AURELIA
He watched me like a hunter who finally had his prey in reach. Patient. Still. Unblinking.
I could feel him behind me, that heavy presence wrapping around the room like a shadow that wouldn't lift. Every breath I took was thick with him — with what we'd done, with what he'd taken, with what I had given without resistance.
I didn't look back.
The coffee sat untouched on the counter, its steam curling like the thoughts in my head. I wanted to reach for it, to steady myself, but it felt too much like accepting something from him. Too intimate.
I swallowed. My voice came out hoarse. "I'm not yours."
The silence that followed was brief.
"You are."
The way he said it with no emotion, no hesitation had made my chest tighten. It wasn't a plea. It was a verdict. Delivered with the quiet authority of someone who had never been told no.
I turned slowly, as if afraid of what I'd find. He hadn't moved. His eyes, dark and fathomless, were locked on mine.
"You heard me," he said again, like a dare.
"I don't belong to anyone," I murmured.
"You do now."
A tremor went through me. He wasn't trying to seduce me. There was no coaxing, no softness. Just domination. Command.
"You're not a god," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"No," he replied. "But I don't need to be one to take what's mine."
I should've run then. Or screamed. But I stood there, caught between fear and something more dangerous—want. The kind that burned low and sharp, like a secret ache.
"Is that supposed to scare me?"
He stepped forward. Not fast. Not loud. But the room seemed to shrink with every inch he crossed.
"It should."
I lowered my gaze, not in submission, but because I didn't trust myself to keep staring into those eyes. Something in me — primal, reckless — wanted that darkness.
My heart kicked harder. And then the memory came, uninvited and raw.
We were in his apartment. I remember the smell of burnt coffee and cold toast. Luca was pacing, hands running through his hair like he was unraveling. "Talk to me," I said, stepping in front of him. He paused. Met my eyes. "I can't do this anymore." "What?" He held up the ring. His hand shook. "I thought I could. But... I can't." "Is it someone else?'' "No. It's not like that. It's me." The oldest lie in the book. But I believed him. Because I loved him. Because I was foolish. He left. Just like that.
Kaelith still hadn't moved. "Men like that weren't meant to keep you."
My breath caught, but I didn't respond. He didn't know — couldn't know — about Luca.
"And you think you are?" I asked—not with defiance, just quiet curiosity.
His gaze sharpened. "I don't think. I know."
He stepped closer. My pulse thudded.
"You crave power. You crave danger. That's why you couldn't stop staring at me that first night."
I didn't deny it. Because he was right.
He studied my face, his voice low and commanding. "I remember giving you the option to leave, little lamb. You stayed, even when I warned you."
He smirked. "You made your choice. Now, you're mine."
My breath hitched. His words were like a decree, echoing the ruthlessness of a prince who always got what he wanted.
I should've been afraid. But I shivered.
He leaned in, his voice brushing against my cheek.
"Next time, you won't wake up alone. Next time, you'll wake up knowing you're mine. Not just your body."
I wanted to argue. To remind myself who I was. But I couldn't. All I could do was nod slightly, as the dark truth curled deeper inside me:
He didn't love me.
He claimed me.
And part of me — the part that whispered when the lights went out — wanted to be claimed.