Page 4 of Claimed In Darkness

4

ZEPHIRAN

S he doesn’t trust me.

Good.

She shouldn’t.

Naira watches me with the wariness of a wild thing, her body still thrumming from the battle of wills we just fought. She thinks she has the upper hand—thinks she can walk away from me when this is over.

She can’t.

I won’t let her.

I pour the wine slowly, letting the dark liquid swirl in the goblet, watching the way her sharp eyes track every movement. She hasn’t moved from where she stands, arms crossed, defiant and fucking furious.

She knows I’m dangerous.

But she doesn’t yet understand that I am cruel.

I glance up, meeting her glare with a lazy smirk. “You look like you’re contemplating murder, little fox.”

Her lip curls. “I am.”

I chuckle, lifting the goblet. “Drink.”

She doesn’t move.

A muscle twitches in her jaw. “No.”

I exhale, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

She scoffs. “Oh, I’m so sorry if my lack of enthusiasm is ruining the moment, my lord.”

That sharp, bitter tongue of hers—I should punish her for it.

Instead, I let my gaze drag over her body, lingering a bit longer to make her uncomfortable. The rise and fall of her chest, the way the flickering torchlight catches on the sweat at her collarbone.

She’s still running hot from our earlier fight.

“Drink,” I murmur again, softer this time.

She narrows her eyes. “You first.”

I chuckle. “Oh, little fox. I don’t need insurance.”

She still doesn’t move. Still defies me.

I love that about her.

But I’m done playing.

I move faster than she expects, closing the distance before she can react. My hand fists in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose the vulnerable stretch of her throat.

She snarls. Thrashes. Fights.

But I have her now.

She can’t escape me.

I press the goblet to her lips, tilting it just enough for the wine to lap against her mouth. She clenches her jaw shut, stubborn little beast that she is, her breath hot against my wrist.

“I can do this the easy way, or I can do it the hard way,” I murmur against her ear.

She growls, but she’s pinned. My grip in her hair keeps her still, my other hand firm against the curve of her hip.

She hates this.

And gods, I’m so into it.

She tries to wrench free, but I push harder, pressing the goblet more insistently against her lips. “Drink,” I command.

“No,” she spits.

Fine.

I tip the cup.

The wine spills over her mouth, over her lips, down the column of her throat.

She chokes, gasping as it pours past her teeth, forcing its way into her mouth. Her fingers dig into my chest, nails scraping.

Her body thrashes against mine, but I hold her still.

She swallows.

I know the moment the poison takes hold.

Her breath shudders out of her, something raw, something wild. She stares up at me, hatred and fury twisting across her face. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing wine and spit across her skin.

Then she lunges.

Her fist cracks across my jaw, hard.

Pain splinters through me, sharp and fucking beautiful.

I stagger back a step, laughing even as I taste blood.

She doesn’t stop.

She grabs a dagger from the table—not hers, but she doesn’t give a fuck. She moves like a woman possessed, fury pouring off her in waves as she lunges for my throat.

I catch her wrist before she buries the blade in my skin.

I twist. She cries out. The dagger clatters to the ground.

She spits at my feet.

“You poisoned me,” she snarls, her voice ragged with fury.

I grin, teeth red from the blood she drew. “Yes.”

Her chest heaves. “What did you do?”

I lean in, savoring the way she shakes with rage, with the aftermath of what I just did to her.

“You will take an antidote from me once a month,” I say, voice slow, purposeful. “Or you will die in agony.”

Her fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the urge to claw my fucking eyes out.

“I’m going to kill you,” she breathes.

I hum, dragging a finger down the bare skin of her throat, tracing the path the wine had taken just moments before.

“You can try,” I murmur.

Her breath catches.

She hates me.

Hates that I have taken her choice. Hates that I have caged her.

But her body doesn’t know how to tell the difference between rage and desire.

Neither does mine.

It’s in the way her pupils are blown wide, in the way her fingers tremble where she still clenches her fist.

I want her furious. I want her unhinged.

I want to watch her break.

She exhales sharply, wrenching herself free from my grip. She doesn’t flee—not yet. She just stands there, shaking, burning, seething.

“You think this will make me obedient?” she grits out.

“No, little fox. I just think it will make things... interesting,” I say playfully.

She steps closer—too close. I feel the heat of her body, the tension thrumming between us like a live fucking wire.

Her lips curl in something vicious.

“Sleep with one eye open, my lord,” she whispers.

I chuckle, reaching out to trace a single finger along the line of her jaw, just to watch her tense.

“Oh, Naira.” I purr her name.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”