Through the leaves, I catch glimpses of him moving between the branches.

Minutes drag by. Then he’s out of sight.

Finally.

I rise to my feet and—

—yelp as rough hands haul me out from behind the bushes. Limbs flailing, I try to wrench out of his grasp, but his grip is iron-tight.

“Let me go!” I shout. The words barely escape before his hand clamps roughly over my mouth.

“Do you want the rebels to find us?” he whisper-yells at me. His eyes are lethal. “Let’s go.”

I jerk my head back, fighting against his hold. “I do want the rebels to find me. Maybe one of them will help me. Or two or three, it doesn’t matter, they can take turns or have me all together or—”

Zev growls, his grip tightening on my upper arms. He’s hurting me, and I’m about to shout at him again when his hold loosens.

“All right, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep. “All right, I’ll help you.”

I shake my head.

I don’t believe him.

One large hand presses me against his body, while the other grips my chin, tilting my face toward his.

“You don’t want any rebels, do you, baby?”

Tides, he’s intoxicating, him and his deep, gravelly voice.

His thumb drags over my lips, and I’m in danger of melting into a puddle. Dazed, I shake my head.

“That’s right,” he whispers huskily. “You want me. You’re aching for me. That need inside you? That’s my power trying to get back to me.”

His voice is like honey, and I can taste its sweetness on my tongue.

“Let me take you back to camp and make you feel better.” His hand slides down my neck, fingers grazing my clavicle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, nodding frantically.

“Good girl,” he croons, and another rush of searing warmth pools between my legs. Tides, yes, I want to be his good girl.

I climb him like a tree, arms twined around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. His smoke-and-pine scent coils around me, and the ache eases just slightly.

Zev walks us back, fingers digging painfully into my thighs as he clutches me to him, but I don’t care. I lean my face toward his, trying to capture his lips with mine, but he tilts his head out of reach, his gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead.

Undeterred, I trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, scraping my teeth against his skin. He swallows hard, his throat shifting beneath my lips. My hips grind against him, my center rubbing against the ridges of his abdomen.

“Are we there yet?” I whisper in his ear, my teeth nipping his lobe.

“Almost, baby,” he rasps, his voice ragged. “Almost.”

“I’ve pictured it a thousand times at night, you know. When I’m beside you under your tidesdamned cloak,” I breathe against the salty skin of his neck. “That you’d reach over and touch me. Taste me. Take me.”

Zev makes a sound that sounds like he’s dying.

Minutes later, we’re back at camp, and Zev sets me down. I sprawl across the blanket, legs spread wide in invitation. His dark gaze is hooded as he stares down at me, belt jingling as he unbuckles it.

“Face down, baby.” His voice is hoarse as he tugs his belt loose.

I roll onto my stomach, cheek pressed into the blanket, bracing myself on my forearms, ass in the air. “Like this, Zev?”

“Yeah.” His voice is a guttural groan. “Just like that.”

And then, his weight settles on top of me.

It feels so mind-numbingly right, I nearly cry. A loud, panting moan escapes my parted lips.

I’m eager.

I’m ready.

His hands smooth over my hair, gliding down my back and skimming my sides. I squirm beneath him in anticipation.

“Zev.” His name is a prayer, a plea.

His fingers trace long lines down my arms, and I reach behind me, desperate to touch him. He gathers my wrists in his large palm, his breath hot in my ear.

“You’re driving me insane, Mayah,” he growls. He spits my name like a curse.

And then his weight on me is gone.

I try to reach for him, but I can’t move my arms.

“Wha—”

He holds my ankles together tightly, binding them with rope.

“Zev, what the fuck?” I snap. I writhe on the floor, managing to roll over and face him.

He’s a towering mountain of rage, chest heaving, tendons bulging, eyes flashing. “I’m just a man, Mayah. I only have so much restraint.” His voice is low, angry. “You are not going to say another word. You are not going to make another sound. You are going to sleep. Skies help me, don’t make me gag you.”

Tears prick my eyes. I want to scream. He’s so tidescursed selfish.

I can convince him. I need to convince him. He’s so close to breaking, I can taste it.

“I’m a virgin, Zev,” I whisper huskily. “You can be the first to—”

A pained, guttural growl claws from his throat. He stalks over to me and violently tears off a strip from the blanket. His eyes are wild, but his hands are gentle as he presses the cloth between my teeth and winds it behind my head. His fingers tremble as he ties the knot—too tight, then too loose, then too tight again. He curses softly under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says, when it’s done, dragging a hand through his hair. Tears stream down my cheeks as he tucks his cloak over me. He swallows hard, once, twice, then rises and sits a few paces away.

I fall asleep tied up and gagged, with the taste of rejection on my tongue and the heat of desire pulsing in my veins.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I ’M IN MY BEDROOM in Tundrayn—ice-white walls, heavy furs thrown over fevered skin. There’s an ache, an unbearable ache seizing my body. A breathy moan escapes my parted lips.

I’m not alone.

The scrape of stubble on my thighs, calloused hands spreading my legs.

Hot kisses on hotter skin. A nimble, searching tongue.

A quick swipe through pooled slick—too soft, too light. I need more.

My back arches, a desperate mewl echoing in the cold room.

A low, sinful chuckle. Another decadent kiss.

“Is this what you want, baby?” a gravel-rough voice rasps, and I know, I just know, he smells of smoke and pine.

A searing trail kissed up my belly, between my breasts, teeth nipping my fluttering pulse.

Warm breath fanning my neck, fingers skimming heaving ribs.

Too little. Too much. Not enough.

All I know is I’m empty. I’m so empty.

Muscled arms braced on either side of my head, stormy gray eyes dark with desire.

“Say it, Mayah,” he commands, his nose nudging mine.

I’ll say whatever he wants. Do whatever he demands.

“Zev.” His name is a plea, a prayer. “Zev, please.”

Wanton. Desperate.

His weight presses down, covering me—he’s hard everywhere I’m soft, and I’m ready, I’m—

Sunlight warms my face, chasing away the remnants of blissful sleep. I shift slightly, and my thighs slide together, an embarrassing amount of wetness pooled between them. The hazy dream flickers through my mind, and my face warms even more.

I try to sit up, but I can’t. My mouth is painfully dry.

I’m tied up.

“What—” My voice is hoarse and raspy, like I’ve swallowed broken glass. I try to move, but I’m unbalanced with my hands bound behind my back. Awareness slowly trickles in, anger quick to follow. “Untie me right now!”

“Are you feeling like yourself?” Zevayr asks, restrained amusement coloring his tone. He’s sitting a few feet away, watching me closely.

I’m about to curse him and his ancestors when my gaze snags on his neck—dark red bruises stark against his skin.