Chapter 5

The silence after his little speech hung in the air like smoke.

Dante was still standing with his back half turned to me, his massive shoulders locked tight, his jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grinding from across the room. He had just told me he would never touch me unless I asked, and he clearly meant every single word.

Which was exactly why I was about to ask him to do something that would completely destroy whatever was left of his self control.

"I need you to mark me," I told him, and my voice came out far steadier than I expected.

His entire body went stiff. Slowly, like a man hearing a sound he couldn't quite believe, he turned his head just enough to look at me over his shoulder. His ice blue eyes were wide, confused, and absolutely drowning in panic.

"What?" The word came out rough, barely a whisper.

"Mark me." I held his gaze without flinching. "Your people look at me like I'm a stain on this estate. Your servants won't meet my eyes. Your guards step aside when I walk past, not out of respect, but because they can't stand to be near me. I am your queen in name only, and everyone in this territory knows it."

She wants me to mark her? Does she understand what that means? Does she know what a Lycan's mark does to a human body? The bite alone could...

"If you mark me," I continued, cutting through his spiraling thoughts, "it becomes real. No one can question my position. No one can whisper that you never claimed me. It shuts every single mouth in this estate."

Dante turned fully to face me, and the look on his face was something between tortured and terrified. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and his chest was rising and falling faster than normal. He looked like a man being asked to hold a butterfly without crushing it.

"You don't know what you're asking me to do." His voice was thick, strained at the edges. "The marking bite is not gentle, Rosalia. It will hurt. It will leave a wound that takes days to heal on a human body."

"I don't care." I lifted my chin. "I would rather take the pain of one bite than spend another three years being treated like I don't exist."

Three years? She said three years. Why would she say three years? We've only been married for one night. Unless she... no. She's just being dramatic. Humans say things like that when they're upset. Don't overthink it. Focus. She wants you to mark her. Your WIFE wants you to MARK her. This is not a drill. This is REAL.

"Are you sure?" His voice dropped even lower, and the raw, careful concern in it made something warm curl in my stomach despite everything. "Once a Lycan's mark is placed, it cannot be removed. You will carry it forever."

"Good." I turned my back to him, presenting the bare curve of my neck where my hair fell to one side. "Then everyone will see it forever."

The room went completely silent. I could hear him breathing behind me, slow and heavy, each breath carefully controlled like he was rationing the air in his lungs. I waited, my pulse quickening, my fingers gripping the front of my nightgown.

"Turn around." His voice was barely audible. "Lower your dress."

My heart gave a hard, sudden kick against my ribs. I reached up with both hands and slowly slid the thin straps off my shoulders, letting the purple silk glide down my back. The cool air of the chamber kissed my bare skin, and I felt goosebumps prickle along my spine.

Before the nightgown could fall any lower than my waist, I felt his hands. Large, warm, impossibly gentle for a man his size. His fingers caught the fabric at the small of my back and held it in place, stopping it from slipping any further. He was protecting my modesty even now, even in this moment, and the realization sent a strange ache through my chest that I was not expecting.

Don't look down. Don't look at her bare back. Don't think about how soft her skin looks. Don't think about running your hands along her spine. FOCUS. You are doing this for her. She needs this. Be careful. Be gentle. Do NOT lose control.

His fingers gathered my red hair, lifting it away from my neck with a tenderness that made my breath catch. He twisted it softly, draping it over my opposite shoulder, and his knuckles barely brushed the side of my throat as he did.

I was trembling. He would think it was fear. He would assume I was terrified of the pain, that my body was bracing for agony, that I was regretting my decision.

But the truth was so much more complicated than that. Standing here with his warm hands on my hair and his breath ghosting across the back of my neck, I felt something I had not felt in three years of marriage and three years of dying alone. I felt safe. I felt wanted. And buried underneath all the anger and resentment and bitter exhaustion of a woman who had already lived and died in this man's shadow, there was still a tiny, stubborn flicker of affection that had never quite gone out.

"This will hurt," he warned, his lips so close to my neck that the words vibrated against my skin. "I am sorry."

Please don't cry. If she cries, I will never forgive myself. If she screams, I will throw myself off the balcony. Just be quick. Be precise. Don't let the venom linger too long. Heal her immediately. IMMEDIATELY.

"Just do it," I whispered.

His mouth pressed against the curve where my neck met my shoulder, warm and firm. For one suspended second, there was nothing but the heat of his lips against my skin.

Then his teeth sank in.

The pain was blinding. It ripped through my body like a bolt of white lightning, starting at the bite and shooting outward in every direction until my fingers went numb and my knees nearly buckled. I gasped, my hands shooting up to grab whatever I could reach, and my fingers found his forearm. I gripped him so hard my nails dug into his skin, my body shaking violently as the venom from his bite spread through my bloodstream like liquid fire.

"Finish it," I hissed through clenched teeth, my voice breaking. "Dante, finish it NOW."

His teeth withdrew, and before the first wave of searing agony could fully register, I felt his tongue. Warm. Wet. Sliding slowly across the open wound in long, careful strokes. His saliva seeped into the bite, and the relief was immediate. The burning cooled. The throbbing softened. The lightning in my veins turned into something warm and soothing, like sinking into a hot bath after standing in a snowstorm.

I exhaled a shuddering breath, my grip on his forearm loosening as the pain melted away, replaced by a tingling, cool sensation that spread across my entire neck and down through my shoulders. The mark was sealed. The wound was already closing.

And then something else hit me.

It started low in my belly, a slow, spreading heat that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with something far more primal. The warmth climbed upward through my chest and downward through my thighs at the same time, pooling in places that made my breath hitch and my cheeks flush scarlet.

Oh no.

I had heard the stories about what a Lycan's mark did to a mate's body after the bond was sealed. The connection between the marked and the one who marked them triggered a surge of raw, physical desire that was almost impossible to resist. For a Lycan, the urge was overwhelming. For a human on the receiving end, it was supposed to be manageable.

It was not manageable. It was not manageable at all.

My skin felt like it was on fire. Every nerve ending in my body was wide awake and screaming for contact, and the man whose scent was currently wrapped around me like a warm blanket was standing right behind me, his breath still hot against my neck.

"Dante," I started, my voice coming out far too breathy for my own liking, and I turned to face him.

But his eyes were wild. His pupils were blown wide, the ice blue almost entirely swallowed by black, and his hands were trembling at his sides. His entire body was rigid, every muscle coiled tight, and the look on his face was that of a man standing at the edge of a cliff and fighting with everything he had not to jump.

I can't stay here. If I stay in this room for one more second, I will lose control. She's human. She's fragile. If I touch her now, I won't be able to stop. I won't be GENTLE. I need to leave. I need to leave RIGHT NOW.

"Dante, wait..." I reached for him, but he was already moving.

He turned on his heel, crossed the room in three massive strides, and wrenched the door open so hard the hinges groaned in protest. Without a single word, without looking back, without giving me even a second to process what had just happened, the Lycan King bolted out of the room like the building was on fire.

The door slammed shut behind him with a force that rattled the paintings on the walls.

And there I stood. Marked. Burning. Trembling with a wave of desire so intense my thighs were pressing together on their own. My nightgown was still pooled around my waist, the cool air doing absolutely nothing to calm the inferno raging inside my body.

My husband had just marked me, awakened something feral and consuming inside me, and then ran away like a scared puppy, leaving me completely stunned, heavily aroused, and utterly, infuriatingly alone. Again.