The cuff on my wrist was warm.
Beating.
Not in tune with my heartbeat.
His.
Slow.
Steady.
Endless.
It pulsed beneath my skin, a dull heat that throbbed in time with something vast and patient.
A reminder whispered straight into my bones.
I was tethered.
No running.
No severing.
No mercy.
I yanked at it, teeth gritted.
The metal bit into me.
Pain tore up my arm, sharp and white.
I refused to cry out.
The sound stuck in my throat, tasting of iron and ash.
The cuff did not loosen.
It tightened.
Sank deeper.
Like it was not wrapped around me—but through me.
As if it were threading itself into my veins.
A low chuckle echoed across the chamber, rolling over the stone like a lazy wave.
Raviel stood several paces away.
Dark against darker stone.
The blue flames along the walls leaned toward him, their light sliding over the hard planes of his face.
Shadows clung to his coat like they knew their master.
His expression was calm.
Almost indulgent.
Like a king watching a storm break against an unmoving cliff.
"You wound yourself in vain," he said softly.
"Take it off."
My voice scraped raw.
The words tasted like iron on my tongue.
His silver eyes gleamed.
Not bright.
Not cruel.
Satisfied.
"You know I shall not."
I bared my teeth, anger burning hotter than fear.
"Then I will find a way."
His mouth curved faintly.
Patient.
Certain.
"You will not."
I hated that my body already believed him.
The cuff no longer felt like metal.
It felt alive.
Anchored inside me.
Something ancient had closed its fist around my soul and decided it would not let go.
I was his.
I swallowed hard.
My stomach twisted because—
it felt right.
Raviel stepped closer.
The air thickened with him.
The scent of scorched stone and old smoke followed, dry and heavy.
My lungs had to work harder to draw in breath.
The chamber hummed, low and constant, as if something enormous slept beneath the floor and dreamed of waking.
I did not step back.
I refused.
His gaze darkened when it fell to my wrist.
Then his hand closed around it.
The world snapped.
Shadows surged up the walls, wrapping tight around us as if they wanted to listen.
The torches flared, blue light sharpening every edge of his face.
Pain ripped through my veins, tearing a gasp from my chest.
My knees threatened to give.
His power poured into me.
Not wild.
Not frantic.
Thorough.
It slid into the spaces between my ribs.
Pressed against my spine.
Curled around my heart like it had always known the shape.
Raviel watched my face closely.
The tremor at my mouth.
The stutter of my breath.
"This is not a thing you fight," he murmured.
His voice was low, threaded with something dark and unshakable.
I forced myself upright, every muscle screaming.
The stone beneath my boots felt suddenly too smooth, too foreign, too far from the rough dust of my village paths.
"I can still try."
His thumb brushed my pulse.
Slow.
Possessive.
"And I can remind you why effort avails you nothing."
He lifted his hand.
The chamber folded.
Darkness peeled away like skin.
Stone walls rose higher.
Wider.
The ceiling melted into shadow.
Torches burned with steady blue flame, their faint hiss echoing like soft whispers.
The air smelled thicker here—silk, ash, and something warm, intimate, dangerous.
At the center—
a bed.
Black silk sheets.
Carved obsidian frame.
Patterns twisted along its length, dark and intricate, familiar in a way that made my throat tighten.
My heart stuttered.
I knew this room.
Not now.
Before.
Images slammed into me.
Raviel in the doorway.
Watching.
Silent.
Possessive.
Me on that bed.
Tangled in his sheets.
My skin marked.
Breath uneven.
Legs trembling beneath the weight of what he had taken.
Not forced.
Chosen.
A whisper in the dark—
You are mine.
Always.
I ripped myself from his grasp with a sharp inhale.
"Stop."
"I warned you," he replied calmly.
"I do nothing."
The memories burned because they were mine.
They had always been.
"I do not love you," I said, hating the shake in my voice.
Something flickered across his face.
Not anger.
Amusement.
"Not yet."
My stomach clenched.
"You cannot make me."
His eyes flashed, silver turning sharp as a blade.
"I have no need."
That was the terror.
He was not coercing me.
He was waiting.
Because he knew that every path bent back to him.
That I always returned.
I turned toward the towering doors at the far end of the room.
My ears rang.
My pulse hammered loud enough to drown the soft hum of the torches.
I reached for the iron handle—
Agony ripped through me.
White.
Blinding.
I cried out, stumbling back as the cuff flared, locking my body in place.
My muscles froze, every nerve screaming.
"You—"
Raviel arched one brow.
Calm.
Unmoved.
His coat barely shifted with his breath.
"You believed I would permit departure?"
"You locked me in," I hissed.
He did not walk toward me.
He glided.
Then a breath brushed my cheek as he leaned in.
His voice dropped lower, carrying the weight of something that had watched kingdoms rise and fall.
"It is time you cease fleeing what is."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
My heart slammed against my ribs, hard and wild, as if it wanted both to escape and to bury itself deeper in my chest.