Page 8 of Claimed In Darkness

8

ZEPHIRAN

S he’s burning with my mark.

Mine. My slave. I like the sound of that.

The mark I branded onto her skin pulses, glowing faintly in the dim candlelight of my chambers. A reminder. A warning. A leash she cannot break.

She hates me for it.

I love watching her struggle.

She’s wrapped in the red silk again, the very one she tore off her body the night before. I made her wear it again. Forced her into it with nothing but a look, and the knowledge that disobedience would be met with punishment.

Tonight, she will fulfill her role.

Tonight, she will pretend to be mine so that my goals can be met--all of them.

I stand behind her, my hands gripping the edges of her shoulders, staring at our reflection in the gilded mirror before us. She’s tense beneath my touch, her body coiled tight, ready to strike.

“Loosen your stance,” I murmur against the curve of her ear.

She flinches at my breath on her skin.

Good.

“Damn you,” she mutters.

I drag a hand down her bare arm, the silk slipping against my fingers like water over stone.

I hum, unbothered by her defiance. “You’ll have to do better than that when we arrive.”

She glares at my reflection, her dark eyes smoldering with rage.

I slide my fingers lower, brushing the bare skin of her thigh, lingering just to watch her body betray her.

She dislikes this.

She abhors how easy it is for me to control her.

But she loathes herself more for the way she reacts.

I lean in, pressing my lips just beside her ear. “They will touch you, little fox,” I whisper. “They will want to know if I share.”

Her breath shudders.

I grin.

“They will want to see if you’re obedient,” I continue, my fingers trailing back up, tracing the thin strap of her dress. Threatening. Teasing.

She jerks away, whirling to face me, fury spilling from her in waves.

“If anyone lays a hand on me, I’ll slit their fucking throat,” she snarls.

I smile. Slow. Cruel.

“You won’t.”

Her fingers twitch. She’s going to strike me, fight me, hurt me.

But she won’t.

She knows the consequences.

I own her.

She breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling, her hands clenched into tight, furious fists.

I trail a single finger over the mark still searing against her skin.

She gasps, her body jerking in response.

I chuckle. “Still sensitive?”

She tries to slap me.

I catch her wrist midair, twisting it behind her back, forcing her body against mine.

She shoves against me, but I tighten my grip, my mouth hovering over her throat.

“You forget yourself, little fox,” I murmur, my voice like velvet-wrapped steel.

She snarls. “You’re a fucking monster.”

I grin, dragging my teeth lightly over the pulse jumping in her neck.

“And you,” I whisper, “are mine to command.”

Her shudder is involuntary.

I love it.

The moment we enter the pleasure hall, all eyes are on us.

The chamber is lavish and obscene, filled with silken drapes, dark music, and the aroma of wine and sin. Bodies press together in the shadows, some writhing, some whispering, some simply watching.

Staring at her.

Watching me.

I feel the way Naira stiffens, the way her breath quickens ever so slightly. She’s not afraid.

No, fear isn’t in her nature. But she’s aware.

Aware of the hungry gazes drinking her in. The way the Dark Elf lords and their courtiers watch her with undisguised interest.

They know what she is supposed to be. What I want them to believe.

I keep my hand firmly on her waist, my grip possessive, territorial.

She doesn’t fight it as this is the game we must play.

I lead her through the crowd, past velvet cushions where slaves lounge like decorations, past dark corners where whispered deals and cruel indulgences unfold.

A noble approaches, his eyes sweeping over Naira with a gaze that lingers too long.

“Zephiran,” he drawls, sipping from a goblet of deep red wine. “It’s been too long.”

I smirk. “Has it?”

His gaze drags over Naira, slow and indulgent.

Displeasure spreads in my heart.

“She’s exquisite,” he muses. “May I?”

Naira goes rigid.

I keep my expression neutral, unreadable.

The noble reaches for her—too bold, too confident.

I move without thinking.

My hand snaps out, catching his wrist in a vice grip.

The room stills.

Naira sucks in a breath.

I don’t speak for a moment—just let the tension stretch, let him feel the seriousness of his mistake.

I lean in, my voice a low, lethal whisper.

“Touch what is mine again,” I murmur, “and I will break every bone in your little hand.”

The noble laughs, uneasy.

But I see the flash of fear in his eyes.

Good.

He steps back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I meant no offense.”

I smile, slow and vicious. “Then none is taken.”

He disappears into the crowd.

I turn to Naira, her eyes scorching with something unreadable.

“That was unnecessary,” she hisses under her breath.

I smirk, running my thumb over the mark seared into her skin.

“No,” I murmur. “It was necessary.”

She shudders, her breath hitching. She hates how easily I affect her.

She hates herself more for not pulling away.

I lean down, letting my lips brush just over the shell of her ear.

“You play the role well,” I whisper. “But I wonder?—”

I slide my fingers along her spine, just lightly enough to make her breath catch.

“—are you pretending at all?”

Her fingers tremble, just for a second.

I feel it.

The war inside her.

The hate. The fury.

The hunger.

Perhaps she aims to kill me.

I want her to try.

She turns to me, eyes filled with murder and something worse.

“I will gut you the second I get the chance,” she breathes.

I grin.

“I’m counting on it. It’s what makes life worth living, sweetness.”