Page 51 of Claimed In Darkness

51

ZEPHIRAN

S he still thinks she can fight me.

That’s a mistake.

Her wrists are in my grip, her body pinned between me and the crumbling stone wall behind her. Her breath is sharp, shallow, uneven—but she still hasn’t stopped struggling.

Even when she knows she’s already lost.

I feel her muscles coil beneath my fingers, the way she still dares to resist, as if she doesn’t remember exactly how this ends every time.

With her beneath me.

With her surrendering.

And I am so fucking tired of pretending otherwise.

Her lips are parted, not in fear.

Not in anger.

In anticipation.

She wants to fight. She’s pushing me away, to force me back, to make me let her go.

But she also wants me to win.

I see it in her eyes. I can read her soul.

Even now, after all the blood between us. Even after she left me to die.

Even now, after she tried to convince herself that she was better off without me.

She still wants me.

And I am done pretending that I can resist.

She swallows hard, her pulse fluttering beneath my palm.

"Zephiran—"

I don’t let her finish.

I press closer, forcing her to feel all of me.

"You ran from me," I murmur, my voice dark, low, edged with something dangerous.

Her breathing falters.

"I had to."

I laugh. It’s a rough, broken sound.

"No, you fucking didn’t."

She inhales sharply, fingers twitching in my hold, body still straining against me.

Still resisting.

But her fight is almost over.

I feel it.

Her thighs shift, pressing together. Her lips part just a little more, waiting for my kiss.

She is losing, and she sure as hell is falling with me.

I don’t give her a choice.

I never have.

I take her mouth like I take everything else—brutal, unapologetic, unrelenting.

She gasps against my lips, the sound fucking intoxicating.

She surrenders.

She kisses me back.

Not soft. Not hesitant. Like a raging wildfire.

It’s as if she’s going to tear me apart with her teeth.

She consumes me. I let her take all of me.

This is what we are. What we have always been.

She belongs to me, and I am never letting her go again.

My hands slip lower, fingers digging into her waist, pressing her harder against me.

She doesn’t stop me.

She doesn’t fight it.

Her nails drag up my arms, curl around my nape, pull me closer.

She moans, and it is the most devastating sound I have ever heard.

A sound of surrender.

A sound of desperation.

The sound of a woman who has finally, stopped lying to herself.

She trembles against me, her breath ragged, her lips swollen, her body melting in my hands.

She’s mine again.

She always was.

But I need her to say it.

I need her to admit it.

I brush my lips against hers, dragging my thumb across her bottom lip, tilting her chin up until she has no choice but to look at me.

"Say it," I growl.

Her chest rises and falls, eyes flickering with something wild, something unraveled.

"Say you still belong to me."

She doesn’t answer.

But she doesn’t look away either.

There’s still a fight in her. Probably the relic’s hold on her is taking over.

But I am done waiting for her to admit it.

I will drag the truth out of her, one way or another.