Page 7 of Claimed In Darkness

7

NAIRA

F inally, he sent me away after one of his servants called him. I can’t stand another minute with Zephiran. I hope he stays away for hours more, best if its for days.

But the relief is short. Even if he’s not around, his presence is branded in me.

I still feel the floor against my knees.

The cold bite of the marble, his hands, the way his voice curled around me like a rope, tightening, tightening, tightening?—

I loathe him.

I hate that I let him put me there. Hate that I’m still here, in this cursed, gilded prison.

I rip the silk dress from my body, tossing it onto the floor as soon as I’m back in his chambers. The thing is drenched in him, in his scent, in the shame that burns like acid on my skin.

The door creaks open behind me.

I hear the way he moves—the silent arrogance, the way the air shifts around him like he’s something ancient and untouchable.

I grind my teeth, breathing through the rage threatening to suffocate me.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to undress,” Zephiran murmurs.

I turn, slow, deliberate, giving him my best fuck you glare.

“Then add it to my list of crimes, my lord.”

His lips curl in amusement. “Oh, I do enjoy your spirit.”

He moves across the room like he owns it. Fuck, how can I forget he owns this place?

He owns everything in this damn house.

He thinks he owns me.

I clench my hands into fists as he circles me, dragging a finger along the tip of my bare shoulder, down my arm, his touch a slow brand.

“Do you know what’s missing, little fox?”

I bite my lips, almost drawing blood. I’m holding back a snarl.

I know what he means, and I loathe it to my very being.

“Every slave has a mark,” he continues, voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. “And since you’ll be playing the role of mine, I think it’s time you received one.”

My heart stutters.

I lunge.

A stupid, reckless mistake—but I don’t care.

I go for his throat, nails clawing, teeth bared.

He catches me midair.

Fucking asshole.

One sharp twist and I’m pinned against the nearest wall, my breath a sharp gasp as he presses into me. His body is scorching hot, unyielding, a cage of muscle and malice.

I writhe, thrashing, hating that I can feel every inch of him.

He’s hard. Everywhere.

He likes this.

“You’re going to regret that,” he whispers.

I spit in his face.

His eyes flash, that dangerous shade of red burning like embers.

Then he laughs.

Laughs.

Like I’m his favorite game.

I snarl, but he just drags me to the bed, flipping me onto my stomach like I weigh nothing. I thrash, but his grip is unyielding, pinning me there, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades.

“I was going to be gentle,” he muses.

My breath is ragged. “Go to hell.”

“Soon,” he purrs. “But first—you’ll wear my mark.”

A sharp sting slashes across my skin as he presses something cold against the bare space below my collarbone.

My body jerks.

The burn spreads, a slow, creeping agony that sinks beneath my flesh, branding me, claiming me.

I choke back a cry.

I won’t give him the satisfaction.

But—fuck it all—the pain is crawling into my bones, wrapping around my whole being, sinking into my bloodstream like fire.

My fingers dig into the sheets.

“Breathe, little fox,” Zephiran murmurs. “This will only hurt for a moment.”

Liar.

It hurts more than anything.

The magic spreads through me, sinking into my skin, searing something unbreakable into my flesh.

Then—it stops.

The pain leaves me gasping, my limbs trembling with the effort of not collapsing completely.

Zephiran fingers trail the fresh brand, tracing the still-warm edges of it with slow, deliberate strokes.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to.”

I suck in a breath, shaking, seething.

I turn, fast enough that I catch him off guard. I swing, but he’s already expecting it.

He grabs my wrist, yanking me closer until I’m flush against him, skin against silk.

His breath is warm, ghosting over my lips.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “The more you struggle, the more you look like you crave this.”

I snarl, wrenching away from his grip.

“I will gut you,” I say, my voice shaking with certainty.

He smiles, slow and satisfied.

“Maybe,” he purrs. “But not today.”

Perhaps never in forever.