my throat. The world of the Bonded is never going to make sense to me.
