Layla
Later, with his arm slung over her waist, his nose stuck in her hair, her limbs tangled with his as his breath evened out.
He looked less dangerous, the danger was still there, simmering beneath. His features relaxed making him look younger.
She should hate him with her very being, should be clawing out his eyes, raging until her voice was raw, screaming this barbaric chamber down around his ears.
But instead…
Instead, she found herself whispering . "I will never kneel."
She felt, more than heard, the rumble of his laughter vibrate against the nape of her neck against the place where his teeth had grazed moments before.
It wasn't a cruel sound.
Not mocking.
It was something darker.
Something decadent; like dark chocolate, tequila on rocks and uncut diamonds, steeped in sensual storm and fierce.
Possessive satisfaction.
He didn't move, didn't pull away, just stayed there, anchoring her, imprinting his wild energy into her, as if it was his birthright.
"Good," he finally murmured, his lips laying a searing kiss on the nape of her neck.
"You never need to kneel, you belong to me now, little queen."
She tensed at his words. The chilling finality of them. The ring of absolute truth delivered with simple bluntness.
She shuddered lightly as his lips pressed lightly to the curve of her shoulder, the soft, rough scrape of his shadowed beard against her tender skin.
Marking.
"No," she whispered, holding to the last shred of her defiance, but the word didn't feel strong. It felt like a fragile shield against an oncoming storm. A storm that was taking down her defensive shields, one after another.
He slid a finger down her hip, tracing the curve, finger leaving a trail of fire behind. His touch, even now, still made her shudder in desire, made that traitorous ache flare low in her belly.
"I don't even know your name," she bit out bitterly.
"Belstram, little queen," he said, " And there will be no other for either of us, you're the only 'mine' I will ever claim."
He shifted, untangling their limbs, looming over her caging her in a way that made her breathe faster. Even his name sounded just like him; untouched by artifice, dark and dangerous.
She wanted to pull away.
Wanted to demand her body back, fight the terrifying desire twisting up from deep within her.
A need that was taking over her thoughts, she had never known such desire existed until he woke it. The truth of it was, every time her mouth said no, her body said yes.
He was right.
She did belong to him, in some twisted, dangerous, irresistible way; in the way of heat, desire and in the unspoken bond she could feel enslaving her very heart, every second she spent in his presence.
"I'm not yours," she said again, forcing the words out, though they sounded more and more like lies everytime she said them.
Belstram laughed at that, laying a kiss on her lips, slow and soothing, almost tender, a strange contrast to the savage taking. It was barely there, yet all all the more felt.
"You will be, Layla," he said, voice rough.
"You already are. Every furious inch of you."
She palmed the furs beneath, grounding herself, resisting the urge to claim him. To brand him just as much as he did her.
She knew with full certainty, there was no going back for her.
Not ever.
Belstram
His queen had teeth and she wasn't afraid to use them.
Fire in her soul and defiance on her tongue.
Good.
The path ahead for a queen of this realm was not paved with silk.
She would need all of that to survive his court, not to merely survive.
To rule.