And I fucking loathed him for it.

He returned a moment later, strode to a door that I knew functioned as a wardrobe, flung it open, and pointed at the darkness. “In there.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the lantern, and made my way into it, rummaging for one large enough to store the clothes Kiira had bought me. By the time I returned, Rokath was leaning against the thick, carved wooden post of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. The sight slammed me to a stop. He looked powerful, dominant, intimidating. It was a posture he had doubtlessly perfected for that very reason.

And it made my core throb.

Just the bond. You hate him. He killed Izgath. He’s the reason why your family is dead.

The reminder of everyone I loved chilled me from deep inside. How could I feel such desire for someone who caused me so much pain?

Steeling my spine, I strode straight past him and toward the pile of clothes discarded in a chair across the room. His eyes burned into me as he watched me scoop and pack the bag, only serving to infuriate me further. When I touched the opaque veils and the circlets Kiira had given me to secure them, a tumbling mix of emotions wound its way through me.

For more than a month, I’d gotten to pretend that I wasn’t forced to submit to the whims of males in this way. Since leaving Stryi, the only time I’d covered my face was when Kiira and I attended the ball. And now, here I was, once again controlled by a male I didn’t trust, didn’t love.

Hated.

I was done giving away my autonomy.

So I left them on that chair and fastened my bag.

Straightening, I flashed him a saccharine smile. “Ready, master.” Sarcasm dripped from my tone, and Rokath noted it with a flex of his fingers. A wave of lust swept from him to me, and my smile fell, replaced by a forced glare. We were not doing that again.

“Aren’t you missing something?” he growled, dipping his head to indicate the pile of opaque fabric.

“No,” I said simply. “I won’t be wearing those any more. And you cannot compel me to either.”

The muscles in his neck bulged. Fury emanated from him in palpable waves. I merely crossed my arms and popped out a hip, glaring at him. Daring him to exert his will over me.

It was risky, grasping for this modicum of control over my life. Yet Rokath shocked me when he groused, “Fine.”

My eyebrows shot up my forehead.

“One more thing before we go.” He pushed off the pole, crossing his arms and widening his stance as he stared me down.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“You need to use your magic to make your wrists appear with the brand of the fallen females.”

My mouth popped open. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, that predator peeking from within. “The camp believes that your punishment is to be my personal fallen and produce powerful heirs for the Demon cause.”

Heat licked its way up my spine and venomous words crawled up my throat. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before now?” He knew, he fucking knew, what Vagach had done to me. How could he be so cruel as to decide this was the best way to explain my presence?

He etched yet another reason I couldn’t trust him to protect and care for me into my mind.

He shrugged. Fucking shrugged. “You didn’t want to be a male. This was the only other reasonable story to spin about why you are with the army.”

“The only one?” I nearly vibrated from the indignation shattering through my veins.

The coldness in his eyes made me want to claw them out. “You can either use your magic to create it, or we can stop at the stables on our way out and I can brand you myself. The choice is yours.”

“That’s not a fucking choice!” I shouted, tossing my bag to the ground and stomping toward him. One pointed finger stabbed into the shiny black armor over his chest. He didn’t budge. “Did you tell Kiira about this?”

“Kiira does not have a say in the matter,” he said flatly. “Especially after the stunt you two pulled last night. I should have known better than to leave the two of you alone together.” Then, glancing over my head, he ordered, “Grab your bags and let’s go.”

He stepped out of my reach and strode toward the door. I whipped around, grabbed the discarded lantern, and flung it at his retreating form. It sailed by him and smashed against the wall, flames doused immediately.

Rokath paused, turned, and leveled his gaze on me.

My chest heaved and I wanted to find something, anything else to throw at him. I reached for my bag, but he was faster, and caught me in his grip before I could fling it at him. “It seems you’ve made your decision.”

Shadows swirled around him, wrapping me in their wicked embrace. My magic flared to life at every point of contact. With a twist of his hands, he directed me to a chair, and I was helpless, bound, unable to move. I thrashed against his shadows anyway, calling on my own to try to break his and failing. He was accustomed to using his magic in this way, and I was not.

I bared my teeth at my mate. “Let me go.”

“No,” he said simply, as if he were refusing a drink or a plate of food. He yanked the helmet from his head and tossed it onto the bed without breaking eye contact.

From his thigh, he pulled a dagger, and I froze, eyes landing on the flash of silver in the dim light. Silver stopped a Demon’s innate healing magic from kicking in, and it was the only way our bodies could scar. I recalled all the ones that covered Izgath’s arms, and heat pricked my eyes as Rokath knelt at my feet.

But he wasn’t surrendering to the pull between us. Worshiping me like he had the night before.

No, he lifted the dagger with one hand and flipped my wrist over with the other. I struggled against his hold, and a growl rumbled in his throat. “Fine, I will use my magic,” I snapped, heart thundering as the sharp point drifted closer.

“You had an opportunity, and you threw it, quite literally, away.”

“I am your mate!” I shrieked, desperate not to have a permanent scar on my wrists. When I managed to escape him, I didn’t want a reminder of our time together.

His eyes snapped to mine. “Which is why I have to have you near me. And yet, you won’t obey, and I can’t guarantee your safety any other way.”

As if to drive home the point, our bond flared to life, almost purring as if it were pleased with our close proximity.

“You are insane,” I hissed as the knife rested against my skin, cool and menacing, just like Rokath.

“And you’re a brat,” he shot back, not deigning to look at me as he sliced.

“Fuck!” I cursed, fingers curling inward. The sharp sting traveled all the way up my arm, and I was overcome with the need to slap my hand over the wound to soothe it. Yet I couldn’t move, and my core tightened from the utter terror shattering through me. My spine arched as I fought against the binds on my torso, trying to suck in air and calm myself.

“Hold still or it will be uneven,” Rokath growled, pinning my hand with more force.

“I fucking hate you,” I spat through bared teeth. Tears burned the back of my nose and my eyes, and I resisted the urge to blink, not wanting Rokath to see me cry.

He sliced again, and a scream billowed from my throat. I didn’t hold back as I released it into the universe. The whole world needed to know that my mate was fucking branding me. His face was too close for me to see his work, so when the third stroke of his blade sliced my skin, I was unprepared.

A metallic scent filled the air, and two tears slipped down my cheeks despite my attempt to smother them. Rokath stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. He lifted his gaze, watching the saltiness track down my face. The hardness in his burgundy eyes softened the barest amount before he dropped his head again.