Chapter 4

DARIUS

A petty little thief. A mere human.

A low growl rumbled in my throat as I paced the length of the throne room, my steps controlled. But the fury beneath my skin was anything but.

The soft tap of footsteps behind me had my head snapping over my shoulder.

“Your Majesty.”

Veyra knelt before me, her head bowed in deference. I turned to face her, hands clasped behind my back, my patience hanging by a thread.

“Tell me,” I said, my voice low. “What did you see?”

She hesitated. Her eyes darted around the room before lowering to the floor.

“I went to the dungeon,” she said carefully. “I took his blood, Your Majesty.”

I inhaled. The sharp tang of magic clung to her, mixing with the unmistakable scent of fear.

“The magic of the stone has imprinted itself deep within him,” she continued. “And…”

She hesitated.

I stepped closer. “And what, witch?”

Veyra swallowed. “He is your mate.”

The words struck like a blade to the gut and my lips pulled back into a sneer, a hollow laugh tearing from my throat.

“Lies.”

My voice thundered through the throne room, rattling the chandeliers above. Veyra flinched, but I was not finished.

“What has he promised you?” I snarled. “What lie did that wretched wizard whisper in your ear to make you betray me?”

“Your Majesty, it is not a trick—”

“It is a curse!” My fury boiled over as I closed the distance between us, my breath hot against her face. “I will not be bound to a filthy human, least of all that creature.”

Veyra sucked in a shaky breath. “Only he can give you what you want.”

I stilled. “Be clear with your words, Veyra.”

“The stone’s heart—the magic has buried itself inside him. You cannot take it, cannot force it free.” Her voice wavered. “You must make him give it to you.”

The dungeon bells rang.

My jaw clenched. I turned away without another glance, my boots echoing as I strode toward the open doors.

I already knew why the bells had been sounded. And as I stepped into the corridor, my suspicions were confirmed.

___________

Zeke. The thief who had stolen my salvation. He was bold, I’d give him that, but he was weak. Stupid. And worst of all, mine.

Fate be damned.

Curses be damned, because I would not—could not—be tied to this reckless, mouthy creature who knew nothing of silence, of obedience.

My fingers tightened around his throat, feeling the way he swallowed beneath my grip. Fragile. Breakable. A whore playing at defiance.

I leaned in, my breath a whisper against his lips. “Not only are you a thief, but you’re a whore too.”

His hands, still braced against my thighs, pressed flat, trembling even though he tried to hide it. I let my claws lengthen, the sharp tips biting into his flesh, drawing thin lines of blood that dripped onto the stone floor. A warning. A promise.

That was my intent. But the thief—the whore—had other things in mind. And if this was the game he wished to play, I would make sure he never forgot it.

I exhaled slowly, watching his face as he lifted his chin, lips curving—not in a smile, no, but in something close to challenge. The kind of challenge only a fool like him would offer.

"What can I say, Your Majesty? I’m a man of many talents."

My fingers curled into his hair, twisting, yanking his head back. His breath stuttered, his throat working in a swallow he couldn’t complete.

"A man of many talents," I mused, low, thoughtful. My grip tightened, forcing his head further back, his pulse jumping against my palm. “Then open your mouth and prove it.”

His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second too long.

I wrenched his mouth open with a sharp tug of his hair. His breath hitched. His tongue trembled.

And then his eyes—already wide—widened further.

He saw it. Me.

The thick length of my cock, hard and heavy, resting against his cheek for the briefest moment before I shoved past his lips, forcing myself inside.

He gasped—a wet, strangled sound—but I didn’t stop. His lips stretched too wide, his jaw barely able to take the width of me, but that didn’t matter. I would fit. I would make sure of it.

His hands flew to my thighs, nails digging in. Instinct. His body resisting even as he forced himself not to.

I bared my teeth. Good. Let him fight. Let him struggle.

I pressed deeper. His throat seized, convulsing around me as he gagged. I felt it—the way his body tried to push me out, the way he couldn’t. His nails raked against my skin, the sound of his choked breaths filling the vast hall.

"You said it yourself," I murmured, my voice nothing more than a low rasp. "Your mouth or your ass. I simply granted you the privilege of choosing."

He shuddered. His nails curled into fists, his entire body straining, caught between resisting and surviving.

I forced myself deeper. His eyes watered. His throat spasmed.

And then—he relaxed.

Barely, just a little, but I felt it. The moment his body tried to adjust, to take me in, to please me.

No.

Something burned through my veins, a heat that had nothing to do with desire. My jaw locked. My teeth ground together, the sharp points nearly drawing blood.

The mate bond.

I wanted to tear it from my flesh, rip it apart before it could take root. But it was there, crawling through me like molten fire, seeping into my bones, filling my gut with something wrong.

I hated it.

I wrenched myself from his throat, and he collapsed, choking, his body trembling as he fought for air. Spit clung to his chin, thick and glistening. His lips were raw, swollen, gasping like a man struggling to stay afloat.

Pathetic.

I let the silence stretch, watching him. Letting him feel his own degradation.

His hands pressed to the cold stone, shaking. His shoulders quivered. And then—a sound. A breathless, ragged chuckle.

"That all you have to give, Your Majesty?" Zeke rasped, voice shredded from what I had done to him. He lifted his head, eyes glinting with a reckless, foolish spark. A drop of blood clung to his split lip, and when he licked it away, his smile was slow, taunting. But he was still afraid.

I should have ripped his tongue out.

Instead, I traced a single claw along his cheek. A whisper of a touch. Slow. Careful. Letting him feel the sharpness of it, the threat lingering just beneath his skin.

Then I struck.

His head snapped to the side with a crack. His arms gave out, and he barely caught himself before collapsing fully. Blood smeared across his cheek where my claws had grazed him.

And still—he laughed.

"Felt that one," he murmured, voice thick, "would you care to try again?"

A growl rumbled in my throat. My fingers curled in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing his gaze to meet mine.

His eyes—red-rimmed, damp, furious—burned. He trembled, breath shuddering, body wrecked from what I had done to him.

And yet, his lips curled.

"You hesitate, Your Majesty," he rasped. "As though you like me on my knees."

Enough.

I forced my thumb past his bruised lips, pressing against his tongue. His breath hitched, eyes widening in surprise before narrowing at me like a dare. He could have bitten me. He did not. Instead, I felt the slow drag of his tongue against my skin. Filthy.

I bared my teeth.

"You should be thanking me."

I wrenched him up by his hair, dragging him onto his knees. His body was taut beneath my grip, caught in that exquisite balance between pain and opposition. My claws ghosted over his throat, feeling the frantic pulse hammering beneath his skin.

"You begged for it before," I murmured, my voice a low rasp against his ear. "Do not tell me you have suddenly grown shy."

Zeke’s breath trembled. His thighs pressed together—just slightly. He opened his mouth, no doubt to spit something stupid and reckless—

I seized him before he could.

Fingers tangled in his hair, yanking him forward. He gasped, a brief, startled sound before I forced his lips open again, shoving myself inside. His body jerked, his hands flying up as though to push at my thighs, but I caught his wrists and twisted them behind his back.

There.

He was locked in place, spine arched, throat straining.

And I—I was drowning in the wrongness of it. The tingle of a bond I would never accept. The way my body wanted this. Wanted him.

No.

I would break him. Tear him apart before I let this bond take hold. He gagged around me, the muscles in his neck going tight. I did not ease him. Did not let him catch his breath. His shoulders trembled, the cords of his throat flexing as he fought for air.

Let him struggle. Let him choke on me.

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, slipping down his flushed cheeks. His breath hitched between wet, ragged sounds, but he didn’t stop fighting. His fingers clenched, nails digging into his own palms, his body taut, trembling—defiant even as I wrecked him.

Break.

I thrust deeper, holding him down, watching as his throat convulsed, swallowing around me. His chest spasmed. He tried to pull away—tried to breathe—his body shaking harder now, but I did not let go.

My free hand slid along his jaw, my claws pressing into his damp skin, forcing his head back as I took what I wanted. His lips stretched wide, slick and raw, and when his body gave a full-body shudder, his spine arching—

There.

A sharp gasp tore from him when I finally pulled away.

He collapsed, choking, his body wracked with tremors. A line of spit hung from his bruised lips, thick and shining, catching the light of the torches. His breaths were hoarse, ragged, dragging through his raw throat.

And yet—

His lips curled.

I exhaled slowly, my own breath shaky. My claws flexed at my sides, aching to carve submission into him, to tear that smirk from his face.

“Take him back to the cell,” I ordered.

The guards stepped forward, grabbing him roughly, hauling him up by his arms. His body sagged between them, and for a moment, I thought he would not speak. That at last, at last, I had left him with nothing.

Then, he laughed.

Soft. Hoarse. Almost delighted.

“I heard you.”

I stilled.

“Heard what you said, Your Majesty.” He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded but gleaming. “You called me your mate.”

I clenched my jaw.

“I may not be highborn,” Zeke continued, voice sweet as poison, “but I know what that means.”

I did not move.

I did not breathe.

Zeke smiled.

“You are mine, too.”

A snarl ripped through my throat. The guards wrenched him back before I could lunge, dragging him away, his laughter echoing down the vast halls long after he was gone.

I stood there, chest rising and falling, my claws curling into fists.

Mine?

No.

No, I would tear him apart before I ever allowed that to be true. I would tear him apart to get what I wanted.