Page 34 of Claimed In Darkness

"Maybe if you cut this fucking chain, I’d be more relaxed," she bites out.

The hall quietly erupts around us. Not in open shock—no, these creatures do not gasp, do not show surprise so easily.

But they hear her.

They watch.

They are waiting for something to happen.

My pet does not know the game she is playing.

I set the goblet down without drinking, tilting my head as I regard her. "You are mistaken if you think that chain is there to hold you back," I say, amusement curling through every syllable.

Naira scoffs. "Then what the hell is it for?"

I lean in, slow, calculated. My fingers ghost over the delicate silver collar encircling her throat.

She stiffens.

She abhors that I do not have to touch her skin to own her.

"It is a warning," I say smoothly. "To everyone else in this room."

Her breath catches.

There it is—the realization.

She doesn’t belong to herself anymore. She belongs to me.

The collar shines beneath the candlelight, its metal sleek and cool against her flushed skin. Unlike the branding, this is not magic. This is not something seared into her flesh.

This is a choice I have made for her.

I watch the battle rage in her eyes. The flicker of hatred, the curling edge of helplessness, the way she breathes through her nose as if that alone will keep her from shattering.

I want to see her fall apart.

But not here. It will be for my eyes only.

"Why?" she asks, voice sharp as a dagger.

I trace the edge of the chain, letting it clink softly against my knuckles. "There are men in this room who would dare to covet what is mine."

Her pulse thrashes beneath my fingertips, and she feels it, making her hate herself for her reaction.

A shadow looms behind us before she can snap back with another insult.

"Lord Zacria," a smooth, familiar voice murmurs. "I see you’ve acquired something quite… fascinating."

I do not turn immediately. I let the words hang, let them sink into Nairaskin like poisoned silk.

Lazily, I lift my gaze to Lord Orvian.

The filthy dark elf spawn of the devil.

Tall, silver-haired, eyes the color of deep-water graves. He smiles as if he already knows how this will end.

I’m aware of what he wants but I am not in the habit of sharing.

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