The grand staircase of the fortress became a vertical cage. I tried to recoil, my heels slipping on the cold marble, but Varg was an avalanche that couldn't be stopped. He slammed me against the heavy mahogany banister with a force that made the wood groan in protest.
"Bring me your neck!" he bellowed. His voice wasn't just a sound; it was a physical weight that pressed the air out of my lungs.
"No! Let me go!" I thrashed against him, my nails clawing at the impenetrable muscle of his forearms, but it was like a bird beating its wings against a stone wall.
With one violent, calculated jerk, Varg ripped the collar of my shirt down to my chest. The fabric hissed as it tore, exposing my collarbones to the biting draft of the hall. His rough, calloused hands felt like searing coals against my skin, branding me even without a mark. He buried his head into the crook of my neck—the very spot that still throbbed from the ghost of his heat the night before.
