Nervousness made it extremely difficult. “I’ve only been with Vagach like this before,” I whispered.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, visible beneath the thick scruff on his face. His ribs expanded as he sucked in a breath. “Probably not the best time to mention that,” he gritted out. The sheets bunched in his white-knuckled grip like he was fighting with himself for control. “The bond wants me to claim you even more now, erase the memory of him from your mind, body, soul.”

I felt it too, though by the anguished expression he wore, it must have been infinitely worse for him. “Do it. Let’s get it out of the way so we can go back to hating each other,” I panted, the press of him against me driving me wild.

“Let’s,” he growled, his dick jumping. Then, he slid into me.

The moment our bodies joined was like a lighting strike, pain and pleasure snapping into one blissful moment where everything else, everyone else was forgotten. An indescribable connection between two individuals, two souls, melted into one by that flash of a moment.

It was evil, it was divine, it was everything.

A cry ripped from me, laced with anguish and ecstasy as the fabric of my being was rearranged.

Rokath swore, his eyes rolling back into his head.

He dragged in a serrated breath, and then his burgundy eyes sprung open, nearly engulfed in black. Rokath didn’t wait for me to adjust to his size. A feral sound tore from him, and his mouth crashed against mine, hips slapping so hard against me that I shot backward on the bed.

“Assyria,” he rasped. His brows pinched as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fuck, you feel incredible.” His hands moved to my lower back, adjusting the angle and holding me in place.

The sensation of him moving inside me, so thick that no nerve was left untouched, so long that every stroke felt like he reached my stomach, was exquisite. His pace was brutal, bruising, and yet my core weeped for him. “More,” I repeated over and over, all other words lost to me. The pleasure he delivered was unlike anything I could have possibly imagined. I was utterly, hopelessly addicted and I hadn’t even come yet.

A curve of pleasure rose from the tips of my toes all the way to my scalp, tingling so fiercely, I knew once it crested I would never be the same. “Rokath.” His name slipped out, half-plea, half-prayer, and he ground into me, circling his hips so they brushed over my clit.

That single movement caused the crash.

Wave after wave swept over me, drowning me, breaking me, remaking me.

Rokath throbbed inside me, only heightening the sensations.

“Fuck, keep coming, Assyria. I’m so close,” he grunted, slapping sounds filling the air as he thrust into me harder and harder. My breath stuttered to a stop as my walls clenched around him again.

With a curse, he yanked back, leaving my core sobbing, and spilled himself onto my stomach. His cock jerked a few more times, and then he rested his forehead against mine. Sweat slicked his skin, and his chest rose and fell faster than a bird’s wings as he sucked down air.

The bond hummed contentedly between us, no longer a frantic beast desperate to take control of the situation. I had no energy to move, to think, as I rested beneath him, limp from the orgasms he pulled from me.

“Wait here,” he ordered, and I had no intention of fighting that instruction. The muscles in Rokath’s arms and chest flexed when he pushed off the bed, striding to the bathing chamber and returning a moment later with a few wet rags.

With more tenderness than I thought him capable, he cleaned me, then used a fresh one to clean both of my wrists. He planted another kiss over each mark before setting my arms down again. A hint of something that seemed a lot like remorse nudged at my mind, and I studied his backside as he retreated again.

How was it that Rokath could be so cruel and so caring? How was it that I could feel any waver in my hatred of him, after what he’d done? How was it that I wanted him to climb back in this bed with me and wrap me in those strong arms?

With a groan, I pushed myself upright, smoothing my hair and scooting toward the edge of the bed. Searching for my discarded dress, I found it tangled at the foot, a large wet spot gracing the red fabric. “Guess I won’t be wearing this after all,” I grumbled, tossing it to the side and striding for my bag. Rummaging through it, I found the gray dress I liked with the long sleeves, hoping that it would hide my healing wrists for now.

Before I had a chance to put it on, Rokath cleared his throat. I glanced up to find him already dressed in his underclothes and holding what looked like bandages and some ointment. “If you sit on the bed, I can clean your wrists so they don’t get an infection.”

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. Was he really offering to do something nice for me outside of coupling? Had the moment we joined changed him too?

“Okay,” I agreed, though my tone held a hint of wariness. Finding new undergarments, I pulled them on, then fastened the bind around my breasts and settled on the edge. Rokath’s eyes lingered on my mussed hair and flushed face for a moment before he sat beside me and turned his attention to my wrists. With the same gentle care he showed me before, he dressed the wounds and covered them, the wrap not too snug and not too loose.

Somehow, perfect. Unlike our relationship—if I could even call it that.

Honestly, I didn’t know what to think.

Once he finished, he set the equipment aside and carefully scrutinized each piece of his armor. He’d discarded it in a rush, and I watched with fascination as he used his shirt sleeve to buff out a few spots before refastening them. With a shake of my head, I managed to tear my attention away and pull on the dress, not even wincing as the sleeves closed over the bandages on my wrists.

“You should put those in your bag,” Rokath said, indicating the ointment and bandages. No domineering, no barked orders. Merely a suggestion made from a place of good intent.

I didn’t know what to do with my feelings about his current behavior.

I nodded and tucked them away while Rokath secured his helmet in place. Then, he sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Are you ready to go?”

I lifted one brow and returned to a place where I felt more comfortable with him—barely contained animosity. “Are we now asking nicely for things in our relationship?”

“First, this isn’t a relationship in the traditional sense. Second, if you keep up with that smart mouth, I’m going to go back to demands,” he said with no inflection in his voice to indicate that he was joking.

“Fine, I am ready,” I said coolly, hefting my bag onto one shoulder. He didn’t offer to take it for me; instead, he strolled out of the sleeping chamber and in the direction of the exterior door.

Guess we’re both more comfortable with hostility than civility.

As I followed like an obedient hound, my entire body protested, soreness blooming from my core and making it throb again. When we mounted his horse, I felt Rokath even more acutely between my thighs. I must have made some sort of pained noise because Rokath’s arm slipped around me, lifting me ever so slightly off the saddle.

We rode like that the entire distance from Gyor Palace, through the streets of Uzhhorod, and back onto the road to the war camp.

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33

Assyria stiffened in my arms as we approached the camp, no doubt remembering what had occurred the last time she set foot here. A flash of a burning body entered my mind—from hers—and I gritted my teeth at the reminder of the male who had almost been inside my mate. At least the bond had eased since I finally laid my claim to her.