Aurelia's breath hitched for a moment.
"My apologies."
Her muscles seized, every fiber taut as wire. She didn't want to obey but felt she had to.
Her spine, which had straightened against her will, stiffened further, resisting the slight bend she was now forcing it into. Her chin lowered slowly, a rush of heat crawling up her throat, burning her cheeks as her violet eyes refused to meet the mask that watched her like a predator.
"No, I'd prefer you put a title to that… My lord," Tenebrarum's voice echoed in her ears, sharp and cold as iron.
Her hands curled at her sides, knuckles white, trembling slightly. She could feel his gaze behind the mask, tracing every tiny movement, reading every fear she tried to hide, dissecting her like a predator savoring the hunt.
He wasn't even happy she didn't add a title for him. If it were up to her, she would call herself a devil—a beast, perhaps. And he still wasn't satisfied.
"My lord…" The word hovered in her mind like a blade she refused to draw. Her lips remained sealed, stubborn and tight, but inside, she swore she would never utter it.
"I will never say that; I can't."
Her voice raced, her heart hammering with a mix of terror and defiance.
The weight of his presence pressed down on her, yet the name "Master" would never cross her lips. She would not give him that satisfaction.
Every nerve screamed obedience, every instinct urged submission, but her will—fragile, battered, yet unbroken—refused to kneel.
Her throat burned with the words she would never say. Her hands twitched at her sides, and her pulse raced like a warning drum.
"Why would I?" she spat, looking up at his faceless mask, not caring what he would do to her.
"You resist," he murmured, his voice like smoke curling around her. "And yet… I can feel your fear. It tastes like fire, little rabbit."
Her hands curled at her sides. Her body trembled, but she forced her spine to stay straight, refusing to bow. Every instinct screamed to flee, to collapse, to beg—but she couldn't. Not yet.
Tenebrarum leaned just slightly closer, so close that the air around her seemed to burn. "Defiance," he said softly, "is… a dangerous game."
Her lips parted slightly, not in submission, but in silent acknowledgment of the risk she had chosen. Her mind whispered a vow she would never speak aloud:
"You are nothing but the devil to me…" her voice raged.
Then, with a sudden sharp movement—so fast she barely saw his hand—the table beside him flew across the room.
It slammed into the floor just inches from her feet.
Wood exploded into splinters. Shards scattered across the stone like broken teeth.
Aurelia flinched so hard that her breath caught. The sound echoed through the chamber, violent and final.
"What did you say?" Tenebrarum's voice increased in intensity.
He rose from his chair, each movement measured, like a predator stretching before the hunt. His robe of black silk, threaded with pulsing silver, whispered against the floor, the sound faint but sharp against the silence.
Every step toward her was purposeful, heavy with intent, each footfall resonating through the stone like the beat of a drum announcing doom.
He was surely going to punish her.
He paused briefly, looking into her eyes. Aurelia felt the heat radiating off him, even from a distance—a force that made the air around her tremble. The mask caught the flickering torchlight, cold and implacable, yet somehow alive, reflecting shadows that seemed to reach for her.
Then he moved again.
One step, slow and measured. And another.
The gap between them shrank, and she felt the gravity of his presence pressing down on her shoulders, on her chest, as though he could bend the air itself.
The scent of him—iron, blood, something dark and intoxicating—sank into her senses, filling her head and twisting her stomach.
He stopped just a foot away, close enough that she could feel the warmth rolling off him, the sharp tang of dominance curling in her chest.
Every movement was precise and controlled—he lifted his hand slightly, not to touch, yet she felt it as if he already had, tracing the outline of her tension, mapping her fear, dissecting her defiance.
Her pulse thundered.
She clenched her fists, knuckles whitening, trying to anchor herself against the pull of his overwhelming presence.
Her mind screamed that she was nothing to him—a mere object in his endless game. And yet, the tremor in her body betrayed her, a cold, shivering heat that spread from her spine downward, unwanted and undeniable.
He leaned just slightly forward, not threatening, not asking, but testing—drawing her in without touch.
Every millimeter was a statement: he commanded the space, and she was the solitary figure trapped in his orbit.
The power in his movements wasn't just physical; it was the invisible weight of centuries, of conquest, of a mind honed to bend others without force.
Aurelia jerked backward, every step frantic. Her body was already betraying her, trembling with fear she could barely control.
Her white hair clung to her damp skin, strands sticking across her forehead and neck, shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight. Her violet eyes, wide and burning, searched for any escape, any sliver of safety—but found none.
Just when she thought she might finally break free, the wall stopped her.
Cold and unyielding, it pressed against her back, a hard reminder that she was trapped.
Every step she took, he followed, closing the space with deliberate precision. His hands moved, forming a barrier, a living door, impossibly large and strong. He was taller, broader than she expected, his presence crushing, suffocating.
His mask reflected the faint light, flawless and pale, but it gave nothing—no expression, no mercy, only cold calculation.
The edges of his robe fluttered slightly as he moved, dark fabric swirling like liquid shadow, revealing for a fraction of a moment the glimpse of his chest through the open collar—a pale, powerful line that made the air thicken around them.
Aurelia felt it—the weight of him, the heat radiating, his silent dominance. Every muscle in her body stiffened. Her hands curled at her sides, her pulse hammering in her throat, her violet eyes fixed on the unmoving mask that held no mercy, no softness. The room seemed to shrink, the shadows pressing closer, her breath caught in her chest.
"Please… let me go," she whispered, her voice trembling as she twisted her legs instinctively, trying to shield herself. Her hands pressed against her thighs, as if the motion alone could ward off what her body refused to obey.
And yet… despite her fear, despite every thought screaming for flight, a heat surged where it shouldn't, betraying her.
Her body ached in places she didn't want it to feel. Confusion knotted her stomach, her chest, her head. She couldn't understand it—why would a part of her respond to him, the man who had destroyed everything she loved, the demon who was her enemy?
Her mind screamed betrayal, but her body disobeyed. Every measured step he took toward her seemed to press her further into the wall, compressing her chest, catching her breath, amplifying the dangerous pull she fought to resist.
"What… what are you doing to me?" she murmured, teeth clenched, her eyes wide.
Her violet irises blazing with indignation, shame, and a flicker of fear, she tried to straighten her spine, to reclaim her control. But even as she willed herself to stand defiant, her body shivered under his presence, heat rising in between her legs, making her shiver with both dread and an involuntary awareness that left her trembling.
"Any condition… anything at all, just let me go." she whispered again, her voice almost gone, swallowed by the weight of him.
And he moved closer, slow, deliberate, the sway of his robe like liquid shadow around his form, and the world narrowed to the space between them, to the heat, to the unspoken command in his gaze.
What could she possibly offer him?
Nothing. He already owned every part of her, every thought, every movement. Any attempt was futile. She was wasting her time bargaining.
And for her defiance… he was going to punish her.
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To be continued...