Page 12 of Claimed In Darkness

“Get dressed,” he orders, tossing something onto the bed beside me.

I glance down.

Silk. Sheer. Red.

No.

I glare at him, at the flimsy excuse for clothing. “What the fuck is this?”

He cocks his head, amused. “Your disguise.”

My blood turns to ice.

“What disguise?”

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring this moment. The moment he gets to tell me how much worse things are going to get.

“The High Council expects me to arrive in the capital with a companion,” he says smoothly. “A personal indulgence.”

My stomach twists.

No.No.

“You’re insane,” I say, breathless with rage. “You want me to pretend to be?—”

“My pleasure slave,” he finishes for me.

The room tilts.

I lurch to my feet, chest heaving, hands shaking. My body knows what that means. I’ve seen the collared girls, the ones draped at the feet of Dark Elf lords like ornaments.

I’ve seen what happens to them.

“You can go fuck yourself,” I whisper.

Zephiran laughs.

Not a kind sound. Not amused.

No—he is delighted by my horror.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” he says, reaching out—too fast—gripping my chin between his fingers.

I snarl, thrashing in his grasp, but his hold tightens. His fingers press into my skin, claiming, searing.

“You belong to me now, little fox,” he murmurs. “And you will do exactly as I say.”

I try to pull back. He doesn’t let me.

His thumb drags over my bottom lip.

Mocking. Testing. Tasting.

A slow, suffocating heat spreads through my veins, and I hate him for it.

“I will slit your throat for this,” I vow, voice raw.

Zephiran smiles.

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