Page 83 of Heir to His Court

“Yes,” I breathed.

How many times must I tell him I wanted him to destroy me?

How many times must I tell him I wanted him to drink my fear?

“So be it, halfling.”

The shimmer of power in the air was the slamming of a gate, the mark of my sealed fate.

ChapterTwenty-Five

Power skimmed across my skin, burning, shoving inside me and expanding, growing with the swell of his cock.

I gasped and it fled my mouth, my nose, my ears, escaped from every pore as the tidal wave stretched my skin full to bursting and—

Raniel roared and tore away from me. “No.”

I rose shakily to my knees and turned, every inch of me aching as my skin snapped back around my body. He'd leaped across the room and was crouched in the middle of the floor, a pale, perfect thing of warrior muscle, skin shimmering opalescent where the moonlight hugged him. His fingertips pressed against the marble; his head lowered as his hair shielded his face.

He looked up, eyes flashing between electric blue and moonstone gray, over and over as he struggled.

Black wings snapped open from his back, then closed again. He threw back his head and roared another denial, claws spurting from his fingertips as he dug them into the floor, the tendons of his neck stark.

I winced, wrapping my arms around myself and watched, waited shadows and crackling power flooding the room. The balcony doors blew outward, the Prince shoving the excess energy away from him—away from me. In the distance, the rip of trees exploding, the rumble of cracking stone.

I should have felt ashamed. He'd warned me not to play that game with him, that he could hurt me in unimaginable ways. I'd ignored him, because I'd wanted the power, the control. The agony.

I'd wanted to make him lose his mind the way he was manipulating me to lose my will.

I caught my breath as he began crawling toward me in a sinuous, otherworldly roll of muscles. I couldn't decide if he was a prince of dreams or a king of nightmares.

When he was at the edge of the bed he rose to his feet, fingernails long and matte black, and stared down at me, his regard measuring.

“You cannot control me, Aerinne,” he said, an echo in his voice. “I said I would not hurt you, and I will not.”

I raked my nails down my arms, frustrated, drawing blood. He didn't move, though his nostrils flared.

“Why do you get to make that choice for me? You've taken away every other choice.”

“Because,” Darkan said gently, “you don't know what you're asking for, Rinne. You haven'tbegun to limn the shape of your desires—desires I've protected you from, that are dangerous to you, and not only because you are of the Dark. You will not become one of my legion of regrets.” Pain overflowed his eyes, a wealth of ancient sorrow.

Finally, I lowered my gaze, and accepted the bite of shame. “Fine.”

A claw underneath my chin, lifting my head up. A half smile curled one side of his mouth. “Will you behave?” He lowered his chin, looking at me through midnight dream lashes. “Will you be my good girl?”

I melted, shuddering, arms falling to my sides. Damn him. He knew just what words to use, and in what voice. Raniel's rich, smooth, warm words ran over and through me, rubbed up and down my slit and massaged my breasts.

“Do you not wish to please me, my halfling?”

I covered my face with my hands. “All right, enough. Enough.” That voice would slow roast me until I split and gushed savory juice.

Low, masculine laughter. “I promise you, one day you will be strong enough to take everything you want from me. But not today. We must learn to crawl before we fly, my heart.”

“You're not angry with me? For disobeying you?” I lowered my hands and peeked up at him through my lashes.

Laughter fled his expression, leaving behind a cold, regal Old One. “I am enraged. You will be punished accordingly.”

My heart jumped, whimpering. I fell forward onto my knees, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Please, my Lord. Please.” I didn't say punish, or hurt, since those were no no words.

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