Page 127 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
She tried to twist, to kick, to fight but her limbs locked. Turned to stone. Heavy and unresponsive.
Blood magic.
Of course.
Hagan still held her hair as he stepped over her, straddling her body, his shadow swallowing her. He leaned down until his face hovered inches from hers. The fury in his purple eyes was not fire. It was a storm at sea, violent and endless, ready to drown anything in its path.
He lowered his mouth.
Closer.
Closer.
Then his teeth sank into the flesh of her jaw.
Hard.
Ylva screamed as pain exploded across her face, white and blinding. She felt the pressure of his bite, the deliberate cruelty of it, as though he meant to mark her.
‘Do you think I don’t know what you are doing?’ he growled against her skin, breath hot and savage. He pulled back just enough to bare his teeth at her. ‘Do you think I won’t notice you sneaking off in the night with the Fae while we travel?’
His hand released her hair only to clamp around her throat. His fingers tightened, cutting off air, pressing her skull harder into the stone.
‘Do you take me for a fool?’ he hissed. ‘Do you think mestupid enough to trust you?’
Ylva felt the air flee her lungs, felt her body strain and yearn to convulse, to fight, to claw at him, yet she could not. His blood magic held her fast, pinning her more cruelly than chains ever could. She was trapped within herself, suffocating in stillness.
She knew.
Less than a minute more and her windpipe would collapse.
‘You’re just like the rest,’ Hagan spat, his voice thick with something far uglier than rage.
Darkness began to creep along the edges of her vision, soft and insidious. The chamber blurred. The candles smeared into streaks of gold. Sound dulled, as though she were already slipping beneath deep water.
Then suddenly the pressure vanished.
Air rushed into her lungs in a ragged, violent gasp.
She lay there, choking on breath, dragging it in greedily as though it might disappear again. Her chest burnt. Her throat throbbed. Each inhale scraped like broken glass.
Minutes passed. Or perhaps seconds. Time lost its shape.
Hagan lowered himself beside her on the stone floor, watching. He did not move. Did not speak. He simply observed her as she fought to breathe, as if she were some curious creature struggling beneath a magnifying lens.
When at last her lungs obeyed her again, she kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She would not look at him.
That, apparently, amused him. As though her refusal confirmed something. As though fear tasted sweeter when unspoken.
His hand lifted.
Ylva hated the way she flinched.
He saw it. Of course hesaw it.
His fingers came down gently, too gently, brushing along her cheek. She braced herself for pain, for nails digging into her eyes, for some new cruelty. But none came. Instead, he traced the line of her jaw where his teeth had bitten. Followed the curve of her throat where bruises were already blooming, dark and ugly beneath her skin. His touch was slow. Almost reverent.
Tender.
