Chapter 8
The second I stepped out of the dining room, the rage nearly ripped me in half.
My fists clenched, my teeth grinding hard enough to crack.
I didn’t see the hallway, didn’t register the marble or the gilded frames on the walls.
All I saw were faceless men with their filthy hands on Layla, on my mate.
Mine!
The word repeated, echoed, drummed in my skull. She’d said it so casually, so innocently. Like it hadn’t carved a hole straight through my chest. Hands. On. Her .
I tore down the hallway toward the back terrace, my breath coming out like steam. Viking appeared behind me just as I slammed a palm into the iron railing hard enough to dent it. "Fuck, Roman," he muttered. "I thought you were going to flip the table."
I didn’t answer, I couldn’t as I was still trying to shove the monster back inside its cage.
"She didn’t mean anything by it," Viking added, keeping his voice calm. "You know that, right?"
"They touched her," I hissed. "Drunken, low-life pricks thinking they had the right to even look at her, let alone lay hands on her."
He stepped closer, cautious. "She survived it, Roman, but you scaring the hell out of her tonight won’t erase it."
I breathed hard through my nose; I could feel her worry. A twinge in my chest, sharp and anxious. She thinks I’m angry at her.
That thought hit harder than any blow I’d taken in centuries.
I closed my eyes and forced the beast back with everything I had, she didn’t deserve that. She was just answering a question, just talking to my brothers like a normal person. Even though I had told her she’s mine, she hadn’t realized how her saying that would affect me.
"I want the place gone," I order, voice low and dangerous. "That bar…The Rusty Tap, burn it, buy it, shut it down. I don’t give a fuck how you do it, Vik. I want it erased."
He nodded slowly. "Consider it done."
I took another breath, then another. Her heartbeat fluttered at the edge of my senses, a fragile thing, still scared, still worried.
"I need her," I said simply.
"Then go to her, but go as her man, not the monster."
I didn’t reply as I turned and walked back toward the dining room, slower this time, quieter.
When I stepped inside, the others were still at the table keeping Layla company. Her shoulders were tense, eyes fixed on her plate like it might open up and swallow her. My fury spiked again, but I kept it buried.
I walked straight to her, ignoring the quiet looks exchanged around the room. I didn’t say a word as I lifted her gently from her chair, one arm under her legs, the other at her back.
She gasped, eyes wide. "Roman?"
"I need you," I said. "Now."
Her hands clutched my shirt, but she didn’t fight me as I carried her through the halls, past the rooms and servants, until we reached our wing. The door slammed behind us, and the only thing that mattered was her.
I placed her down on the bed, standing over her like a shadow made flesh.
"You don’t ever talk about those men again," I said, my voice raw with possession. "Because from this moment on, the only hands you remember are mine."
She looked up at me, her lips parted, her eyes wide with something between fear and hunger. I leaned in taking her mouth with mine, erasing every fucking memory that wasn’t me.
“You belong to me, Layla,” I murmured against her skin. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
My mouth left the hollow of her throat and travelled lower, each breath a promise, each whisper a claim.
Her pulse thudded under my lips, quick and fragile; I felt it through the thin shirt she still wore and wanted it bare against me.
I hooked my fingers into the hem and tugged, slow and deliberate, because nothing about this was an accident.
The fabric slipped up over her ribs and over her breasts.
When I pushed it free, the sight of her…
soft, trembling, utterly exposed to me tore something open inside me.
I let my thumbs brush the taut peak of her chest, felt the small hitch that made her inhale.
She was warm, bleeding the honeyed scent of her skin and something more intimate that belonged only to her.
I sank my teeth into that space behind her ear and tasted her breath.
“God,” I breathed, half-wild with the want that had been coiled in me since the first time I’d seen her. “You are so beautiful.”
Her bra was next. My hands were efficient, trained in the kind of gentle theft that had nothing to do with tenderness and everything to do with possession.
I unhooked the clasp and let it fall away, revealing the soft curve of her breasts.
I didn’t waste time with hesitation; I cupped, I lifted, I let the flat of my palm press and memorize the shape of her.
Layla’s fingers threaded in my hair, pulling me closer, encouraging me, and the sound she made, half-whisper, half-claim was a rough sort of music.
I slid my hand down the line of her hips, finding the waistband of her jeans.
Her breath hitched; I could hear it in her throat like a warning and an invitation at once.
My fingers traced the belt, the button, and I undid them.
The denim resisted just long enough to rile me; then it gave, and I fed that small victory into the heat building between my legs.
I rolled the fabric down, slow so she could watch, until she was in nothing but skin and the glow of the candlelight.
Every inch of her I revealed, I marked with a kiss, collarbone, the shallow valley at the centre of her chest, the soft swell of her abdomen until she trembled against me.
I could taste her, warm and alive. My hands left pale bruises on her hips, not cruel, but claiming, the kind of marks that read: you were here, you are mine.
She made a small sound, surrender and want braided together, and the sound was all permission I needed.
I paused a breath behind her, my mouth at the curve of her shoulder, and let the moment hang between us…possessive, fierce, and reverent all at once, before I moved to finish what I’d started.
And then I did exactly that. I kissed her like I needed her to breathe, my hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wide beneath me. She was trembling, but not from fear, It was the kind of trembling that came from surrender, that moment a woman gave herself over completely.
“Look at me,” I growled, her eyes locked to mine, pleading and defiant all at once, my mouth grazing her jaw. “You don’t look away; you keep your eyes on me when I’m claiming you.” I know my words come out in an angry growl, but the fury is still coursing deep within my body, within my mind.
Her body arched, and I devoured the sound she made when I slid my hand between her legs. She was soaked, sweet and aching for me. I stroked her slowly at first, teasing her, watching her fall apart with every flick of my fingers.
“Roman…” she gasped, trying to close her thighs.
But I didn’t let her. “No, baby. You take everything I give you, every fucking touch, every word, every thrust.”
When I slipped a finger inside her, she moaned, and her hips rolled toward me instinctively. “More,” she whispered, voice broken.
I gave her more, by sliding a second finger, and then my mouth, tasting her until she came hard, clenching around me, gasping my name.
And I didn’t stop, I made her come again on my hand, then once more with my mouth, her body going boneless beneath me.
I would make sure that I erased every thought from her mind of any other man touching her.
She was dazed when I finally undressed, her eyes glazed with need.
When I pushed inside her, slow, deep, unforgiving, her breath caught like she’d never been filled before.
Because she hadn’t, not like this. I had taken her, but this time was different, this time I was owning her body, her every thought, her fucking soul.
“Mine!” I growled, my voice rough against her ear. “Say it.”
She whimpered, her legs wrapping around my waist. “I’m yours.”
I fucked her slowly, deeply, grinding against every sensitive spot inside her. Her nails raked down my back, her body shuddering around me. The tension built again, and I felt her start to lose control.
“That’s it,” I said, dragging my mouth along her throat. “Give it to me. ”
She screamed, climaxing again around me, and I followed with a low, feral groan, spilling deep inside her.
I didn’t pull away, I stayed buried deep within her, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping me alive. When her breath calmed, I slid halfway out before thrusting deep again, hearing her gasp of pleasure.
I was just starting, because tonight I would make sure that every part of Layla knew who she belonged to.
***
The shutters had just gone up professing to the start of our day, the moonlight spilled across the bed, painting her skin in soft light.
She lay curled against me, her breaths slow, her thighs pressed tightly to mine.
The bruises were faint but visible, fingerprints on her hips, marks on her thighs where I’d held her too tightly.
I kissed every one of them, she stirred, stretching slowly.
Then she blinked up at me, flushed and blinking sleep from her eyes.
“I feel…” she said, pausing as she curled against my chest, “like I finally belong somewhere. ”
I tightened my arms around her. “No,” I murmured. “You don’t just belong somewhere. You belong to me.”
And she did, body, mind and soul.
"I’m sore," she murmured.
"Good," I said, brushing her hair back. "I want you to remember everything." She smiled faintly, then seemed to hesitate.
"Roman... I need to get my phone," she said softly. "I need to check on my sister. She must be wondering where I am."
I nodded. "I’ll have someone bring your phone, but you won’t need to go to her, I want her to come here, I’ll arrange it."
Her eyes widened. "You think she’ll actually come?"
"She will, don’t worry.”
She seemed unsure for a moment, then exhaled. I kissed her forehead, then sat up. "Get dressed my angel, we’re going out today. I have things to handle, and you’re not staying behind."
She blinked, pulling the sheet around herself. "Where? "
"Don’t worry, you’ll be safe. But first, get dressed. Go check the walk-in closet."
She slid off the bed, a frown on her face as she walked towards the closet. I shake my head at the way she has wrapped the sheet around herself, trying to maintain her modesty even though I have seen every inch of her body. When she opened the door to the walk-in, I heard her breath catch.
"Roman..."
The wardrobe was filled, there were racks of clothes for every occasion, casual, formal, intimate. Shoes lined the shelves, lingerie, summer and winter dresses, jackets. My assistant even made sure to add makeup and accessories. More than she could've ever imagined owning.
"One of my assistants took care of it," I said. "If there’s anything else you want or need, you just say the word."
She stepped inside like she was walking into a dream, her fingers trailing across the fabric. I left her to get ready and lifted my phone to my ear as it buzzed in my hand.
"Talk," I snapped, irritated at the interruption. Usually, the men don’t call me but Lucien, therefore a call from one of my men means that there is trouble.
"Sir, we have a problem. There’s been an attack, one of the southern warehouses was hit. Looks like the Demons."
I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath to calm my anger. Fire crept up the back of my spine.
"Anyone dead?"
"Two. We held the line. Lucien's men are cleaning up now."
I hung up and immediately dialled Lucien, my anger rising at the thought of the Demons audacity at attacking us openly. He answered on the second ring. "I was about to call you."
"What happened?"
"Demons breached the southern wall of one of our Warehouses. The only thing they took was a shipment of blood essence vials. There was minimal casualties, but the signature was clear, it was Malakai’s line."
My jaw locked. "They’re getting bolder. "
"They’re starving," Lucien said. "Human souls burn too fast, it’s like kindling for them. Vampire essence, that sustains them, that gives them power and makes them harder to kill."
I growled low. "And Malakai?"
"He wasn’t there, but one of the bodies had his markings."
Malakai. The Demon Prince was a cunning son of a bitch, he was ancient, and twisted enough to pass as human when he wanted to.
In his human form he had smooth skin, symmetrical features, and was always all dressed in tailored black.
But when he was angry, his true face bled through, a cracked painting barely hiding the horror beneath.
Jagged fissures splitting the mask of humanity, and black, ridged skin visible like old coal beneath.
All of the Demons wore long sleeves, high collars and gloves even in the heat.
Anything to keep from showing the rot they truly were.
"We’ll handle it," Lucien said.
"I want eyes on every checkpoint," I replied. "And send a message to everyone, warn them."
"Already working on it. "
I ended the call just as I heard soft footsteps.
Layla emerged from the closet, radiant in a soft ivory dress that hugged her curves, her hair cascading in loose waves. She looked like a dream, my dream, and I almost forgot the Demons waiting outside these walls.
She didn’t miss the tension in my jaw or the way my fingers curled into a fist at my side. She came closer, her voice gentle. "Roman... what’s wrong?"
I shook my head, forcing the storm back behind my eyes. "Nothing you need to worry about. Just business." I reply lowering my head and kissing her forehead.
She didn’t believe me; I saw it in the way her brows drew together. But she didn’t press for an answer which is good because I would not tell her. I will always try to keep her away from the ugliness of our world unless absolutely necessary.
"You look beautiful," I added, drawing her closer into me and kissing her lips. "Let’s go. We have a full day ahead." My jaw flexed, I had a war to win because now more than ever I needed to make sure that Layle was never put in danger.