His hot breath fluttered over my wound, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

To my utter shock, Rokath flicked his tongue over the blood coating my wrists. To my utter horror, my center throbbed at the sight and sensation. The bond, though, fucking loved it, and lust overtook all my senses. With a feral groan, Rokath lapped the rest of it too, sending a smattering of goosebumps across my skin.

“Oh,” I whimpered, shook, shivered, as his tongue continued to work over my wrist and then up my arm to my shoulder. He nipped the bare skin at the crook of my neck, his proximity flooding my senses with his spicy scent. Moving to the other side, he worked his way down to my other hand. I was so far gone into the lust I didn’t even think about the next cut until agony bloomed on my wrist, and I jerked again, a mix of pain and pleasure ricocheting through me.

Rokath worked more quickly on this side, but he wasted no time cleaning the blood with his tongue. “Fuck, I can smell your arousal from here,” he groaned, and when he lifted his head again, all air fled my lungs. His eyes were severely dilated, and a sliver of moonlight fell across his face, highlighting his tattoos in sharp relief.

I should have been scared. Should have been pissed. Should have been anything other than what I was.

Wanton. Needy. Desperate.

Rokath was death incarnate, his soul so black even the night was terrified of him. Muscles like the craggy Skala Mountains and the height to match. Yet that protective, possessive energy he carried filled me with so much desire I wanted nothing more than to continue what we’d started the previous night.

And if the sensations and images flooding my mind were any indication, Rokath wanted the same. His shadows loosened their grip on me, turning from shackles into light caresses, eliciting a shiver and another wave of pebbles across my skin. Another light kiss, planted against each still smarting wrist, drew my attention to what was carved there.

A flash of anger swept through me, dissipating when I realized the mark wasn’t an F, but an H.

Halálhívó.

A brand, not to mark me as a common fallen female, but his.

More visible than the perfect circle between my shoulder blades, but a claim to me nonetheless. Something primal purred inside me, pleased with his choice.

I hate it. I want him.

“Why?” I murmured, returning my attention to him.

He looked away and cleared his throat. “You are no ordinary female, and I am no ordinary male. You are mine, Assyria. Only mine.” The way he said my name in that deep, gravelly voice sent a shiver down my spine.

The struggle with my attraction to him was only heightened by this new brand on my wrists. What were words like hate and love if not opposite sides of the same coin? Not that I could ever love Rokath—it was far too dangerous for both of us for me to feel that way.

But desire? That was an emotion that was safe to act upon.

I rose up and yanked us together. Rokath’s shadows fell away, and then I was in his arms, mouth on his, hissing as my raw wrists rubbed against the back of his neck. Strong, firm hands dug into my ass, lifting and carrying me to the bed. A heavy, metal clad body pressed me into it a moment later.

I slapped him, breaking our kiss. He pulled back, bewilderment crossing his face, but then I jerked him against me again, losing all sense of reason. I wanted him to hurt like I did. Pain with this pleasure.

“That is exactly how I like it, little imposter. I want to hurt you. Break you. Force you to submit to my will. Then make you scream my name as I sink my cock so deep into your cunt you see stars.”

His words sent a flood of heat between my thighs.

I stared into his wicked burgundy eyes. “We should just get this out of the way so the bond calms down.”

“Agreed,” he growled, and then he shoved off the bed. I wouldn’t admit the movement left me feeling bereft. Metal clattered against the floor as he stripped, and I wasted no time working my fingers over the buttons of my dress and letting it pool around my knees.

I barely had time to shimmy out of it before Rokath was pinning me again, shirtless, erection straining against his pants and digging into my low belly. Heat radiated off of him, nearly burning me at every point of contact. With only the barest bits of fabric covering my breasts and core, I felt him there too.

He kissed me again, stealing my attention from thoughts of how right all of this felt. My hands mapped the ridges of his bare torso, and when his moved to my breasts and cupped, I groaned. The sound was like rumbling thunder, long, low, distant as I was lost to the lust in my veins.

The bind loosened, and then my hard nipples brushed against his chest. He broke the kiss and moved his mouth to one, scraping his teeth over it and eliciting a hiss from me. With a free hand, he tore the lace from my center. Bared me to him. Utterly exposed me.

And yet, I wanted more, despite my better judgment. I wanted him to see all of me.

He worked over the other nipple before mapping my stomach with his mouth and settling between my thighs again.

“So fucking wet,” he growled, his hot breath brushing against the sensitive parts of me.

“It’s just the bond,” I managed to pant, hands ghosting off him and fisting into the sheets.

“Mmm,” he rumbled, and then his mouth was on my pussy. Like the previous night, the moment his tongue pressed against me, pleasure pulsed through my veins, making me lose every scrap of sanity I possessed as I became a glutton for more.

A gasp rippled through me, and I shamelessly rubbed against his face, wanting his tongue to slip inside me again. He obliged my silent request, and I melted into the bed.

Weaver, he was so good with his mouth.

“Rokath,” I breathed, head tipping back as my walls began to flutter. A release was careening toward me, and it wouldn’t take much to send me over the edge.

“That’s because no one has ever pleasured you like me, little imposter. You didn’t know the meaning until I licked your cunt last night.”

He wasn’t wrong.

His thumb pressed into my clit, and at the same time, he speared his tongue into me, shattering what little remained between me and my orgasm. Another scream tore from my throat, but instead of pain, this one was all pleasure. Stars danced in my vision as he drank from me, growling as I continued to come.

Through our bond, his primal pleasure pressed against me, the rapture that came with his power to make me writhe against him. Nearly weeping from the flood of it in my veins, I returned to the present moment, and he pulled away from me. Standing at the foot of the bed, his hungry eyes raked over my naked body, more visible in the growing light of dawn.

He worked over the buttons of his pants with quick precision. When his cock sprang free, my jaw dropped open. “Is that going to fit?”

A smug, masculine smirk crossed his face—the first time he’d offered me anything close to a smile. “If you want it, I’ll make it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I replied, tone laced with breathy need and a hint of trepidation.

“It wasn’t supposed to,” he growled, kicking off his pants and climbing back onto the bed. It dipped beneath his bulk, and as he hovered over me, I drank in the way his abs dipped into a perfect V, pointing directly to the thick, veiny dick nudging at my entrance.

From the shape of his ass and thighs, I knew the orgasm he gave me with his mouth wasn’t going to compare to the one he would give me with his cock. If he could work himself inside.

“Relax,” he said, though his words sounded less like an order and more like encouragement. The hard lines of his face smoothed as he trailed the pads of his fingers up my body and brushed the hair out of my face.