Page 18 of Claimed In Darkness

One sharp twist and I’m pinned against the nearest wall, my breath a sharp gasp as he presses into me. His body is scorching hot, unyielding, a cage of muscle and malice.

I writhe, thrashing, hating that I can feel every inch of him.

He’s hard. Everywhere.

He likes this.

“You’re going to regret that,” he whispers.

I spit in his face.

His eyes flash, that dangerous shade of red burning like embers.

Then he laughs.

Laughs.

Like I’m his favorite game.

I snarl, but he just drags me to the bed, flipping me onto my stomach like I weigh nothing. I thrash, but his grip is unyielding, pinning me there, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades.

“I was going to be gentle,” he muses.

My breath is ragged. “Go to hell.”

“Soon,” he purrs. “But first—you’ll wear my mark.”

A sharp sting slashes across my skin as he presses something cold against the bare space below my collarbone.

My body jerks.

The burn spreads, a slow, creeping agony that sinks beneath my flesh, branding me, claiming me.

I choke back a cry.

I won’t give him the satisfaction.

But—fuck it all—the pain is crawling into my bones, wrapping around my whole being, sinking into my bloodstream like fire.

My fingers dig into the sheets.

“Breathe, little fox,” Zephiran murmurs. “This will only hurt for a moment.”

Liar.

It hurts more than anything.

The magic spreads through me, sinking into my skin, searing something unbreakable into my flesh.

Then—it stops.

The pain leaves me gasping, my limbs trembling with the effort of not collapsing completely.

Zephiran fingers trail the fresh brand, tracing the still-warm edges of it with slow, deliberate strokes.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to.”

I suck in a breath, shaking, seething.

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