"Still wearing them?"
Cain’s voice didn’t just cut the silence. It owned it. He was leaning against the mahogany door, arms crossed, watching me like I was a specimen under a microscope.
I clutched the fabric of my dress to my chest. My knuckles were white. "You said a checkup. You didn't say I had to be naked."
"I said take them off," he replied. Flat. Cold. "I don't remember asking for a debate on the definition of a checkup, Ivy."
I stepped back, my heel catching on the rug. "I'm not livestock. You can't just—"
In two strides, he was there. He didn't grab me, but he crowded my space, his chest inches from mine. Cedar and metallic blood. He was too tall, too broad, and he knew exactly how much I was shaking.
"You're not livestock," he murmured. The voice was a dangerous vibration. "Livestock has value. You're a defect. A low-blood mistake sold to me for a fraction of what your brother claimed you were worth."
His thumb grazed my jawline. Electric. A jolt of heat that made my breath hitch. I tried to flinch, but his grip tightened. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to tell me I wasn't going anywhere.
"Why do this?" I spat. "If I'm such a mistake, throw me in the dungeons with the rest of the trash."
Cain tilted his head. His dark eyes scanned my face. There was something hungry there. Something not human.
"Because trash doesn't smell like that."
"Smell like what?"
"Something... quiet," he whispered. He leaned in, lips almost touching the shell of my ear. "Something that might actually stop the noise in my head. Now. The dress. Or I rip it off you myself. I don't care which."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to claw his eyes out, but my body betrayed me. Heart hammering. Fear mixing with a sharp, unwanted pull. It was biological. It was wrong.
Slowly, my fingers trembled at the collar. One. Two. Three. The fabric loosened. Pale skin exposed.
"Finish it," he commanded.
I pulled the dress down. It pooled around my ankles in a heap of ruined silk. I stood there, exposed and shivering, arms crossed over my chest. I hated him. I hated how he looked at me—like he could see every secret I’d ever buried.
Cain didn't move. His gaze traveled slowly. Curve of my waist. Tremble in my thighs. The hunger shifted. It wasn't just power anymore. It was visceral.
"Step closer."
"No," I whispered.
He didn't argue. He just wrapped his hand around my wrist and jerked me forward. I gasped, my chest brushing his shirt. Heat radiated off him like a furnace.
"You're shaking," he growled. "Is it fear, Ivy? Or is your blood finally recognizing its master?"
"I don't have a master," I snapped, yanking my arm. "And my blood only recognizes that you're a bastard."
He chuckled. Dark. Dry. "I like the fire. Makes the breaking part more satisfying."
He let go of my wrist only to slide his hand up my spine. Hot palm against skin. He pressed me back against the cold stone wall. Freezing rock. Burning touch. I gasped.
He leaned in, nose brushing the pulse point of my neck. I froze. I could hear his heartbeat—slow, heavy, like a war drum.
"You smell... different," he murmured. "The others smell like submission. You smell like a challenge."
"Get away from me," I breathed. I didn't move. I couldn't. My legs were lead. The pressure of his body made my head spin.
"Why is your heart racing?" His voice vibrated against my skin. "You despise me. So why is your body begging me to touch you?"
"It's not," I lied. My voice cracked.
"Liar."
He shifted, pinning me harder. His hand moved to my throat. Not squeezing. Just resting. His thumb traced my windpipe. He held my life in his hand and he was savoring it.
"What do you want?" I whispered. "Money? Information? You already bought me."
Cain pulled back just enough to lock eyes. His pupils were blown wide. "I want the silence, Ivy. I want the one thing your pathetic bloodline has been hiding for a century."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Don't you?" He sneered. "The way your blood sings when I get close... you're not a defect. You're a key."
He gripped my chin, forcing me up. "And I'm going to find out what you unlock, even if I have to bleed every drop out of you."
He spun me. Slammed my chest against the wall. My cheek pressed into cold stone. His chest crushed my back. Hot breath on my neck.
"Let me go!" I screamed.
"Shh," he hissed. More beast than man. "Stop fighting. It only makes the hunger worse."
Teeth grazed my shoulder. I let out a sharp cry—half-terror, half-something else. I wanted to run. I wanted to lean back into him.
"You're mine now," he whispered. "Not Silas's. Not your family's. Mine."
"I'll never be yours," I gasped, arching toward him.
"We'll see."
He didn't wait. Fingers dug into my hips, pulling me flush. Then—a sharp, sudden prick at the base of my neck.
I screamed. It wasn't a kill. It was a claim. Fangs sank deep. White-hot pleasure and agony flooded my system. My vision blurred. The world tilted. As he drank, a forbidden warmth sealed the contract in red.
He pulled back slowly. Lips stained. He looked at me with hate and obsession.
"Now," he rasped. "You're officially marked."
I slumped. My legs gave out. I looked up at him, breath hitching. "What... what did you do?"
Cain wiped the blood from his mouth. A predatory smirk. He loomed over me like a shadow.
"I just gave you a reason to never leave this room."
He pulled a heavy, obsidian band from his pocket. A collar etched with glowing crimson runes. He knelt, the metal clicking as he readied it to snap around my neck.
"Wait—"
"Too late," he whispered. "Now, let's see who's really in control."