“Why have you denied me?” His voice was dark, thick, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Open up your mind to me.”
“No!”
She glared at him, lifting her chin, anticipating his rage, preparing to fight to the death.
His finger slipped down her throat and trailed over the swell of her breast. “Your heart beats for me.” His voice didn’t just whisper in her ear, but poured over her skin, touching nerve endings.
“It jerks in fear.”
“Why?”
Was he serious? “You are...you are a Darkan.” He was feared and reviled by all Amagarians, surely, he knew of his kind’s fearsome reputation. “And from the evidence of your tattoo, you are fully bonded with a leviathan for a beast,” she pushed at his mind, testing to see if the telepathic pathway remained open.
His head canted left as he considered her. “I am Lachlan Ravenswood, Archduke of the eastern quadrant of the Darkage, and I am your mate, and you are mine.”
His words felt like a decree.
She was still fighting to breathe, to shake off the trembling and fear and uncertainty. “Are you going to kill me?” she asked, ignoring that mate nonsense, truly too afraid to assess why he seemed
so possessive.
She squared her shoulders, determined to show courage and the will to fight. From what she had heard in the empire Darkans respected strength and cunning. And her beleaguered appearance certainly did not say that, but she had to try.
“Kill you?”
How surprised he sounded. As if he was not the most menacing thing she had ever encountered. “Yes, kill me.”
“No, I would not harm a hair on your beautiful head, but I am going to take you.”
“Take me where?” she asked, hoping he had a plan for escape from the dungeons that would include her. Then she would turn her thoughts to escaping Amagarie to her realm.
Immediately, raw, provocative, and shockingly carnal images blasted through her mind, as if she had not erected a shield. Heat flared through her as the image of her on her knees, her hips arched, sweat slicking her skin and wild cries coming from her mouth, his body blanketing hers from behind, and the thickest cock she’d ever seen thrusting in and out of her with savage grace, flowered in her mind.
He placed one palm against the bars above her head, effectively caging her in, his body language blatant, possessive, intimidating, yet appealing with its raw savagery. “There,” he rumbled, lust flavoring the chakra that leaked from him. “I want to take you there.”
Shilah laughed then slapped a hand over her mouth, glaring at him, desperate to ignore the deep ache the raw pictures had painted and the fear at the blatant possessiveness in his tone. “I am Princess Shilah Malie Symonrah, rightful ruler of Dxyriah, and my hand is promised in marriage to Crown Prince Novar. You will not be taking me anywhere that resembles that.”
A burst of violence blossomed over her, through her. The glow of his aura—black ringed with a deep red formed a halo around him, yet he was not the mindless monster she’d heard whispers of. He smelled feral, wild, dangerous. How did he have such control of the beast within?
“Another thinks to claim what is mine?”
His voice was a rumble of ruthless malice. She made a small sound of protest, of fear, but firming her lips and electing to not offer a rebuttal to his outrageous claim. I do not belong to you.
A soft laugh echoed through her thoughts, and she froze. Had he heard her?
His hand skimmed over her breast and circled her throat. She felt the surge of darkness, of danger, then his voice spoke in her mind. “You are mine.” Cold, and absolute.
Power shifted inside her body, the tight coil slowly began to unfurl, to spread and grow. Then she slammed it into him, pushing him away from her. He flew back and thundered into the walls of the cage, rattling them. Then in a blink of an eye, he was once again before her. How did he do it?
“If you had asked, perhaps I would consider your suit for you are a fearsome warrior,” she hissed, rebuilding her barriers. All ridiculous nonsense for never would she indulge the thought of courtship from a Darkan. She stabbed at his chest with a finger, amazed at the wall of hardness. “I do not belong to you simply because you said it. I belong to no man, and when I eventually do, it will be because I desire it. If you mean to...to kill me, get on with it.” Her voice trembled on that last bit and she scowled.
“Any man who touches you will die.”
Her chest became so tight she could barely breathe. His voice was an accusation she did not understand, a curse, a promise of dark retaliation.
“Your claim is outrageous. I do not accept.”
With speed she could not track, his hands lifted her to him, pressed his erection tightly against her feminine mound. “What—”