Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
The shadows released them into his chambers.
Stone walls, dark wood, the scent of pine and old magic. The darkness here breathed with his fury, pressing against the walls. Frost crept across windows, turning the glass opaque.
His arms remained locked around her from behind, holding her against his chest as shadows still clung to them both.
"You reek of him." His voice came soft against her ear, dangerously controlled. "Of starlight and choices you didn't have the right to make."
She tried to pull away, but his grip turned iron. The mark on her arm pulsed with each thundering heartbeat, spreading its burn past her shoulder. She could feel new thorns breaking through skin, tracing her collarbone with deliberate cruelty.
"Eliam—"
"Shh." One hand came up to her throat, fingers resting against where her pulse hammered. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just there, claiming even her heartbeat. "We're going to have a conversation about boundaries. About ownership. About what happens when pets forget their leash."
The word made her flinch. Pet. He'd called her many things, but this felt different. Smaller. Less than property, property at least had value.
He released her suddenly. She stumbled forward, catching herself on a table that hadn't been there before. When she turned, he was already circling, and the look in his eyes made her stomach drop.
She'd seen him angry, had seen him cold, cruel, calculating. But this? This was something else. His beauty had sharpened into weapon-form, every line of him radiating the kind of control that came just before violence.
The dusk dress felt like an accusation against her skin. Another court's colors. Another man's gift. She watched his gaze drag over it: slow, deliberate, cataloguing every thread that didn't belong to him.
"His colors." The words fell soft as snow, twice as dangerous. "Turn around."
Her body obeyed before her mind could protest. The compulsion in his voice allowed no resistance, though he'd barely raised it above a whisper. She heard him move closer, felt the temperature drop with each step until her breath came out in visible puffs.
His fingers found the laces at her back. For a long moment, he just stood there, letting her feel him. His presence. His control. The weight of what was coming.
"He chose this for you." His fingers worked the laces with deliberate slowness, each pull a small act of violence. "Dressed you in starlight. In hope. In everything I'm not."
The bodice loosened with each tug. His knuckles brushed her spine through the thin chemise, and she shivered. But beneath the fear, that warmth in her chest stirred. The same flutter she'd felt when Arion—
No. She crushed the thought, but too late.
"Your heart's racing." His observation came tinged with dark amusement. "Fear? Or something else?"
"Fear." But the word came out uncertain.
"Liar." The last lace came free. His hands settled on her shoulders, slipped under the fabric with proprietorial ease. "You kissed him wearing this. Let him hold you in his gift. Mark you with his pathetic good intentions."
He pushed the dress down her arms, let it pool at her feet like spilled sunlight. The chemise beneath was part of the ensemble, dawn colors shot through with star-thread. His fingers traced the delicate straps, and everywhere he touched, cold bloomed across her skin.
But that warmth pulsed deeper, responding to his touch in ways that made no sense. The same recognition she'd felt with Arion, but darker. Hungrier.
"Everything," he said quietly, fingers hooking under the straps. "Every thread that carries his touch. His magic. His presumption."
The chemise followed the dress. She stood exposed in more ways than physical, the mark writhing up her arm like a living thing, spreading its claim across her collarbone.
But worse than the exposure was the heat building in her chest, the way her traitorous body leaned ever so slightly back toward him.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Interesting." He circled to face her, movements predatory. His eyes tracked over her with the satisfaction of someone reclaiming stolen goods, but there was something else there now. Curiosity. "Do you know what I find most insulting?"
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe with the weight of his attention.
"That you let him dress you. Touch you. Kiss you." He stepped closer with each word until barely inches separated them. "But your body still knows who it belongs to. Even now, you're responding to me. Aren't you?"
"No—"
His hand shot out, tangled in her hair, yanked her head back to expose her throat. "Don't lie. I can feel it through the mark. That warmth you're trying so hard to ignore."
His mouth found her pulse, and the contact sent lightning through her. Not pain, though his teeth scraped warning against tender skin. Something worse. Recognition. The warmth flared brighter, reaching for him like a flower toward the sun.
"There," he murmured against her throat, satisfaction rich in his voice. "Your mind might play at rebellion, but your body? Your essence? It knows exactly where it belongs."
"Please—"
"Please?" He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Tell me, little thief… when he kissed you, did you feel this?" His free hand pressed against her chest, right over that traitorous warmth. "This heat that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with recognition?"
Her eyes widened. He knew. Somehow, he knew about the warmth.
"You did." His smile was sharp as winter moonlight. "How confusing that must have been. To kiss one male while your very essence reached for another."
"I don't understand—"
"No. You wouldn't." He released her hair only to catch her hand, the one Arion had kissed. Brought her palm to his mouth, maintaining eye contact. "He kissed you here, didn't he? Gentle. Reverent. Like you were something precious instead of something stolen."
Without warning, he bit down where Arion's lips had been. Sharp enough to break skin, to draw blood that he licked away with deliberate slowness. The pain shot through her, but worse was the way that warmth pulsed in response. Pleased at being recognized.
"You let him put his mouth on what's mine." Another kiss to her palm, this one a mockery of tenderness. "Let him think he could claim you with kindness."
His other hand gripped her hip hard enough to bruise as he pulled her against him. Where Arion had been careful, Eliam was deliberate in his possession. But that warmth sang at the contact, and she hated herself for the small sound that escaped her.
"Oh?" His interest sharpened. "Did you make that sound for him too? When he held you so carefully?"
"Stop."
"Did you think of me at all?" He moved back to her throat, teeth scraping where her pulse fluttered.
"When he touched you with all that star-bright gentleness?
When he kissed you like you were free to be kissed?
Or did this heat in your chest confuse you, make you wonder why you were burning for the wrong master? "
Master? But the thought scattered as he bit down at the junction of neck and shoulder—not gentle, not careful.
A mark that would purple and last, that would show above any neckline.
The pain was sharp, immediate, but the warmth in her chest flared and she couldn't stop the way her body arched into him.
"Perfect," he breathed against the wound. "Your mind rebels but your body yearns. Shall we see what else it yearns for?"
He stepped back to survey his handiwork, the bite at her throat, the bruises forming on her wrists, the blood welling from her palm where he'd erased Arion's kiss. His gaze tracked over her with satisfaction until—
He went very still.
His eyes fixed on her ribs where deep scratches ran in parallel lines. His hand moved before she could react, fingers ghosting over marks he hadn't made. The temperature in the room dropped further.
"What did this?" The question came out flat, controlled, but underneath she heard something else.
"The river—"
"Don't lie." His fingers traced the claw marks with unexpected gentleness. "These aren't from water or even rocks."
She shivered at his touch, at the strange carefulness of it after his bruising hold. "There were things in the river. When I fell."
"Things." He moved behind her, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. More marks decorated her back—long scratches from being dragged through water. His fingers found the bruises on her ankles, dark and hand-shaped. "Gryndelok."
The word came out as a hiss. His hands tightened on her shoulders, not painfully, but she felt the tremor of rage run through him.
"They touched you." Not a question. "Tried to take you."
"Sian fought them off."
"They marked you." His finger traced a particularly deep scratch near her spine. "Hurt what's mine."
For a moment, his touch turned almost tender, following each wound with something that might have been concern. The warmth in her chest pulsed in response, reaching toward this unexpected gentleness.
Then he seemed to catch himself. His hands fell away, and when he spoke again, his voice had returned to its earlier coldness.
"Careless of you to nearly die before I could properly punish you." But the words lacked their earlier venom. "Get in the bath. That water will heal what the Gryndelok dared to damage."
He walked to the bathing chamber, and she followed on unsteady legs. Steam rose from the too-aware water, scented with pine and something medicinal now.
"You're going to wash every trace of him away," he said without turning. "Every touch. Every kindness. Every moment you spent pretending you were free."
She stood at the bath's edge, watching the surface ripple with awareness.
"And when you're done, you'll put on what I've left for you." He gestured toward his bed where red silk waited. His color. His claim. "Nothing else. Nothing that carries even a memory of starlight."
"What if I refuse?"