Page 69

A genuine, full bodied laugh echoed out of me and I winced against the pain that flared through my ribs as a result.

“Yeah, that may have been a little harsh,” I said, as I turned my head toward him to see him grinning back at me.

My head snapped toward the wall as the guards sounded from the other side. “We should probably—”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dukovich interrupted, pushing up from the sand and pulling me up beside him as an arrow whizzed past us.

I cursed under my breath as I slipped my hand into his and tethered us from Sethros.

A groan of pain echoed into the sitting room as we landed and I limped toward the table, trying to walk off the ache blooming over every inch of my body.

I sucked in a deep breath as I shot him a glare.

“What in the seven hells were you thinking, Dukovich? Briar road? What did you not understand about ‘least risk possible’?” I hissed from across the room.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, a wry grin spreading across his face. “Like I said, I may have gone too big. But this will definitely distract the House of High, and we have about”—he pulled out his pocket watch—“four hours to regain our strength until we go to Camp Bane.”

“What did you do?” My heart thundered in my chest as I asked the question for a third time, the frenzied look in his eyes telling me this was not going to be good for us.

His grin deepened as he chucked his satchel on the floor between us. Blood drenched through the burlap as a severed hand flopped out of the opening.

Oh . . . we were so, incredibly fucked.

I sucked in a deep breath, slowly letting it seep out from between my lips as I lifted my chin to the ceiling. “ Please , do not tell me these hands belong to who I think they do.”

“Well that depends, love. Who do you think they belong to?”

My teeth clenched. “At least tell me you did not harm the High Priestesses too.”

“Theirs are also buried somewhere in there,” he said, casually shrugging his shoulders.”

“You know if this blows back on Locdragoon, Landers will probably let me kill you and hand your body back to them as a peace offering,” I snapped as my feet began to pace across the floor.

“I had an opportunity to fulfill a portion of my promise to you, and I took it. If that means I die, then at least I will die an honest man,” he said, the words falling from his mouth without a hint of regret as he strode to the bar cart and poured us both a drink.

He extended the glass to me and fell onto the couch as I pulled it from his hand.

I shook my head at him in disbelief, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. It was actually a bit romantic.

Gorey and unhinged, yes, but romantic nonetheless.

Cyloe padded down the stairs and I pulled my eyes away from Dukovich just in time to see her teeth sink into a finger.

“Cyloe!” I screeched, rushing toward her as she snatched the hand and ran back up the stairs.

Dukovich’s laugh echoed through the room as a wide smile seeped into his face. “She’s a wolf, what do you expect?”

I swallowed back a gag.

“Get rid of them. Now ,” I said, pressing my hand to my mouth.

He shook his head at me, the smile still plastered on his face as he flicked his fingers toward the mess. The satchel and its bloody contents disappeared as I let out a heavy sigh.

The room fell silent as I slipped onto the couch only feet away from him, cradling my drink against my chest as I watched the fire burn inside its cave.

I could feel the loathing I had for him slowly slipping, and that scared me. It was the last bit of anger I had left in me and I didn’t know who I would be without it.

But there was something about him I couldn’t shake.

We were similar in so many ways. He kept me on my toes, always matching my violence with his own and my sarcasm with his wit. He challenged me in a way that was both frustrating and refreshing and I didn’t know where to put that feeling.

I glanced over to see his eyes already on me and stilled.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly as I pulled my eyes back to the fire.

I would absolutely not tell him that.

A sigh escaped my lips as I took another sip from my glass, welcoming the burn of the liquid as it slid down my throat. “You said you wanted to know me.”

“Yes.” He nodded, sitting a little straighter.

“Why?”

My question hung in the air between us, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the distant sounds of Cyloe gnawing on her macabre prize upstairs. I kept my gaze fixed on the dancing flames, but I could feel the intensity of his stare boring into me.

“Because,” he began, his voice low and measured, “beneath all that anger and violence there’s so much more to you that you try to hide from me.

But I see it.” He paused, taking in a deep breath.

“You have only ever shown me your worst, thinking that it will scare me away, that it will make me match the hate you have for me. But it doesn’t.

You remind me of a woman I knew once, both of you infuriating and beautiful, refusing to conform to what the realms want women to be.

There is a depth and complexity in you that intrigues me—calls to me.

You and I are not so different,” he said, lifting the glass to his lips.

I raised a brow, trying to hide the surprise of hearing the words fall from his mouth as if he had read my mind. “That’s a fucking terrifying thought.”

A thin chuckle slipped from his lips as he leaned forward. “We’ve both been shaped by our pain, our anger. It is what drives us, what fuels our every action. We live by our own set of rules and ethics. We are not afraid to kill or hurt whomever we need to get what we want, to protect what we love.”

“And what exactly do you love?” I asked, turning to face him.

His eyes met mine and I searched them for any hint of deception or manipulation. But all I saw was sincerity and a glimmer of something that almost looked like longing.

“I love my realm, my people.” He held my gaze as he spoke. “I was raised to become only two things: the High Priest of The Silliands, and a weapon.”

He paused, letting out a deep breath as he pushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over his brow.

“One day, love, when you are ready to know my story—when you are ready to care—I will tell you. But I will not give that part of myself to someone who is not willing to give it back. I am willing to wait for you, to fight for you to want that part of me. I can drown the emotion I have coiling in my chest for you. I can kill those feelings and pretend that they never existed. But I will not do that unless you tell me to—unless you tell me you know for certain you will never want me.”

I swallowed hard, my defenses slowly crumbling. “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

“I am sure about what I feel. And I think, if you are honest with yourself, maybe you feel it too.”

Silence fell between us as I held his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

“And if I do?” I finally whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

He stood, slow and deliberate, as his eyes stayed locked on mine, darkening with every second that passed. I lifted myself from the couch, sucking in a sharp breath as desperate energy buzzed over my skin.

“If you do.” The words fell from his lips in a low growl, rough with restrained desire as he took a final step toward me.

“Then I will worship you with every fiber of my being. I will fight for you, bleed for you, burn the fucking world to ashes for you if that is what it takes, love. This hunger I have to taste every inch of you, it will drown me—will suffocate me.”

My chest heaved as his scent flowed from him.

I was going to regret this.

“I’ll destroy you,” I breathed.

“And I will beg for it.”

Before I could think, we were tethering, landing in my bedchamber as our heavy, lust-filled breaths filled the room. We stared back at each other, his eyes burning into mine, daring me to make the first move.

Desire simmered beneath my skin, mixing with the rage that always boiled just below the surface when I looked at him. I wanted to taste him, to dominate him, to make him beg for me and scream my name.

I wanted to fucking kill him .

But something in that smile, something in the dangerous way he looked at me ignited a fire in my core.

My fingers slid to the hem of my tunic, slowly pulling it over my head and letting it slip to the floor beside me.

A low rumble sounded from his chest as he watched my thumbs slip into the waistband of my leathers.

I pushed them down, taking my undergarments with them and kicked them off me so I stood wholly naked in front of him.

I would let him look at me, let him take in each and every scar the hands of his people bestowed upon me.

The hands he had delivered to me on a fucking platter.

My breath shuddered at the thought.

He had done that for me.

His eyes broke from mine and roamed over my body, devouring each inch of me with his gaze. And for a second, I thought I saw him wince at the scars—thought I saw pain flashing in his eyes right as the veil of darkness slipped back over them.

Slowly, I walked backward until my legs brushed against the side of the bed. I lowered myself onto it, the fabric kissing my skin as I dragged my body across the sheets before lifting my legs, my hand slipping between them.

I should stop—I need to stop , I thought to myself as my fingers began their work. Our eyes met between my thighs and a feral smile crawled onto his lips.

I fucking hated him.

I fucking wanted him.

I didn’t stop. No, instead, I slipped my fingers inside of me, riding them as I put pressure on my clit.

My eyes stayed locked on his as he took one cautionary step toward me. The voyeurism of it was sickening—was . . . intoxicating.

My flesh pulsed against the air as an involuntary moan slipped from my lips. He reached his hand out beside him, hooking his fingers onto the lip of the door and pushed it shut.