Page 20 of Humans Don’t Have Horns (A Crown of Blood and Magic #1)

Chapter Twelve

Lian

The days and nights pass quickly. Too quickly.

Although we ride at a grueling pace and I feel stiff from the long ride each day, I can feel my body getting stronger, recovering finally from the Nimatek and being held captive and restrained for all these years.

I learn how to start a fire with just rocks and to skin a ravab. I can never decide if a ravab looks more like a rabbit or a rat. From the long ears to the long tail and snout, it kind of reminds me of both, which makes it even more unsettling to look at.

I learn how to brew my own coffee and build traps for small animals. I’m not even a complete embarrassment during combat now. Running away from danger still seems like the better option. But one time, I almost make Daton stumble, which makes me grin the entire day.

Each night, Daton and I sleep together in the same sleeping bag.

It’s platonic in a way. We haven’t kissed again since that first kiss.

We lie in the sleeping bag. I soak in his warmth and scent.

He tells me Mongan legends. Most of them are of the Goddess and her children—the stars.

His voice is soft, and I can feel its ripples all the way to my core.

OK, maybe platonic is not the right word .

Daton says I am a terrible listener, for I often stop his storytelling to ask questions and demand clarifications. Still, he never stops telling them, as his fingers trail on my body, drawing circles on my arms and my back. But never more.

I said I needed time, and he gives it to me, although time is really in short supply. The demichads are coming, yet here we are night after night, lazily indulging in each other’s company.

I stare into his eyes and wonder how I could ever have thought them to be obsidian black. There is light in them as if the night sky itself lies inside him. As if galaxies hide there. “How do you say ‘eyes’ in Mongan?” I blurt out, trying to break his mesmerizing stare.

“Nimp,” he answers.

“Nimp,” I repeat after him, testing the sound of it.

Then his fingers graze my eyebrow ever so gently. “Baga.”

“Baga,” I repeat, out of breath. My body is too responsive to his touch. It’s wonderful and awful at the same time.

“Chilk.” His fingers move to brush my cheek.

“Chilk,” I gasp.

“Zoen.” He shifts a strand of my hair and exposes my ear.

“Zoen.” I swallow.

“Noke.” His lips barely touch my earlobe, and his breath caresses me.

“Ravas.” His lips move to my neck, and I shut my eyes as I feel the tension building in my core.

He barely touches me, but I’m burning with sudden desire.

What would happen if he actually touched me?

Not only teased. Would I freeze again? Would it be too much? “You’re not repeating the words.”

“Hmm?” I can feel his smile against my neck.

“You’ve stopped repeating the words,” he snickers, far too pleased with himself.

I open my eyes, finally awakened from the daze he put me in.

When did my hand grab his shirt? When did my leg wrap around his thigh?

I can feel how hard he is against my center, and his breaths are heavy, but he stays still, his face unreadable.

I watch him, confused. Puzzled by the way my body reacts to him.

What would happen if he didn’t stop? Would I stop him?

Is that why he hesitates, fearing to overwhelm me?

I’m sure that is it. The evidence of his lust is still pressed to me.

It’s sweet torture. I hope he finds sweetness in the torture as well.

I realize now that there was never a need to fear him. He would never have harmed me that way—other ways, maybe—but never this way. But then, knowing you shouldn’t fear something and not fearing it are two completely different things, are they not?

Daton props his head on his arm as he watches me for a long moment, then he says, “You should go to sleep,” and kisses my forehead.

We never talk about what will happen after we reach the Mountains of Doom.

I’m too afraid to address it. I’m too confused as to what I even want to happen between us.

This right here is so perfect, like a dream.

But all dreams come to an end. And the reality of Amada is more a nightmare than a dream.

I fall asleep that night with an ominous heaviness.

***

We are close to the Land of the Outlaws now. Only three days left until we get there. We have seen no Mongan on our travels so far. We have seen no one since my sister went back to Renya. Have the demichads started their attack already? Are we too late?

The tips of the Mountains of Doom can be seen from here, and they make me uneasy. Arriving at the Land of the Outlaws fills me with apprehension. I can no longer pretend there is no Amada, that there is only Daton and me.

The sun is cruel here, up in the mountains.

My mouth is dry, no matter how much water I drink.

I’m sweaty and hot. Daton is doing no better.

His dark hair is slick with sweat and sticks to his brow, and his once-white shirt clings to his muscles.

At noon we arrive at a small waterfall surrounded by steep red cliffs.

There is no shade on the banks. After making sure the mares have enough to drink, Daton grunts, “I can’t bear this beard with this heat,” and he hands me his knife .

I stare at him, mouth slack. He can’t seriously be asking me to shave him with his knife. “What If I cut you?” I ask him.

He huffs, “Unless you slice my throat open, I’ll heal.”

The Butcher requests that a Puresoul hold a blade to his face, to his throat. “And a wolf lived with a sheep,” I drawl.

“Which one of us is the wolf?” he smirks, and I scoff because the hell if I know.

Daton sits on a rock on the bank of the pond, his legs spread, and he hands me the knife, which I take this time. I kneel in front of him, between his legs. My hands tremble at the idea I might cut him.

“Start from below in a swift movement,” he guides in a low voice, and as my eyes meet his, I realize what an intimate position this is, what an intimate act.

His scent is overwhelming. It should be disgusting in our sweaty conditions, yet it’s anything but.

I bite my lip at the effect, and his eyes are drawn to it.

He swallows hard enough for me to see, to hear.

I concentrate on shaving as hard as I can.

I tilt his chin with my hand to reveal his entire neck.

I can see the movement of his Adam’s apple, the glow of perspiration on tender skin.

I only notice I’ve clenched my thighs hard after I do it.

Why is this so arousing? What’s wrong with me?

I place the blade at the bottom of his throat, and time stops as I make the first movement. Fresh skin is revealed, and blood. I’ve made him bleed. I gasp at the sight of his blood and try to rise. But he grabs my wrist and says in a calm voice, “The first time is always the hardest. Go on.”

I proceed before fear immobilizes me, and this time, no blood. I work cautiously over his face and neck. When I’m finally done, I feel exhausted from the stress of hurting him. And from the fire in my blood that is unrelated to the heat of the day.

“I’m going in for a swim,” I say, avoiding his eyes as I take off my pants and remain in my once-white army shirt. I wade into the water and glance at him over my shoulder. As I turn my head back to the waterfall, I know he will follow me.

The water is ice-cold, and I dive in, savoring the bracing effect.

I rise back to the surface, feeling the spray of the falling water on my face.

The water is so clear that I can see my toes at the bottom of the pond.

And then I feel Daton’s big, warm body behind mine.

I lean back into him, enjoying the sensation of his warmth against the coolness of the water.

His arms hold my waist, and his lips graze my earlobe, lowering to the side of my neck.

And maybe it’s because there aren’t enough days left, or we’ve spent enough time together, or our delicate courtship has run its course, but holding back isn’t necessary anymore.

He turns me to face him. His shirt is off, and my mouth waters at the sight of his wet chest. There is a consuming desire in my body, but what I feel for him in my heart is even more frightening. So instead of dwelling on it, I kiss him with all my lust and despair, desire and fear.

I moan into his mouth as he cradles my head with one big hand and squeezes my ass with the other, pulling me in closer to his hard body.

I can sense that he keeps himself at bay this time.

And I hate it and am grateful for it at the same time.

My hands stroke his wet black hair, sliding at the area where his horns emerge, and he growls like the predator he is.

He suddenly draws his mouth from mine. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he rasps.

I tug his hair in answer, and he hisses.

“You will be the death of me, Lian,” he grunts before his lips slam to mine, and he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. I feel his hard length against my center.

His hand moves from my ass to cup my breast, and he pushes down my shirt to reveal my breasts.

I’m too consumed by desire to be abashed by his gaze.

This is the first time a man has seen me naked.

That night before my would-be wedding, my assailant didn’t even bother undressing me before forcing himself inside me. I’m glad I get to have these firsts with Daton. My first kiss and now this. As if a part of me survived that attack.

Daton grazes my right breast with his callused fingers, then my nipple, and I moan against his mouth.

He licks my lips before lowering his mouth to my breast. His lips close around my nipple, then he licks and sucks it with his mouth.

I throw my head back in pleasure, and it is only then that I see them. My blood turns colder than ice.

Five men on horses, looking straight at us from the bank. Panic grips me, and I quickly pull away from Daton. He goes still as his eyes follow mine, the color draining from his face as realization sets in. For the first time since I met him, I see apprehension in his face.

My eyes return to the men. I spot the one who came to my tent the night before Daton did. The man who raped me. Ashar, the King of Kozari.