“Bathe with me,” she whispered, thankful when the words came out steadier than she felt.

But his reply was immediate and harsh. “No.”

She pulled back, confused. She could feel how badly he wanted her. The desire had been there for days, simmering just under the surface, but now it was pouring out of him in heady plumes, practically drowning her senses.

Her brow creased. He’d told her the point of an emotional bond between Magyki was so that mates could anticipate each other’s needs, and she thought she had. But given the way he was glowering at her, she was apparently as bad at that as she was at controlling her power.

Just because he was physically attracted to her, didn’t mean he wanted her right now. Gods, she was an idiot.

He pressed his thumb on her chin, pushing down until her lip popped out from between her teeth. “You misunderstand me.”

He took his time, trailing the backs of his fingers across her cheek and down her neck, leaving gooseflesh in his path. Then he curled his hand behind her neck, gripping her plait and yanking her head back. His other slipped over her throat, squeezing.

“I don’t just want you, Veralie. I need you so badly, it’s a visceral pain stabbing and twisting every inch of my body. I can’t fucking think past my need for you.”

She placed her hands on his wrists, whispering past the firm pressure on her throat. “Then let me help you.”

“No,” he repeated, pulling harder on her hair until tears stung her eyes. “Because I am not in the right frame of mind to be gentle with you, little star.”

“I can take it.”

As if in agreement, heat flooded her core, and his eyes darkened. “I would hurt you,” he said, squeezing harder until spots danced in her vision. “I want to hurt someone.”

She darted her tongue out to wet her lips, ignoring the way her skin flushed and her heart picked up. Something deep within her raised its head at his words and the threat within them, humming in anticipation.

“I said, I can take it, Jaren. I want to take it.”

His body lurched toward her, almost against its will, before he suddenly growled, closing his eyes and releasing her. With a curse, he shot up out of the chair, putting several feet of space between them as he stared down at her kneeling form.

“Go enjoy the bath, Veralie,” he snapped. His voice was thick, and she could have sworn his hands shook as he fisted them, but before she could formulate a reply, he’d already spun away, practically sprinting to the door.

Vera sat back on her heels, watching him slam the door behind him as he left—sans boots—like he’d truly rather stand on a city street barefoot than be anywhere near the same vicinity as her.

She swallowed hard, shifting to sit flat on the cold floor. He was going through a lot, she knew that. But try as she might to remind herself that it wasn’t about her, she still couldn’t completely brush off the lingering sting of his rejection.