Anya desperately tried to pull away from the heavy weight of Kaelan's hand, but the Mate Bond made her muscles sluggish. She was physically paralyzed by the primal instinct of his touch.
"Take your hand off me," she ordered, her voice laced with pure threat.
Kaelan ignored the words, his gaze fixed on her face, searching for any sign of compliance. He didn't want the command; he wanted her to want the contact.
"The doctor recommended touch," he reminded her, his thumb brushing her skin. "I call it a necessary deterrent. You smell like the outside world. That ends now."
Before she could form a protest, he moved. Kaelan leaned closer, his fingers tightening just enough to keep her immobile. He didn't kiss her. Instead, he dropped his head and pressed his cheek against her temple, dragging his scent slowly across her hair and skin, a deep, possessive inhalation.
It was the most intimate, humiliating act of dominance she could imagine. The action was purely territorial—the act of a predator marking his claim.
The primal bond screamed in affirmation. Anya's breath hitched, and a wave of dizzying, unwanted submission crashed over her. She hated the feeling, yet a small, traitorous part of her mind registered the heavy comfort of his musk.
He pulled back, his eyes glittering with fierce triumph. "Now, you smell like mine," he murmured, the Alpha Command echoing silently through the bond. He stood abruptly, the moment broken. "We work now. Get your equipment."
Anya watched him walk away, her body still humming from the unwanted contact. She was breathing his scent, wearing his claim, and the hatred in her heart was fighting a desperate battle against the physical reality of being Mate-Scented.