CHAPTER 4: BOUGHT, BOUND AND BRANDED

ALARIC'S POV

She hasn't said a word since I killed the bounty hunter. 

Not when I grabbed her arm and dragged her into the backseat of the car, or when the bulletproof doors locked shut behind us and not even when I took off my coat and dropped it over her trembling body.

She's sitting across from me now, curled up in my leather seat like a feral kitten who just realized there's no escape.

But that's good.

I prefer silence, especially hers.

She's not afraid of dying; I saw that in her eyes, she's afraid of being claimed and I'll make sure that's exactly what happens to her.

The car rolls up to the gates of my private estate, deep in the countryside outside Milan where the grounds are massive, walled off and protected by motion sensors, steel, and men who'd kill their own fathers if I asked them to.

The gates open, and we drive through.

Zariah shifts in her seat when she realises that it's not the same building she ran into yesterday when we met, and I see fear in her expression.

Good girl; she should know when to be scared.

We drive past the manicured courtyard and straight into the underground garage, then my guards step back as I exit the car and go over round to her side of the car door only to see her looking up at me like she wants to bite me.

"Try to run," I tell her, "I dare you."

She doesn't move, but the second I turn to walk ahead, I hear the slap of her bare feet hitting pavement and I smirk.

There she goes.

She runs out of the garage and my men move to stop her but I hold up a hand.

No one gets to touch her but me.

My little liar makes it to the side staircase, and almost makes it to the elevator but I catch her by the waist and pin her against the wall, face first while her breath goes ragged and her body begins to tremble from the short burst of adrenaline.

"You don't learn," I growl, placing my mouth close to her ear.

She thrashes once, but then freezes when my hand slides over her stomach spreading my fingers wide. 

"Every time you run, it gets worse for you."

"Then why don't you kill me?" She spits, and I turn her around so fast that she gasps while her back hits the wall and I lean in.

"I don't kill what I want to keep."

Her eyes show me just how confused she is by that statement for few seconds, then she snaps.

"I'm not something to keep," .

"Oh, sweetheart…" I grin darkly. "You're not something, you're mine."

She opens her mouth to say something but I don't let her and instead drag her down the hallway, into the elevator, and up to the penthouse floor.

The doors slide open into a private suite that's been lit with low amber lighting and floor- to- ceiling windows overlooking the hills. 

She walks in slowly with her hands clenched at her sides.

... I recognize that body language; she thinks she can still talk her way out.

Let her try then.

I pour out a glass of whiskey at the minibar and hand it to her but she doesn't take it from me.

"You're not thirsty?"

"I want to leave."

I nod and sip the whiskey myself.

"Fine," I tell her, setting the glass down at the counter and her eyes widen with hope but then I continue;

"I'll call Luc; he's still looking for you and saying something about unfinished wedding vows."

She freezes and I notice the blood drain from her face and watch her quietly, then I walk to her.

"You either stay and obey me, or I'll gift wrap you in lace and deliver you back to the man who murdered your best friend."

She flinches like I just slapped her and looks up at me in confusion.

"Your choice, Zariah."

"How... how do you know my name?"

"It don't take me much to get the information I want little liar."

Flinching, she backs up until she hits the edge of the bed and her knees buckle slightly.

Ignoring that silly motion of hers, I reach into the drawer by the nightstand, pull out a small black box, and toss it onto the sheets.

... And she stares at the box, then at me.

"It's ink," I say, walking back to her.

She furrows her brows, "You're going to tattoo me?"

"No. You're going to let me."

She shakes her head slowly. "You're insane."

"Maybe, but I'm the only thing that's standing between you and a slow, ugly death."

Leaning in, I brush her jaw with my thumb.

"This isn't a punishment little liar, it's a mark."

She looks away from me but I tilt her chin back to me.

"If you think this is about control, it's not" 

"It's always about control with men like you," she spits.

"No." I breathe her in. "It's about possession."

"You don't get to possess me," she retorts like she actually has a choice and I grin.

"Not yet."

---

She's on her stomach now, wearing only one of my shirts that's open at the back while I lower the buzzing tattoo gun to her skin.

"Last chance," I warn her but she doesn't answer.

The gun touches the dip of her lower back, and I carve a small, elegant black raven with its wings outstretched.

She flinches but doesn't cry out and that surprises me, because I expected her to.

I pause and take a look at her; she's stronger than she looks, several of my men flinched when the four inch needle pierced their skin.

Tattooing her only takes five minutes and when I finish, I run my thumb over the red and raw skin around the ink.

"Mine," I murmur and raise her up to sit on my lap, gripping her chin and turning her to face me so what I say next will sink deep.

"You're my fucking possession now."