"Drop it. Now."
Silas didn't scream, but the low rumble of his voice hit me like a physical blow. He was too close. I could feel the heat radiating off his chest, smelling like cedar and something sharp, like ozone before a storm. My fingers tightened around the crumpled piece of parchment—the only thing I’d managed to snatch from the altar before the guards dragged me here.
"Get away from me," I snapped, stepping back. My heel caught on the edge of a heavy rug, and I stumbled.
He didn't give me a second to recover. In one fluid, predatory motion, Silas lunged. His hand clamped around my wrist, his grip like a vice. He didn't just pull me; he slammed me back against the cold stone wall of the study. The impact knocked the wind out of my lungs in a sharp gasp.
"I don't do requests, Ivy," he whispered, his face inches from mine. His eyes weren't human. They were molten gold, swirling with a hunger that made my blood freeze and boil at the same time. "I give orders. And you're currently ignoring one."
"I'm not a dog," I spat, struggling against him. I tried to yank my arm away, but he only pressed his body harder against mine, pinning me. I could feel the hard line of his thighs, the sheer mass of him crushing me into the masonry.
"Then stop acting like a stray," Silas countered. He reached down, his fingers digging into the fabric of my collar, yanking me upward until I was on my toes. "Give it to me. The contract. Now."
"Why?" I managed to choke out, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "If you're the 'Forbidden King,' surely you don't need a piece of paper to tell you who you own."
He chuckled, a dark, dry sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Ownership is a messy business. Paper makes it clean. Now, for the last time—hand it over, or I start taking things from you that you can't get back."
I glared at him, my breathing shallow. I could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my dress. The power imbalance was sickening. He could snap my wrist with a flick of his finger. But if I gave him the paper, I had nothing. No leverage. No way to negotiate my way out of this nightmare.
"Go to hell," I whispered.
Silas's expression didn't flicker. He just shifted his grip. His hand left my collar and slid down, his fingers wrapping firmly around my throat. He didn't squeeze—not yet—but the threat was there, a cold promise of suffocation.
"You have a lot of fire for someone who was sold for the price of a few border territories," he murmured. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, a gesture that should have been tender but felt like a predator marking prey. "Do you think your father cares if you die here? Do you think Klaus will even remember your name by tomorrow?"
"He... he wouldn't," I gasped, my voice trembling.
"He would," Silas corrected, his voice dropping an octave. "He'd probably thank me for cleaning up his mistake. Now. Give. It. To. Me."
I looked into those gold eyes and saw something—a flicker of something that wasn't just malice. It was a challenge. He wanted to see how far I'd bend before I broke.
"What if I don't?" I challenged, my voice barely a thread. "What are you going to do, Silas? Kill me? You need me for the blood-bond. You can't complete the ritual with a corpse."
He paused. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips. "You're smarter than you look. A pity. It means I have to be more creative."
He suddenly released my throat, but before I could breathe, he grabbed my waist and spun me around. I let out a yelp as he forced me down, my knees hitting the hard floor with a dull thud. He was behind me in an instant, his chest pressed against my back, his arm locking around my neck in a chokehold that wasn't quite tight enough to kill, but enough to make me panic.
"On your knees," he hissed into my ear. His breath was hot, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. "That's where you belong in this house. Now, reach into your pocket and hand it over, or I'll make sure you can't walk for a week."
"You're a monster," I whispered, tears of frustration pricking my eyes.
"I'm exactly what they told you I was," he replied. His hand moved from my neck, his fingers brushing against the side of my hip, searching for the parchment. I tried to twist away, but he shifted his weight, pinning my hips to the floor with his own.
"Stop fighting," he commanded. "The more you struggle, the more I enjoy this. Is that what you want? To give me pleasure?"
"Shut up!" I yelled, trying to elbow him in the ribs.