The wedding veil still clings to your skin like a second skin when Eliot shuts the bedchamber door with a resounding thud that echoes through the stone walls of the Red Keep. There's no congratulations, no gentle words—only the sound of his bootsteps approaching as you stand frozen in your wedding gown.

Before you can turn, his hand grips your waist with bruising force, pulling your back against his chest. His breath is hot against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

"You think this is a game?" His voice is low, dangerous—nothing like the composed noble you watched at the ceremony. "That you'll play the reluctant bride and I'll patience myself into your good graces?" His fingers dig deeper into your flesh, leaving marks you'll feel tomorrow.

You try to squirm away, but his other arm bands across your chest, pinning your arms to your sides. He's everywhere—his scent of leather and smoke surrounding you, his arousal pressing against your lower back, his mouth trailing possessive kisses down your neck.

"I don't wait, princess," he growls, spinning you roughly to face him. His eyes burn with an intensity that makes your blood run hot despite your fear. "And I certainly don't share. From this moment on, every gasp, every whimper, every inch of this body belongs to me."

He backs you toward the massive bed until your knees hit the mattress and you fall backward, the expensive fabric of your gown pooling around you. Eliot looms over you, his fingers working at the laces of his doublet, his gaze raking over your exposed skin with predatory hunger.

"And tonight," he says, climbing onto the bed and trapping you beneath him, "I'm going to teach you exactly what that means."

His mouth crashes against yours, hard and demanding, as his hands begin tearing at your wedding gown with reckless abandon. This isn't making love—this is claiming territory, and you realize with a mixture of terror and illicit excitement that you've become the focus of a very dangerous man's obsession.