Page 53 of Warlord's Plaything

"Oh, little warrior."

He moves toward me, slow and predatory, his presence filling the space, suffocating the atmosphere between us.

"You’re in my hell now."

My pulse spikes.

Every instinct in my body screams to move.

To fight. To run. To do anything but sit here, caught in his gravity.

But I don’t.

Because running isn’t what I do.

And something dark inside me knows?—

I don’t want to run.

Not from this.

Not from him.

"Why am I here?"I bite out, fists curling in the silk sheets.

Xyron reaches the bed, stopping just close enough that I feel his heat, feel the way the air thickens between us.

"Because you lost."His voice is low, even. Dangerous."Because you belong to me now."

"You think you own me?"I force out, voice sharper than my shaking hands.

He leans in, not touching me—but so close it doesn’t fucking matter.

"I don’t think, little warrior."

A breath.

A slow, deliberate pause.

"I know."

Something snaps.

I move before I think—lashing out, aiming for his throat, needing to push him back, needing to remind him that I am not something to be owned.

But he anticipates it.

Like he always does.

Like he knows me better than I know myself.

He catches my wrist, twisting, yanking me forward.

And suddenly, I’m caged between his arms.

Between him.

"You still don’t get it, do you?"His breath is warm against my skin.

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