Chapter 7: Marked

THE WORLD exploded in sensation. Waldemar’s kiss wasn't an act of love, or even passion, but a raw, forceful consumption. It was meant to dominate, to break, to prove his terrifying words true. And for a terrifying, fleeting moment, it worked. The aching need that had simmered beneath Selene’s skin roared to life, demanding, aching, shattering her composure. His tongue plunged into her mouth, hot and insistent, tangling with hers in a primal dance of surrender and conquest. 

She tasted him – wild and untamed, like the ancient forests that surrounded them, mixed with a hint of something deeper, something intrinsically male.

Her hands, which had been pressing against his chest, moved without conscious thought, clutching at his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard planes of his muscles. The silk tunic she wore felt too constricting, her skin too sensitive. Every nerve ending seemed to be vibrating, a high-pitched hum of desperate longing.

Waldemar tore his mouth from hers, a low, guttural growl escaping his throat. His eyes, blazing gold, bored into hers, searching, demanding. His breath was ragged, hot against her face. "Feel it, Selene?" he rasped, his voice thick with his own struggle against the bond. "That's the Moonbind. That's the truth of what we are."

Selene gasped, trying to pull away, her head shaking frantically, but his hands cupped her face, holding her still. "No," she whimpered, her voice raw, fractured. "This isn't real. It's… magic. A trick."

"No trick," he countered, his gaze dropping to her trembling lips. "Only inevitable. You crave me. Your magic aches for mine." He leaned in again, his lips brushing hers, a feather-light torment. "Tell me you don't feel it, witch. Tell me you don't burn for my touch."

"You're lying," she whispered, though her voice wavered, betraying her.

"Then why do your hands still hold me like you’ll die if I leave?" he asked, his voice like a blade wrapped in velvet.

The words were a brutal truth. Her body was indeed burning, a deep, fiery ache in her core that pulsed with an almost unbearable intensity. Her magic, usually her ally, was betraying her, amplifying the sensation, drawing her inexorably towards him. Every instinct screamed for him to just take the pain away, to fulfill the aching void.

He watched her, his golden eyes sharp, perceptive, seeing every flicker of weakness, every tremor of unwilling desire. He knew. He could feel it through the bond, the chaotic storm within her.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing pain lanced through her shoulder, so unexpected, so intense, it made her cry out. It felt like a white-hot brand. She gasped, arching away from Waldemar, clutching her shoulder instinctively.

Waldemar pulled back slightly, his golden eyes widening, surprise flickering across his face. He quickly reached for her, tearing the soft cotton of her tunic. Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed over her skin, raw from the manacles, but his gaze was fixed on her shoulder.

There, stark against her pale skin, a mark was appearing. It was a swirling design, intricate and elegant, initially faint, but rapidly deepening in color. A dark, stylized wolf's head, its eyes twin points of silver, emerged on her left shoulder, just below her collarbone. As it materialized, Selene felt an odd sensation, a pulling, a tugging sensation in her very soul, as if a part of her was being etched onto her skin, permanently bound.

"The claiming mark," Waldemar breathed, his voice rough with awe and a profound sense of possessiveness. He touched the freshly formed tattoo, his fingertips tracing the outline, and a jolt, not of pain, but of powerful connection, slammed through Selene. Her magic surged, reacting instantly to his touch on the mark, entwining with his in a dizzying rush.

"What… what is this?" Selene whispered, horrified, staring at the dark ink on her shoulder. It felt as if it had always been there, a part of her, yet she'd never seen it before.

"The Moonbind's final seal," Waldemar explained, his gaze intense, still fixed on the mark. "It manifests when the bond becomes undeniable. When one has accepted, even unwillingly, the claim." His eyes finally met hers, burning with raw triumph. "You are marked, Selene. Permanently. You are truly mine."

"You bastard!" she screamed, trying to wrench away, tears stinging her eyes. "I never agreed to this!”

Tears pricked at her eyes, not from physical pain, but from a profound sense of despair. Marked. Claimed. Without her consent. This was worse than any physical chain. This was a violation of her very being.

"No!" she screamed, her voice raw, fueled by a sudden, desperate surge of magic. She pushed him, truly pushed him this time, with all the force she could muster, augmented by her burgeoning power.

The unexpected blast sent Waldemar stumbling backward, crashing into the wall with a loud thud that shook the room. He swore, a low, guttural curse, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of anger. Selene scrambled off the bed, clutching the torn tunic, her chest heaving. Her magic was crackling around her now, raw and untamed, reacting to her fear and fury. The claiming mark on her shoulder throbbed, hot and alive, sending confusing signals of both possessiveness and rage.

"Don't touch me again!" she cried, retreating to the far side of the room, her eyes blazing with defiance. "Don't you ever touch me again!"

Waldemar pushed himself off the wall, shaking his head slightly. A faint scorch mark was visible on the stone where he'd hit it. He looked at her, not with anger, but with a strange, contemplative expression.

"Powerful," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "The mark has fully unleashed your magic. It anchors it. Directs it." His gaze lingered on her shoulder. "Interesting."

"The bond wants you to be strong," he added, voice quieter now. "Stronger than anyone else… except me.”

"I am not your experiment!" Selene shrieked, throwing her hand out, and a vase of expensive-looking flowers on a nearby table exploded, sending ceramic shards and water spraying across the room.

Waldemar didn't flinch. He merely watched, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "No. You're my mate. And your magic is as wild as my wolf." He took a slow step towards her. "But it's my wild now."

"You can’t just take what you want and call it fate!" she spat, her voice trembling with fury.

Selene's breath hitched. Her magic was indeed surging, an almost overwhelming power buzzing beneath her skin. She felt stronger, more alive than she had in days, perhaps years. But it was also chaotic, vibrating with a dual pull – her anger, and the undeniable, insidious lure of the Moonbind.

"You won't control me," she vowed, her voice trembling despite her newfound power.

"I don't need to control you, Selene," Waldemar countered, his voice soft, almost a caress. "The bond will do that. It will guide your magic. It will guide you." He took another step. "Every time you use your power, every time it flares, it will deepen the connection. It will pull you closer to me."

"Then I’ll stop using it."

"You won’t," he said simply, his golden eyes unwavering. "Because the moment you stop, you’ll feel the absence like a wound. You’re not just bound to me. You’re addicted.”

He was right. She could feel it. The more her magic pulsed, the more intense the craving for him became, the more desperately her very being seemed to yearn for his presence, his touch, his overwhelming power. It was a terrifying, vicious cycle.

"This is madness!" she gasped, clutching her head, trying to fight the onslaught of conflicting emotions and sensations.

"It's fate," Waldemar corrected, stopping just a few feet from her. His golden eyes, now blazing with an almost unnerving intensity, were fixed on her claiming mark. "The mark is a permanent link. To me. To the pack. To this land."

He lifted his hand, slowly, reaching for her. Selene instinctively recoiled, but a part of her, the Moonbind, cried out, urging her closer, begging for his touch. Her magic writhed, a serpent coiling and uncoiling within her, desperate for the connection it now craved.

"Come here, Selene," Waldemar commanded, his voice a low, primal growl that resonated deep in her bones. It wasn't a question. It was an alpha's order, layered with the insidious compulsion of the bond.

"No…" she breathed, but her body betrayed her, one trembling step at a time.

She fought it, every fiber of her being screaming in protest. But her feet moved, slowly, unwillingly, dragging her towards him. Her vision blurred, tears of frustration and helplessness stinging her eyes. She hated him. Hated the Moonbind. Hated herself for responding.

Waldemar watched her approach, a grim satisfaction on his face. When she was within arm's reach, he caught her, pulling her against his chest with a powerful embrace. Her magic flared again, violently, uncontrollably, but this time, instead of pushing him away, it surged into him, a desperate, hungry torrent.

He grunted, a sound of both pain and profound relief, as the raw power flowed from her into him, stabilizing, balancing, completing a circuit. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, his muscles tensing.

"Mine," he whispered, his voice rough with possessive triumph, a primal declaration that echoed through her very soul. "Forever mine."

Selene felt the last of her defiance crumble under the overwhelming surge of the Moonbind. Her body, her magic, her very essence, felt irrevocably intertwined with his. She was lost.

Just as she felt the last vestiges of her consciousness slipping away, a horrifying thought pierced through the haze, chilling her to the bone.

What if the more I use my magic, the more I truly become his? What if my power is now his leash?