Page 27

27

SERA

A fter escaping House Velkiron, Veylan brings me back to his chambers, but the space between us is charged, electric, like the calm before a storm. The rage that fueled his attack still lingers in the way he moves, in the way his eyes burn into mine, but it’s no longer directed at his enemies.

It’s entirely on me.

I expect punishment. Brutality.

Some cruel reminder that I am his possession, his to command and control. Instead, I find something far worse—hunger. A raw, primal need that radiates from him like heat from a forge, and it terrifies me because I feel it too.

There’s something feral in the way he gazes at me, his silver eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dim light. His hands are rough, calloused from years of wielding weapons, and they grip my wrist with a force that borders on painful as he pulls me closer.

His gaze burns into mine, daring me to defy him, to give him a reason to shatter whatever fragile restraint remains.

I fight to keep my breathing steady, to remind myself that I cannot afford to fall into whatever twisted game this is. But my body betrays me.

The memory of his touch, of the way his lips had crushed against mine before, lingers like a ghost beneath my skin, igniting a fire I desperately try to suppress.

“You disappeared,” Veylan murmurs, his voice low, dangerous, like the growl of a wolf circling its prey.

His fingers brush along the side of my throat, a silent reminder of what could have happened if he had been a second too late. “You think I wouldn’t take back what’s mine?”

I should be afraid.

I am. But not in the way I should be.

He is fire and steel, carved from war and cruelty, and yet when he touches me, I feel something else entirely—something that terrifies me more than his wrath. His grip tightens, and the air between us becomes a battlefield of wills, unspoken and electric.

I lift my chin, defiance flashing in my eyes. “I am not yours.”

A flicker of something unreadable flashes through his gaze—something dark, possessive, and hungry.

Then his lips are on mine, claiming, devouring. There is nothing soft about it. It is not gentle. It is not kind. It is a war, a desperate struggle for control that neither of us fully possesses.

His hands are rough, possessive, sliding down my body with a hunger that makes my breath hitch.

One hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat, while the other grips my hip hard enough to leave bruises. His cock presses against me, hard and insistent, a blatant reminder of his dominance, his need.

But there is a moment—just a breath—where the fire shifts, where his grip falters, where something dangerously close to tenderness leaks through. It’s there in the way his thumb brushes my jaw, in the way his lips linger for a heartbeat too long against mine.

It vanishes almost instantly, replaced by something fiercer, something that makes my pussy clench with a mix of fear and desire. His hand slips between my legs, fingers teasing the sensitive flesh through the fabric of my clothes, and I gasp, my body betraying me once again.

“You are mine,” he growls against my lips, his voice thick with need. “Every inch of you. Your defiance only makes me want to claim you harder.”

My mind screams at me to fight, to push him away, but my body arches into his touch, craving more. His fingers slip beneath my clothes, finding me wet and ready, and I hate myself for how easily he unravels me.

But I’ve seen it—that fleeting moment of something deeper, something neither of us dares to name. And I know, no matter how much Veylan denies it, this was never just about possession.

It was about something far more dangerous.

His fingers work me with a precision that makes my knees weak, teasing and stroking until I’m trembling in his arms. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway, a soft, broken sound that only seems to fuel his hunger.

His lips trail down my throat, teeth grazing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

“You can lie to yourself,” he murmurs against my collarbone, his breath hot and uneven. “But your body doesn’t lie. You want this as much as I do.”

I want to deny it, to scream at him that he’s wrong, but the words die in my throat as his fingers curl inside me, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur. My hips buck against his hand, and I hate how good it feels, how much I crave more.

“Veylan—” His name slips out before I can stop it, a plea and a protest all at once.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his silver eyes blazing with a mix of triumph and desire. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough. “Say my name like you mean it.”

I shake my head, defiance flaring even as my body betrays me. But he doesn’t give me a choice. His fingers withdraw, leaving me aching and empty, and before I can protest, he’s lifting me off the ground.

My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he carries me to the bed, dropping me onto the mattress with a force that knocks the air from my lungs.

He’s on me in an instant, his body pressing mine into the sheets, his weight both suffocating and exhilarating. His hands are everywhere, tearing at my clothes with a desperation that mirrors my own. Fabric rips, and cool air hits my skin, but it’s quickly replaced by the heat of his body as he strips away the last barriers between us.

His cock presses against my thigh, hard and unyielding, and I can’t help but gasp at the size of him. He notices, of course, and a smirk curls his lips as he leans down to capture my mouth in another searing kiss.

“You’re mine,” he growls against my lips, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

I want to argue, to fight, but all coherent thought vanishes as he positions himself between my legs. The head of his cock brushes against my entrance, and I tense, my body torn between fear and anticipation.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

I meet his gaze, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. His silver eyes are dark with need, but there’s something else there too—something that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.

Then he pushes inside me, and I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. He’s big, so big, and the stretch burns in the most delicious way.

He pauses, giving me a moment to adjust, but the restraint is clearly costing him. His jaw is clenched, his muscles taut with the effort of holding back.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Tight and wet and perfect.”

I want to hate him for the way he makes me feel, for the way my body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. But all I can do is arch into him, my hips lifting to meet his as he begins to move.

His thrusts are slow at first, deliberate, each one dragging a moan from my lips. But it’s not enough—not for him, and not for me. I can feel the tension building inside me, a coil tightening with every stroke, and I need more.

“Faster,” I gasp, the word slipping out before I can stop it.

He lets out a low, dark laugh, but he obliges, his hips snapping forward with a force that makes me cry out. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider as he drives into me with a rhythm that’s both punishing and perfect.

The bed creaks beneath us, the sound mingling with the slap of skin against skin and the ragged sounds of our breathing. His name spills from my lips over and over, a litany of pleasure and desperation, and he answers with growls and curses, his control slipping with every thrust.

“Veylan!” I scream over and over again.

“Damn it, Sera! You make me crazy,” he growls, his hold over me tightening. “Fuck it! Yes!”

I can feel the pressure building inside me, a wave threatening to crash, and I cling to him as it crests, my body shattering around him.

“I’m coming!” I croak, my voice breaking.

“Come with me,” he lets out an almost animal like roar as he follows me over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spills himself inside me, his forehead pressed against mine as he lets out a low, guttural groan.

For a moment, we stay like that, our bodies tangled together, our breaths mingling in the space between us. Then he pulls back, his expression unreadable as he looks down at me.

“Remember who you belong to,” he says again, his voice softer now but no less possessive.

I want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but the words won’t come. Instead, I turn my face away, unable to meet his gaze. Deep down, I know he’s right.

It makes me tremble deep down in its intensity.