Chapter 6 Claimed in the Dark

MALRIK

"What are you saying?" I asked carefully.

She set down the book, stood up, and crossed the room, stopping in front of my chair.

"I'm saying you aren't the only one feeling... something ."

My heart—my traitorous, supposedly dead heart—started beating faster.

"Sera—"

"I know this is crazy. I know we just met. I know you're a demon, I'm human, and this is likely the worst idea in history."

"It is."

"But I can't stop thinking about you: the way you came back for me, the way you look at me, and how I feel when I'm near you."

"How do you feel?"

"Safe. Wanted. Like I matter." I stood up, and suddenly we were inches apart. I could feel the heat of her body.

"You do matter," I said, my voice rough. "More than you should."

"Is that a bad thing?"  

"Yes."  

"Why?"  

"Because I'm dangerous. 

"Because I can't stay away from you." The words came out rougher than I intended."Because your scent is in my head, and I cannot think of anything else. Because every instinct I have is screaming at me to keep you close, to ensure you are safe, to—" I trailed off.

"To what?" she prompted softly.  

"To make you mine."  

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication.  

"I'm bonding with you," I continued, forcing myself to explain. "It's rare for demons, but it happens when we find someone whose soul resonates with ours. When it happens... we don't let go. We can't.”

"So you're saying I'm your soulmate?"  

"I'm saying you're mine. Whether that's fate or biology or just cosmic irony, I don't know. But I know I can't let you go."  

She was quiet for a long moment, processing. "What if I want to leave?"  

Pain lanced through my chest at the thought. "Then I'd let you go. I'm not going to keep you prisoner, Sera. But I'd spend the rest of my very long life making sure you were safe. Even from a distance."  

"That sounds like hell."  

"It would be."  

She moved closer, close enough that I could smell the jasmine, fear and arousal coming off her in waves.  

"What if I don't want to leave?" she asked.  

My hands clenched at my sides. "Then you need to understand what you're getting into. I'm not human. I'm not safe. I've done things-terrible things-that would give you nightmares. I've killed, I've destroyed, I've claimed souls and dragged them to hell. I'm a monster, Sera. A monster who's trying very hard not to devour you whole."  

"Maybe I want to be devoured."  

The words were barely a whisper, but they hit me like a blow.  

"Don't," I said, my voice strained. "Don't say things like that unless you mean them."  

"I mean them." She reached up, her hand trembling slightly as she touched my face. Her fingers were soft against my jaw, and I felt that touch all the way to my bones.  

"I don't understand what's happening between us. I don't understand why I'm not running or why I trust you when I barely know you. But I know that when I'm with you, I feel safe. I feel alive. And I haven't felt that way in a very long time."  

"Sera," I said, my voice barely human. "You need to step back."  

"Why?"  

"Because if you don't, I'm going to kiss you. And I won't stop there."  

"Maybe I don't want you to," she whispered.  

I caught her hand, pressing it against my cheek. "If we do this-if we cross this line-there's no going back. I won't be able to let you go. Ever."  

"Good." she said.  

And then she kissed me.   

SERA

Kissing Malrik was like touching lightning.  

Everything around us seemed to fade away: the city lights, the danger, the fear, until there was nothing but his mouth on mine and his hands pulling me closer.  

His lips were hot against mine, demanding. His hands came up to cup my face, holding me in place like he was afraid I'd disappear.  

He was trying to be gentle, I could tell. Trying to hold back the intensity I could feel thrumming beneath his skin. But I didn't want gentle. I wanted all of him: the darkness, the danger, the raw power that made my pulse race and my body ache.  

I pressed closer, my hands fisting in his shirt, and he made a sound, low and rough, that sent heat flooding through my body.  

He tasted like whiskey and darkness. When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.  

"That was a mistake," he said, but he didn't let go of me.  

"Felt pretty good to me."  

"Sera–”  

"I want this. I want you."  

"You don't know what you're asking for."  

"Then show me."  

His eyes flared amber, and I saw the demon rising to the surface. The hunger, the need, the barely controlled desire.  

"If I show you," he said, his voice rough, "there's no going back. Do you understand? Once I claim you, you're mine. Completely. Irrevocably. Mine."  

The possessiveness in his voice should have scared me. Instead, it made me feel wanted in a way I'd never felt before.  

"I understand," I said.  

"Say it."  

"Say what?"  

"Say you're mine."  

I looked into his eyes, those impossible amber eyes, and said, "I'm yours."  

Something in him snapped. I saw it happen: saw the last threads of his control fray and break.  

He kissed me again, harder this time, his hands moving from my face to my waist, pulling me against him. I could feel the hard planes of his body, the heat of him, the barely leashed power.  

He lifted me easily, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom.  

The room was dark, lit only by the city lights filtering through the windows, but I could see enough. A massive bed. Dark sheets. More bookshelves lining the walls.  

He set me down on the edge of the bed, his hands going to the hem of my shirt.  

"Last chance," he said, his voice rough. "Tell me to stop, and I will take you to the guest room, and we'll pretend this never happened."  

"Don't stop."  

He groaned and kissed me again, his hands sliding under my shirt, his shirt, pushing it up. I arched into his touch, gasping when his fingers found bare skin.  

"You're so soft," he murmured against my lips. "So warm. So human."  

"Is that a bad thing?"  

"It's a dangerous thing."  

He pulled the shirt over my head, tossed it aside. I wasn't wearing a bra. I hadn't had one to put on, and his eyes darkened as he looked at me.  

"Beautiful," he said. "You're so fucking beautiful."  

I reached for him, pulling at his shirt. He helped me, yanking it off in one smooth motion.  

His body was a work of art. Lean muscle, golden skin, and scars that looked like they'd been made by claws and blades and fire. So many scars. Some looked old, faded. Others looked recent, still pink and raised.  

I traced one with my finger, a long line across his ribs, and he hissed.  

"Does it hurt?" I asked.  

"Not anymore."  

"What happened?"  

"Silver blade. Blessed by a priest. Took weeks to heal."  

I leaned forward, pressed my lips to the scar. Felt him shudder beneath my touch. His hands came up to tangle in my hair, not pulling, just holding me there like he needed the contact to stay grounded.  

"Sera," he breathed. "You're killing me."  

"I thought demons couldn't die."  

"We can't. But you're making me wish I could, just so I could die happy."  

I smiled against his skin and continued my exploration, mapping the planes of his chest and stomach with my hands and mouth, learning the landscape of his pain. He was all hard muscle and heat, his body responding to every touch like he'd been starved for contact.   

"Sera," he whispered, my name a warning and a plea.  

He let me for a moment, his hands fisted in the sheets, his breathing ragged. When I reached the waistband of his jeans, he caught my hands and pinned them above my head.  

"My turn," he said.  

And then his mouth was on me: my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. He took his time, exploring, tasting, driving me slowly insane with need.  

When his hand slid into the sweatpants I was wearing, I gasped.  

"Mal-"  

"Tell me to stop," he said again.  

"Don't. Don't stop."  

His fingers found me, and I arched off the bed, pleasure shooting through me like electricity.  

"So wet," he murmured. "Is this for me?"  

"Yes. God, yes."  

He worked me with his fingers, his thumb circling, pressing, until I was writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

 "Please," I gasped.  

"Please what?"  

"Please, I need, I need-"  

"Tell me what you need."  

"You. I need you."  

He pulled back, and I whimpered at the loss. But then he was pulling off the sweatpants, tossing them aside, and I was naked beneath him.  

He looked at me like I was something precious. Something sacred.  

"Mine," he said softly.  

"Yours," I agreed.  

He stood, unbuckled his belt, pushed his jeans down. And then he was naked too, and I could see all of him.  

He was beautiful. Perfect. 

He covered me again, his body pressing mine into the mattress, and I felt him, hard and hot, against my thigh.  

"This might hurt," he said. "I'll try to be gentle."  

"I don't want gentle. I want you."  

He groaned and kissed me, as he positioned himself. Then, with a slow and steady motion, he pushed inside, and I gasped at the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being claimed.  

He stilled, giving me time to adjust.  

"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained.  

"More than okay. Move. Please move."  

He did, and it was perfect.