Page 9 of Claimed In Darkness
9
NAIRA
T he moment we step back into his chambers, I collapse.
I don’t hit the floor—his fucking hands are on me before I even register the fall.
I abhor that he’s strong enough to hold me up, that he’s watching me like he already knew this would happen.
The poison.
It seeps into my veins, curling through my body like a creeping fire, scorching slow and deep. My muscles lock, my throat tightens, my skin feels too hot and too cold all at once.
I gasp, trying to rip myself from his grip.
But Zephiran just holds me closer.
He drags me toward the bed, his movements too easy, too controlled, and I know—this was planned.
That bastard.
“You—” I choke, clawing at his chest.
He smirks, completely unbothered by my thrashing.
“Yes?”
I want to rip his fucking throat out.
My body trembles, my pulse pounding too fast, and I know what this is. This isn’t just the poison.
This is him.
This is the way he gets under my skin.
The way he presses too close, speaks too low, touches just enough to drive me fucking insane.
While I despise him with every fiber of my being, he lives this.
He enjoys making my life miserable.
Zephiran lays me down, but he doesn’t pull away. His body hovers over mine, one arm braced beside my head, his other trailing down the length of my trembling thigh.
I try to push him off, but my limbs are weak, useless.
“What’s wrong, little fox?” he murmurs. “You’re shaking.”
I will destroy him.
I will tear him apart limb by fucking limb if I survive this.
I bare my teeth, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Give me the antidote.”
He smiles.
The jerk fucking smiles.
“In a while.”
A fresh wave of heat crashes over me, and I feel it—deep in my bones, in my fucking skin.
The poison is changing.
Twisting into something worse.
My thighs press tightly together, my stomach clenches, and—no.
No, he wouldn’t.
My wild, frantic gaze snaps to his.
“You—” I gasp. “You sick?—”
He presses a single finger against my lips, cutting me off.
“Careful, little fox.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “You wouldn’t want to say something you’ll regret.”
My whole body shudders violently, and he fucking chuckles.
He knew exactly what this poison would do.
I thrash, trying to kick him, but he’s already there, between my legs, pressing me down, keeping me trapped beneath him.
His lips curl in mock sympathy.
“You look uncomfortable,” he murmurs. “Shall I help?”
I swing at him.
He catches my wrist mid-air, slamming it back onto the sheets.
“Try that again,” he purrs, “and I’ll leave you like this for hours.”
Fucking bastard.
I arch against him, but it’s useless.
He’s stronger. He’s always stronger.
And I can’t stand that I feel weak in front of him.
“You did this on purpose,” I hiss.
Zephiran leans in, his breath brushing against my lips.
“Yes.”
His fingers drag slowly down my stomach, stopping just above where the heat coils, unbearable and all-consuming.
I growl.
“I will torture you if I get my hands on you,” I swear, voice hoarse.
His grin deepens.
He enjoys every second of this.
He loves seeing me like this, burning, trembling, completely at his fucking mercy.
I will flay him alive for this.
But my body betrays me.
I gasp, my limbs locking as another wave of fire tears through me, and fuck, fuck, fuck?—
I won’t beg.
I won’t?—
My voice breaks. “Give me the antidote.”
Zephiran tilts his head, watching me with mock curiosity.
“Say please.”
I freeze.
I meet his glowing crimson gaze, my whole body vibrating with rage, hate, humiliation.
I will die before I beg him.
His fingers trail lower.
“Say it.”
I gasp, arching, my body completely out of my control.
Zephiran just waits.
He waits for me to give up the fight in me.
To admit that he owns me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, biting back the fucking shame that threatens to choke me.
“Please.”
It’s barely a whisper.
I hate myself for it.
Zephiran makes a pleased sound, his lips curling in cruel satisfaction.
“Good girl.”
I snarl, but I don’t fight when he tilts my head, forcing the cool glass of the vial against my lips.
I drink.
The relief is instant.
The fire in my veins dims, my muscles loosen, my breath evens.
Zephiran watches me the entire time, his eyes glowing with something dark, something dangerous.
My gaze locks with his, and I know, without a shred of doubt, this will happen again.
That he will wait until I am at my limit, until I am trembling and desperate and willing to say whatever the fuck he wants.
He breaks things. And he derives fun in breaking me.
I sit up, slow, shaking, my hands curling into weak fists.
I don’t thank him.
I don’t say anything.
I just breathe.
Zephiran leans in, brushing a hand through my tangled, sweat-dampened hair.
“You’re learning,” he murmurs.
I turn to him, my voice hoarse, ruined.
“I will never be yours.”
Zephiran smiles wickedly.
“We’ll see.”