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A menacing laugh matched his rough bite on my shoulder. “No.”
I dug my talons deep into his forearm, drawing blood and tearing muscle, and I swear—I swear—he climaxed, again, at that very moment.
And then he rubbed his blood into my skin, painting me inside and out, promising to make me love him.
7
“It isn’t a bad thing for you to have a taste of how vicious I can be.” The decadent strokes had not ceased, Cyderial already having plugged me full, having bathing his blood from my flesh, and now he drew a brush through my long hair while I stared at myself in the mirror.
I could not bring myself to meet his gaze in the reflection.
Not after how he so fully submitted me. How he frightened me.
“There will be times you grow anxious from this world that is so new to you. When they come, remember who you are mated to.” It wasn’t pride that shaded his low-spoken words; it was power. “There are reasons humans both fear and adulate what I have accomplished in the arena. The world, this ugly city, should they try to touch you, will have to face me. Know what I’m capable of, and let it be a comfort. I swear to keep you safe from all of it.”
But not safe from him.
A man who could do dark things to me and make me like it.
When it grew painfully obvious he was waiting for me to muster the courage to raise my eyes to his, that he would only tolerate my reticence for so long, I found myself embarrassed to be so bashful.
So I braved the inevitable.
Our eyes met in the mirror, and I found the insane man I’d known in my younger years—one of the many facets of his personality—and I questioned my own sanity for not running straight out the door.
This raw version of him was so different than the gentle mate who comforted me in the street. This unmasked side of Cyderial was the killer humans loved to cheer on in bloody battle.
The one who unleashed an unexpected fury upon me in bed.
Who pulled my hair to arch my back. Who gripped me by the throat as he shook my bones with pounding thrusts.
Worse, I was startled by how much I enjoyed it.
Cowed, obedient, feeling small in the shadow of his strength, I let him do as he would.
And liked it.
But I wasn’t sure if I liked who that made me. Abandoning his eyes to look over my burgeoning belly, I found the skin taut. He filled me too much. Cradling the pressure in a bid to distract myself, I subtly arched my aching spine. Pops zipped up from sacrum to neck, my resulting sigh one of relief.
General Cyderial watched me do so with clear pleasure in his lingering gaze—pleasure of the dark variety. Which hinted at how truly debased his longings might be.
A powerful part of him would have known absolute joy to lock me away and play with me at his whim. To overpower me and bend me to his will, feed me what he wished, touch me when he wanted. Have me all to himself.
That energy was a very real adversary in the room.
He had been so tense the previous day just walking me out the door. Would it be such a struggle for him each time? Would he eventually tire of battling with himself and choose the easier path?
Would I even remember my name if he bent me over and took what he wanted?
He’d filled me to the point of discomfort. Would he use that as an excuse to keep me in his home and compel me down his darker path?
The hairbrush was set aside, my gloating mate watching my every breath as he reached for the magic disk that would wind up my hair—hair that was his—and make me pretty.
Just as the merchant had shown him, he placed it in position and activated its program. Long wires began weaving my hair, exposing my naked spine.
Cyderial enjoyed watching that curtain of dark hair slowly unveil the flesh of my back.
Touching where he would with those large, warm hands, he kneaded the stiff muscles at my lower back, whispering, “Deep breath. Let me help you feel better.”
