Page 6 of Claimed In Darkness

6

ZEPHIRAN

S he’s still seething.

I feel it radiating from her, an untamed heat curling around her body like an aura of defiance. It drapes over her like a second skin, her anger, her loathing—a tangible thing that she wears like armor.

She looks ravishing in red.

The silk barely clings to her frame, sliding against her skin in ways that should be illegal. The deep cut of the dress exposes the delicate slope of her collarbone, the flush creeping up her neck as she clenches her fists.

Her rage is delicious.

But rage alone won’t save her.

“Come. We must continue to our second lesson.” I command.

She doesn’t move.

I arch a brow, stepping forward, watching the flicker of hesitation in her sharp, dark eyes. She’s thinking about disobeying.

It’s cute, really.

I close the distance between us in one fluid motion, gripping her by the wrist. She jerks, but I hold firm, dragging her toward the training hall—the place where she’ll learn obedience, submission, and deception.

She digs her heels in, twisting against my grip. “I can walk, you bastard.”

“Then do it.” I yank her harder, smirking at the way she stumbles.

Her breath hitches, and it isn’t fear.

It never is.

The chamber is dimly lit, the walls lined with mirrors, the surroundings overflowing with the smell of heated bodies, old battles, and something deeper—something raw.

I let go of her wrist and turn to face her, letting her see what she’s stepped into.

There is no escape.

She straightens, the tension in her shoulders a clear sign that she’s bracing for a fight.

Good.

“Strip,” I say.

She stiffens.

Her breath hitches.

She blinks, real hesitation flashing in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” she says, voice laced with venom.

I cross my arms over my chest. “You heard me.”

Her fingers twitch—itching to grab a weapon she doesn’t have. “If you think I’m about to stand here naked for your amusement, you’re dumber than I thought.”

I chuckle, stepping closer. Too close.

Her pulse jumps.

My hand snakes out, gripping the delicate strap of her dress, sliding it down her shoulder. She sucks in a sharp breath, but she doesn’t stop me.

Not yet.

“It isn’t for my amusement,” I murmur. “It’s for the role you’ll play.”

She shoves me away.

Or tries to.

I catch her wrist midair, twisting it behind her back, yanking her flush against me.

Her back arches against my chest, her breath ragged. She’s furious. She’s shaking with something she won’t name.

I drag my lips near her ear, letting my voice drop into something lower, darker. “You are going to learn how to pretend to be mine, little fox. And one of the lessons? Your body is a weapon.”

She tries to wrench free, but I press my palm flat against her stomach, holding her in place.

“You will learn how to seduce, manipulate, and deceive.”

I trail a single finger up the line of her throat, feeling the rage shudder through her.

“You will learn how to make men weak with just a look.”

She jerks her head to the side, teeth bared. “I will kill you in your sleep.”

I laugh, letting her go. The absence of my touch is almost as sharp as the presence of it.

“Try,” I say. “But for now—kneel.”

She doesn’t move.

A long, tense silence.

Her jaw tightens. Her breath comes out too fast.

I lift a brow. “Did you not hear me?”

Her hands curl into fists. “Go fuck yourself.”

Defiant. Stubborn. Exactly what I expected.

I reach for her again, gripping the back of her neck, pressing just hard enough to make her gasp.

She is so small under my hands.

So fragile.

And yet, she bites like a wolf with nothing to lose.

I drag her down, forcing her onto her knees. “Try again.”

She trembles—not in fear.

In fury.

“I hope you choke on your own arrogance,” she spits.

I grin.

“I won’t. But you might.”

I step back, giving her space. Letting her sit there, on the ground, wearing nothing but her hate.

And gods, she looks beautiful like this.

Her body is coiled tight, her face burning with humiliation and fury. Her knees press against the cold marble floor, her chin high despite the position.

She refuses to look weak.

I love that.

She is not broken yet.

But she will be.

She will be something new. Something sharp. Something of mine.

“Good,” I say, my voice smooth. “Let’s begin.”