32
Amale stormed into the sleeping chamber, tearing me from sleep with a shriek. “Get up, it’s time to go,”
he growled. Horns of wicked ebony curled from his scalp, a mask like a black skull covering the rest of his face. But a set of burgundy eyes burned down at me, visible even in the dim light.
“How about a please, Rokath?”
I hissed, clutching the sheet tighter to my chest. The motion drew his attention there, and a string of curses burst from behind the mask.
“Put some fucking clothes on,”
he snapped, spinning on his heel and leaving me bewildered. The sun wasn’t up yet, what little light the waning moon offered cast blurry shapes around the room.
Fucking Rokath and his brutish attitude.
Striking a match, I lit the lantern on the bedside table, allowing me enough light to find clothes and dress myself. “How about a bag for some clothes? Or is that too much for your pet to ask of you?”
I called out with as much snark as I could muster.
Still can’t believe he threatened to leash me.
Last night was a fucking twister of emotions. From the giddiness that hummed through my veins as I appeared in the ballroom, to the fury that immediately followed Rokath dragging me out of there, and the lust that flooded all my senses as he pinned me beneath him and licked my core until I came, with a final circle back to rage as he instructed me to be a good girl and stay here.
Today wasn’t going to be any better.
Not when all night, I dreamed of him between my thighs again, making my entire body shake with the way his tongue moved against me. So, so expertly, like he knew my body better than any male before him. Better than even me. The orgasms I’d had with Izgath were nothing compared to that moment with Rokath.
And I fucking loathed him for it.
He returned a moment later, strode to a door that I knew functioned as a wardrobe, flung it open, and pointed at the darkness. “In there.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbed the lantern, and made my way into it, rummaging for one large enough to store the clothes Kiira had bought me. By the time I returned, Rokath was leaning against the thick, carved wooden post of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. The sight slammed me to a stop. He looked powerful, dominant, intimidating. It was a posture he had doubtlessly perfected for that very reason.
And it made my core throb.
Just the bond. You hate him. He killed Izgath. He’s the reason why your family is dead.
The reminder of everyone I loved chilled me from deep inside. How could I feel such desire for someone who caused me so much pain?
Steeling my spine, I strode straight past him and toward the pile of clothes discarded in a chair across the room. His eyes burned into me as he watched me scoop and pack the bag, only serving to infuriate me further. When I touched the opaque veils and the circlets Kiira had given me to secure them, a tumbling mix of emotions wound its way through me.
For more than a month, I’d gotten to pretend that I wasn’t forced to submit to the whims of males in this way. Since leaving Stryi, the only time I’d covered my face was when Kiira and I attended the ball. And now, here I was, once again controlled by a male I didn’t trust, didn’t love.
Hated.
I was done giving away my autonomy.
So I left them on that chair and fastened my bag.
Straightening, I flashed him a saccharine smile. “Ready, master.”
Sarcasm dripped from my tone, and Rokath noted it with a flex of his fingers. A wave of lust swept from him to me, and my smile fell, replaced by a forced glare. We were not doing that again.
“Aren’t you missing something?”
he growled, dipping his head to indicate the pile of opaque fabric.
“No,”
I said simply. “I won’t be wearing those any more. And you cannot compel me to either.”
The muscles in his neck bulged. Fury emanated from him in palpable waves. I merely crossed my arms and popped out a hip, glaring at him. Daring him to exert his will over me.
It was risky, grasping for this modicum of control over my life. Yet Rokath shocked me when he groused, “Fine.”
My eyebrows shot up my forehead.
“One more thing before we go.”
He pushed off the pole, crossing his arms and widening his stance as he stared me down.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“You need to use your magic to make your wrists appear with the brand of the fallen females.”
My mouth popped open. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, that predator peeking from within. “The camp believes that your punishment is to be my personal fallen and produce powerful heirs for the Demon cause.”
Heat licked its way up my spine and venomous words crawled up my throat. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before now?”
He knew, he fucking knew, what Vagach had done to me. How could he be so cruel as to decide this was the best way to explain my presence?
He etched yet another reason I couldn’t trust him to protect and care for me into my mind.
He shrugged. Fucking shrugged. “You didn’t want to be a male. This was the only other reasonable story to spin about why you are with the army.”
“The only one?”
I nearly vibrated from the indignation shattering through my veins.
The coldness in his eyes made me want to claw them out. “You can either use your magic to create it, or we can stop at the stables on our way out and I can brand you myself. The choice is yours.”
“That’s not a fucking choice!”
I shouted, tossing my bag to the ground and stomping toward him. One pointed finger stabbed into the shiny black armor over his chest. He didn’t budge. “Did you tell Kiira about this?”
“Kiira does not have a say in the matter,”
he said flatly. “Especially after the stunt you two pulled last night. I should have known better than to leave the two of you alone together.”
Then, glancing over my head, he ordered, “Grab your bags and let’s go.”
He stepped out of my reach and strode toward the door. I whipped around, grabbed the discarded lantern, and flung it at his retreating form. It sailed by him and smashed against the wall, flames doused immediately.
Rokath paused, turned, and leveled his gaze on me.
My chest heaved and I wanted to find something, anything else to throw at him. I reached for my bag, but he was faster, and caught me in his grip before I could fling it at him. “It seems you’ve made your decision.”
Shadows swirled around him, wrapping me in their wicked embrace. My magic flared to life at every point of contact. With a twist of his hands, he directed me to a chair, and I was helpless, bound, unable to move. I thrashed against his shadows anyway, calling on my own to try to break his and failing. He was accustomed to using his magic in this way, and I was not.
I bared my teeth at my mate. “Let me go.”
“No,”
he said simply, as if he were refusing a drink or a plate of food. He yanked the helmet from his head and tossed it onto the bed without breaking eye contact.
From his thigh, he pulled a dagger, and I froze, eyes landing on the flash of silver in the dim light. Silver stopped a Demon’s innate healing magic from kicking in, and it was the only way our bodies could scar. I recalled all the ones that covered Izgath’s arms, and heat pricked my eyes as Rokath knelt at my feet.
But he wasn’t surrendering to the pull between us. Worshiping me like he had the night before.
No, he lifted the dagger with one hand and flipped my wrist over with the other. I struggled against his hold, and a growl rumbled in his throat. “Fine, I will use my magic,”
I snapped, heart thundering as the sharp point drifted closer.
“You had an opportunity, and you threw it, quite literally, away.”
“I am your mate!”
I shrieked, desperate not to have a permanent scar on my wrists. When I managed to escape him, I didn’t want a reminder of our time together.
His eyes snapped to mine. “Which is why I have to have you near me. And yet, you won’t obey, and I can’t guarantee your safety any other way.”
As if to drive home the point, our bond flared to life, almost purring as if it were pleased with our close proximity.
“You are insane,”
I hissed as the knife rested against my skin, cool and menacing, just like Rokath.
“And you’re a brat,”
he shot back, not deigning to look at me as he sliced.
“Fuck!”
I cursed, fingers curling inward. The sharp sting traveled all the way up my arm, and I was overcome with the need to slap my hand over the wound to soothe it. Yet I couldn’t move, and my core tightened from the utter terror shattering through me. My spine arched as I fought against the binds on my torso, trying to suck in air and calm myself.
“Hold still or it will be uneven,”
Rokath growled, pinning my hand with more force.
“I fucking hate you,”
I spat through bared teeth. Tears burned the back of my nose and my eyes, and I resisted the urge to blink, not wanting Rokath to see me cry.
He sliced again, and a scream billowed from my throat. I didn’t hold back as I released it into the universe. The whole world needed to know that my mate was fucking branding me. His face was too close for me to see his work, so when the third stroke of his blade sliced my skin, I was unprepared.
A metallic scent filled the air, and two tears slipped down my cheeks despite my attempt to smother them. Rokath stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. He lifted his gaze, watching the saltiness track down my face. The hardness in his burgundy eyes softened the barest amount before he dropped his head again.
His hot breath fluttered over my wound, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
To my utter shock, Rokath flicked his tongue over the blood coating my wrists. To my utter horror, my center throbbed at the sight and sensation. The bond, though, fucking loved it, and lust overtook all my senses. With a feral groan, Rokath lapped the rest of it too, sending a smattering of goosebumps across my skin.
“Oh,”
I whimpered, shook, shivered, as his tongue continued to work over my wrist and then up my arm to my shoulder. He nipped the bare skin at the crook of my neck, his proximity flooding my senses with his spicy scent. Moving to the other side, he worked his way down to my other hand. I was so far gone into the lust I didn’t even think about the next cut until agony bloomed on my wrist, and I jerked again, a mix of pain and pleasure ricocheting through me.
Rokath worked more quickly on this side, but he wasted no time cleaning the blood with his tongue. “Fuck, I can smell your arousal from here,”
he groaned, and when he lifted his head again, all air fled my lungs. His eyes were severely dilated, and a sliver of moonlight fell across his face, highlighting his tattoos in sharp relief.
I should have been scared. Should have been pissed. Should have been anything other than what I was.
Wanton. Needy. Desperate.
Rokath was death incarnate, his soul so black even the night was terrified of him. Muscles like the craggy Skala Mountains and the height to match. Yet that protective, possessive energy he carried filled me with so much desire I wanted nothing more than to continue what we’d started the previous night.
And if the sensations and images flooding my mind were any indication, Rokath wanted the same. His shadows loosened their grip on me, turning from shackles into light caresses, eliciting a shiver and another wave of pebbles across my skin. Another light kiss, planted against each still smarting wrist, drew my attention to what was carved there.
A flash of anger swept through me, dissipating when I realized the mark wasn’t an F, but an H.
Halálhívó.
A brand, not to mark me as a common fallen female, but his.
More visible than the perfect circle between my shoulder blades, but a claim to me nonetheless. Something primal purred inside me, pleased with his choice.
I hate it. I want him.
“Why?”
I murmured, returning my attention to him.
He looked away and cleared his throat. “You are no ordinary female, and I am no ordinary male. You are mine, Assyria. Only mine.”
The way he said my name in that deep, gravelly voice sent a shiver down my spine.
The struggle with my attraction to him was only heightened by this new brand on my wrists. What were words like hate and love if not opposite sides of the same coin? Not that I could ever love Rokath—it was far too dangerous for both of us for me to feel that way.
But desire? That was an emotion that was safe to act upon.
I rose up and yanked us together. Rokath’s shadows fell away, and then I was in his arms, mouth on his, hissing as my raw wrists rubbed against the back of his neck. Strong, firm hands dug into my ass, lifting and carrying me to the bed. A heavy, metal clad body pressed me into it a moment later.
I slapped him, breaking our kiss. He pulled back, bewilderment crossing his face, but then I jerked him against me again, losing all sense of reason. I wanted him to hurt like I did. Pain with this pleasure.
“That is exactly how I like it, little imposter. I want to hurt you. Break you. Force you to submit to my will. Then make you scream my name as I sink my cock so deep into your cunt you see stars.”
His words sent a flood of heat between my thighs.
I stared into his wicked burgundy eyes. “We should just get this out of the way so the bond calms down.”
“Agreed,”
he growled, and then he shoved off the bed. I wouldn’t admit the movement left me feeling bereft. Metal clattered against the floor as he stripped, and I wasted no time working my fingers over the buttons of my dress and letting it pool around my knees.
I barely had time to shimmy out of it before Rokath was pinning me again, shirtless, erection straining against his pants and digging into my low belly. Heat radiated off of him, nearly burning me at every point of contact. With only the barest bits of fabric covering my breasts and core, I felt him there too.
He kissed me again, stealing my attention from thoughts of how right all of this felt. My hands mapped the ridges of his bare torso, and when his moved to my breasts and cupped, I groaned. The sound was like rumbling thunder, long, low, distant as I was lost to the lust in my veins.
The bind loosened, and then my hard nipples brushed against his chest. He broke the kiss and moved his mouth to one, scraping his teeth over it and eliciting a hiss from me. With a free hand, he tore the lace from my center. Bared me to him. Utterly exposed me.
And yet, I wanted more, despite my better judgment. I wanted him to see all of me.
He worked over the other nipple before mapping my stomach with his mouth and settling between my thighs again.
“So fucking wet,”
he growled, his hot breath brushing against the sensitive parts of me.
“It’s just the bond,”
I managed to pant, hands ghosting off him and fisting into the sheets.
“Mmm,”
he rumbled, and then his mouth was on my pussy. Like the previous night, the moment his tongue pressed against me, pleasure pulsed through my veins, making me lose every scrap of sanity I possessed as I became a glutton for more.
A gasp rippled through me, and I shamelessly rubbed against his face, wanting his tongue to slip inside me again. He obliged my silent request, and I melted into the bed.
Weaver, he was so good with his mouth.
“Rokath,”
I breathed, head tipping back as my walls began to flutter. A release was careening toward me, and it wouldn’t take much to send me over the edge.
“That’s because no one has ever pleasured you like me, little imposter. You didn’t know the meaning until I licked your cunt last night.”
He wasn’t wrong.
His thumb pressed into my clit, and at the same time, he speared his tongue into me, shattering what little remained between me and my orgasm. Another scream tore from my throat, but instead of pain, this one was all pleasure. Stars danced in my vision as he drank from me, growling as I continued to come.
Through our bond, his primal pleasure pressed against me, the rapture that came with his power to make me writhe against him. Nearly weeping from the flood of it in my veins, I returned to the present moment, and he pulled away from me. Standing at the foot of the bed, his hungry eyes raked over my naked body, more visible in the growing light of dawn.
He worked over the buttons of his pants with quick precision. When his cock sprang free, my jaw dropped open. “Is that going to fit?”
A smug, masculine smirk crossed his face—the first time he’d offered me anything close to a smile. “If you want it, I’ll make it.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,”
I replied, tone laced with breathy need and a hint of trepidation.
“It wasn’t supposed to,”
he growled, kicking off his pants and climbing back onto the bed. It dipped beneath his bulk, and as he hovered over me, I drank in the way his abs dipped into a perfect V, pointing directly to the thick, veiny dick nudging at my entrance.
From the shape of his ass and thighs, I knew the orgasm he gave me with his mouth wasn’t going to compare to the one he would give me with his cock. If he could work himself inside.
“Relax,”
he said, though his words sounded less like an order and more like encouragement. The hard lines of his face smoothed as he trailed the pads of his fingers up my body and brushed the hair out of my face.
Nervousness made it extremely difficult. “I’ve only been with Vagach like this before,”
I whispered.
A muscle feathered in his jaw, visible beneath the thick scruff on his face. His ribs expanded as he sucked in a breath. “Probably not the best time to mention that,”
he gritted out. The sheets bunched in his white-knuckled grip like he was fighting with himself for control. “The bond wants me to claim you even more now, erase the memory of him from your mind, body, soul.”
I felt it too, though by the anguished expression he wore, it must have been infinitely worse for him. “Do it. Let’s get it out of the way so we can go back to hating each other,”
I panted, the press of him against me driving me wild.
“Let’s,”
he growled, his dick jumping. Then, he slid into me.
The moment our bodies joined was like a lighting strike, pain and pleasure snapping into one blissful moment where everything else, everyone else was forgotten. An indescribable connection between two individuals, two souls, melted into one by that flash of a moment.
It was evil, it was divine, it was everything.
A cry ripped from me, laced with anguish and ecstasy as the fabric of my being was rearranged.
Rokath swore, his eyes rolling back into his head.
He dragged in a serrated breath, and then his burgundy eyes sprung open, nearly engulfed in black. Rokath didn’t wait for me to adjust to his size. A feral sound tore from him, and his mouth crashed against mine, hips slapping so hard against me that I shot backward on the bed.
“Assyria,”
he rasped. His brows pinched as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”
His hands moved to my lower back, adjusting the angle and holding me in place.
The sensation of him moving inside me, so thick that no nerve was left untouched, so long that every stroke felt like he reached my stomach, was exquisite. His pace was brutal, bruising, and yet my core weeped for him. “More,”
I repeated over and over, all other words lost to me. The pleasure he delivered was unlike anything I could have possibly imagined. I was utterly, hopelessly addicted and I hadn’t even come yet.
A curve of pleasure rose from the tips of my toes all the way to my scalp, tingling so fiercely, I knew once it crested I would never be the same. “Rokath.”
His name slipped out, half-plea, half-prayer, and he ground into me, circling his hips so they brushed over my clit.
That single movement caused the crash.
Wave after wave swept over me, drowning me, breaking me, remaking me.
Rokath throbbed inside me, only heightening the sensations.
“Fuck, keep coming, Assyria. I’m so close,”
he grunted, slapping sounds filling the air as he thrust into me harder and harder. My breath stuttered to a stop as my walls clenched around him again.
With a curse, he yanked back, leaving my core sobbing, and spilled himself onto my stomach. His cock jerked a few more times, and then he rested his forehead against mine. Sweat slicked his skin, and his chest rose and fell faster than a bird’s wings as he sucked down air.
The bond hummed contentedly between us, no longer a frantic beast desperate to take control of the situation. I had no energy to move, to think, as I rested beneath him, limp from the orgasms he pulled from me.
“Wait here,”
he ordered, and I had no intention of fighting that instruction. The muscles in Rokath’s arms and chest flexed when he pushed off the bed, striding to the bathing chamber and returning a moment later with a few wet rags.
With more tenderness than I thought him capable, he cleaned me, then used a fresh one to clean both of my wrists. He planted another kiss over each mark before setting my arms down again. A hint of something that seemed a lot like remorse nudged at my mind, and I studied his backside as he retreated again.
How was it that Rokath could be so cruel and so caring? How was it that I could feel any waver in my hatred of him, after what he’d done? How was it that I wanted him to climb back in this bed with me and wrap me in those strong arms?
With a groan, I pushed myself upright, smoothing my hair and scooting toward the edge of the bed. Searching for my discarded dress, I found it tangled at the foot, a large wet spot gracing the red fabric. “Guess I won’t be wearing this after all,”
I grumbled, tossing it to the side and striding for my bag. Rummaging through it, I found the gray dress I liked with the long sleeves, hoping that it would hide my healing wrists for now.
Before I had a chance to put it on, Rokath cleared his throat. I glanced up to find him already dressed in his underclothes and holding what looked like bandages and some ointment. “If you sit on the bed, I can clean your wrists so they don’t get an infection.”
My eyebrows shot up my forehead. Was he really offering to do something nice for me outside of coupling? Had the moment we joined changed him too?
“Okay,”
I agreed, though my tone held a hint of wariness. Finding new undergarments, I pulled them on, then fastened the bind around my breasts and settled on the edge. Rokath’s eyes lingered on my mussed hair and flushed face for a moment before he sat beside me and turned his attention to my wrists. With the same gentle care he showed me before, he dressed the wounds and covered them, the wrap not too snug and not too loose.
Somehow, perfect. Unlike our relationship—if I could even call it that.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to think.
Once he finished, he set the equipment aside and carefully scrutinized each piece of his armor. He’d discarded it in a rush, and I watched with fascination as he used his shirt sleeve to buff out a few spots before refastening them. With a shake of my head, I managed to tear my attention away and pull on the dress, not even wincing as the sleeves closed over the bandages on my wrists.
“You should put those in your bag,”
Rokath said, indicating the ointment and bandages. No domineering, no barked orders. Merely a suggestion made from a place of good intent.
I didn’t know what to do with my feelings about his current behavior.
I nodded and tucked them away while Rokath secured his helmet in place. Then, he sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Are you ready to go?”
I lifted one brow and returned to a place where I felt more comfortable with him—barely contained animosity. “Are we now asking nicely for things in our relationship?”
“First, this isn’t a relationship in the traditional sense. Second, if you keep up with that smart mouth, I’m going to go back to demands,”
he said with no inflection in his voice to indicate that he was joking.
“Fine, I am ready,”
I said coolly, hefting my bag onto one shoulder. He didn’t offer to take it for me; instead, he strolled out of the sleeping chamber and in the direction of the exterior door.
Guess we’re both more comfortable with hostility than civility.
As I followed like an obedient hound, my entire body protested, soreness blooming from my core and making it throb again. When we mounted his horse, I felt Rokath even more acutely between my thighs. I must have made some sort of pained noise because Rokath’s arm slipped around me, lifting me ever so slightly off the saddle.
We rode like that the entire distance from Gyor Palace, through the streets of Uzhhorod, and back onto the road to the war camp.