“Remove your clothing.”
There was a strange echo of power in his voice. I tried to shove it away, tried fighting it, but felt the pressure building and caving in. I desperately tried to erect an emotional barrier between us, but Wrath would have none of it. Before I could touch the summoning Mark on my neck, his voice rang out clear and strong and filled with dominating power.
“Now.”
The dam broke, and so did my will. My fingers swiftly loosened the buttons and stays of my trousers. I shimmied out of them, allowing the material to pool at my feet. My tunic was gone next. Wrath slid his attention from the top of my head to my toes, and pulled it up as slowly. There was no lust or warmth or appreciation in his gaze. Only anger.
And he wasn’t alone in that feeling. I hated that he’d compelled me to disrobe. Choosing to do so in the Crescent Shallows was powerful, freeing. This was neither of those things. I would make him pay for this. As quickly as my need for revenge flared, it vanished with the next wave of his will.
I went to remove my undergarments, but his voice cut through my haze. “Leave those on. Sway your hips.”
I focused on the single ember of fury that hadn’t been tamped down by Wrath’s magical command. Trying with all of my might to ignite that kernel of emotion that still belonged to me, and use it to swat his magic away. I would be the one to decide when to undress before him or anyone else. I would be the master of my own will. And I would keep fighting for myself, no matter how dire or desperate or futile the situation became.
Sensing my resolve, Wrath unleashed more of his power.
“I said, sway your hips.”
Sentient thought, emotion, and free will were locked deep inside me. All I knew was the sound of his voice, his desire. His will pumped through my veins, dominated me in every sense of the word. Became one with my heart.
I did as he commanded. I became sin and vice. I was lustful. And I adored it.
Swaying suggestively, I kept my attention on him. I wished he’d ask me to remove my undergarments. Then I wished he’d remove his.
Wrath moved closer, his expression a study of cold fury. I could not understand why he was displeased. I erased the remaining distance between us and danced against him, pressing up against his tense body. Something about our position reminded me of another time, another dance. And the same anger that coursed through him at that bonfire.
He was a difficult creature then, and doubly so now.
“Is this not what you desire?”
“Not at all.” He took a large step away, placing a hateful distance between us. “You will address me as master from now on. Drop to your knees.”
“I will never—” Anger flared, then extinguished as quickly. I went to the ground, head bowed. “Does this please you, master?”
“Remove my right boot.”
I undid the laces of his boot, then pulled it off, waiting for his next direction.
“Slide your hands up my to calf.” I reached for his leg and he yanked it back. “Start from the ankle.”
Without hesitation, I dragged my hands up his body, and over the muscle of his calf. My fingers brushed against something hard. I glanced up. “Have I pleased you now, master?”
Wrath reached down to lift my chin, his focus roaming across my face. He was searching for something, but the deep frown indicated he hadn’t found it.
“Learn to protect yourself. That will give me ultimate pleasure.”
With him, I somehow understood the very essence of pleasure. That I could do. I let go of his calf and reached for the band of his trousers. “Let me please you now, master.”
The temperature around us plummeted several degrees.
“If I wanted you on your knees, bare before me, without a thought of your own in your head, I would will it. If I desired to fuck you into our marriage, you’d do exactly as I said. And you’d beg for more. Neither attracts, nor pleases me. I long for an equal. Grab the dagger hidden on my leg. Get up.”
I slid the blade from the leather sheath and pushed myself to my feet, heart sinking at his harsh tone and dismissal of my advances. I reached for his hand, hoping to entice him to take what I was offering. “I—”
Fury, untamed, overwhelming, and all-consuming burned away the lust I’d felt. I gripped the dagger so hard my hand ached. Wrath did not take his attention from mine as he slowly undid the first few buttons of his pristine shirt. “Press the blade to my heart.”
I closed the distance between us, the tip of the dagger pricking his skin. I was now wrathful. I was fury in the flesh. And I would take what was owed to me and mine.
Beginning now. With this hateful prince.
Wrath leaned in, his voice low and seductive. “This is what you dream of. Blood and revenge. Take your vengeance, witch. Recall what I just made you do. How you fell to your knees, begging to please me. Let hatred and your favorite sin consume you.”
“Shut up.”
“Perhaps you liked it when I made you strip. When I bent you to my will.”
“I said shut up!”
“Maybe I should show you how very wicked I can be.”
I stared at his chest, at the blade piercing his skin. A slight trickle of blood rolled down his body. Through the wrath and fury overwhelming my senses, I remembered. I’d taken a blade to his heart before. In the monastery. He’d sworn it would take much more than a dagger to his chest to end him. I’d wanted to test the truth in those words then. He was offering me the chance to do so now. I swallowed hard, my throat bobbing. Unshed tears burned my eyes.
My hand shook, the blade digging in harder as I strained against it.
“Take. Your. Vengeance.”
His demonic influence battled my will. And won.