Page 80 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

LIKE I HATE YOU

“ Y ou’re pissed off,” Darian points out.

I pause from taking my braid out, then shake my fingers to loosen the strands.

I’m not sure if I should be mad at Melaina for not sticking up for herself or mad at Sethan for thinking he had a say in her love life.

Not to mention, Archie is an incredible man.

And I don’t just think that because he’s my best friend but because it’s true.

He deserves all the happiness the world has to offer him, and if that source of joy is Melaina, and she feels the same, there shouldn’t be a reason to keep them apart.

Yep, definitely pissed at Sethan.

Especially considering all the past transgressions I have with Sethan.

Torturing Darian. Admitting to witnessing him being beaten by his father and not doing anything about it.

Constantly cutting Archie down, despite him being an asset to our group, just because he felt like he didn’t deserve his daughter because he thinks he’s ‘weak .’ Questioning many of my decisions because he thinks I’m ‘weak,’ too.

“Great observational skills you have there,” I finally mutter a response to Darian, flipping my hair to my back and unlacing my boot.

“Take it out on me,” Darian whispers silkily.

I look up at him through the wall of my hair sliding into my face, then toss my boot to the side before removing the other one. “In what way?”

He smirks. “In whatever way you want.”

I blink and straighten, anger still pumping through my veins as thick as my own blood.

It should make sense to continue our training…

right? If we only have until the darkest night to take down the King, I’ll need to be the sharpest tool I can forge.

And channeling all my negative emotions into something productive feels freeing.

He follows my exact train of thought. “You go off and do your own training every night, even without Margie. But I’m still here.

And…” He slides his gaze over to the bottles on the desk with a sly grin.

“I still love liquor. So, here’s what we’ll do.

We’ll still uphold our fragile little agreement of exchanging liquor for lessons. You win, and I win.”

I chew on my lip, mulling over the tempting offer and glancing over at the bottles.

Had it not been for him teaching me how to channel my anger and use my left hand to wield, who knows if I would have been able to defend my side against the rebels.

I know for a fact, even if I don’t want to admit it, Darian’s training is working.

With a sigh, I stalk across to the bottles and grab one, flipping off the lid and taking a swig before turning to him. He rises expectantly from sitting on the stone floor, his chains rattling with the motion.

What he’s saying is right. Even if I won’t say it. And even if I feel like I can’t move on, the world won’t stop spinning for me.

I need to keep training.

I stride over to him, unlock his shackles, and then hand him the bottle of liquor.

As I walk to the farthest wall to grab my sword, he takes a few drinks and groans in pleasure.

I reach for my sword’s hilt, and hesitate.

Darian won’t kill me, and fighting him without a weapon wasn’t doing me any favors in terms of learning.

Glancing at him, I snatch my daggers instead and return to him, handing him one.

“Interesting,” he purrs, running a fingertip up the sharp edge. “You know, daggers are personal. Intimate, even.”

I take a few steps back from him, readying my stance and waiting for him to drop the conversation.

He pricks the tip of his finger on the blade and flicks his thumb across the small bead of blood, smearing it. He looks up at me and whispers, “So you don’t feel bad when you make the first cut.”

I fight against the smile creeping up my cheeks at his brazen confidence in me. “Are you going to keep talking out of your ass? Or will you actually teach me something?”

And Gods, does that bring the most brilliant smile to his coy lips.

We dance in a series of jabs, sidesteps, and swipes, each growing closer and closer to slicing the other and eliminating the space between us step by step.

“I noticed…” he grunts as he jerks back out of my wild swipe. “You’ve been wielding with your left—” He ducks. “Fuck, you might be better with the dagger than you are with a sword?—”

I slam my dagger into his and our blades lock. Sliding my weight forward, I creep us back toward the wall, digging deep into that anger sitting beneath the surface.

I grunt, raising an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

He flashes me a quick smile, something like pride in his expression. “But…not…quite…good enough,” he grits out, then forces our blades far to the right, breaking my balance.

“You’re breathing a little heavy there, Darian,” I snicker and jerk back to my stance, ready to block his advances.

“Make no mistake, I’ve handled two women at a time. One is no challenge.”

I snort and slash out at him. “Why does that not surprise me.”

“I must say though…” He catches my blade again, leaning his head down daringly to whisper, “I used to think that was my greatest fantasy. And then I met you.”

I bite down a shiver, his words driving straight down to my core, heating my cheeks instantly. I grunt, shoving my dagger away and ducking in time to dodge his swing.

Sexual prowess drips from every one of his movements and snide remarks.

Gods, and it fucking pisses me off. Part of me is pissed at him because of the feelings he stirs in me.

And the other part? The other part is pissed at myself.

I’m so conflicted about how I feel. How completely and utterly out of control I am.

I’m caught on his confident strides, how his messy brown hair is swept in ways that should be disheveled—but make me yearn to be the reason it looks that way.

With my fingers tangled in his hair. Dragging my lips and teeth over his throat to keep him from saying some ridiculously stupid flirtation.

He shouldn’t be as good looking as he is. And what’s even more infuriating?

He knows it.

Just as well as I do.

He’s back on me quick, his blade meeting mine, and we lock together once more. He steps closer to me, as if he doesn’t give a damn that I could stab him—whether on purpose or not.

“Nothing could compare to when I…” he leans forward and inhales the air near my ear, dangerously close. “Smelled you.”

He drags a tongue up my neck, and the grip on my dagger trembles in my hand. “Tasted you.”

He flings the dagger out of my grasp effortlessly, and the weapon skitters pathetically across the floor. He tosses his own, never breaking eye contact, his green eyes heated with desire.

He grabs me under the chin, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. “Touched you.”

Then he leans in, slowly, eyes fluttering nearly closed. His lips so near and yet too far from mine. “Kissed…you,” he breathes.

Subconsciously, I tip my head back to brush my nose to his, wetting my lips in anticipation.

His lips tease mine as he says an inch away, “Tell me, do you think about me, as much as I think about you?” He drops his hand from my face and, instead, grazes the back of his finger down my side to my hip.

“No. I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you,” he hisses against my ear and edges closer. His hand cups my hip and pauses, his fingers tightening on me. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice hot against my neck.

And yet, I don’t want to utter the words. I don’t want to make myself vulnerable by admitting how bad I want him. That I do think of him. Often. And that part of me is eager to touch and taste him again. Despite the danger of it.

I remember to breathe before I can black out. “I…”

I can’t. Can’t tell him to stop. His hands are on me. The perfect distraction.

His voice is tight with strain, pained and desperate. “Fuck…show me some mercy, you ruthless woman. Tell me to stop. Rid me of this endless torture of wanting you but not having you. Tell me not to touch you. Tell me you don’t feel good with me. Tell me you don’t want?—”

Me.

The words are choked in his mouth, refusing to leave his lips. He knows it’s all a lie, as much as I do.

He takes his hands off my hips, stepping back with his head low, not daring to look me in the eyes. “I…” he breathes heavily. Muttering like it’s more of a conversation with himself, “I’m out of my fucking mind for?—”

You.

The word hang between us.

He turns away from me, and I lurch forward, breaking through my own self-restraint and snatching him before he can leave me.

“I can’t tell you to stop. Because I,” I pull open his shirt, hungry for his skin, then push up to my toes to graze his lips with mine, saying between each slow kiss, “Don’t. Want. To.”

He groans into my mouth, capturing the side of my face in his hands and leaning into me with a controlled step. His thigh wasn’t enough to satisfy my craving for him. Neither was his mouth or fingers. And while I’ve already had him twice—I can’t help myself. I want more. Need more.

Need all of him. I need him to come undone, and I need to be the one to do it. To have the sheer power of stripping away all that conceit and crassness. Unraveling him down to the simple desire of his flesh.

He’s supposed to be a distraction from Cole. But it’s become more than that. I find myself fantasizing about the way he touches me. Kisses me. Fucks me.

We shuffle step by step back to the desk, our mouths moving and never parting, our hands exploring in a frenzy.

We’re a tangle of heat and desire, obliterated by the all-consuming want .

Never breaking our kiss, he uses one hand to sweep off all the things on the desk behind me.

Everything falls to the ground with a thud, a flutter, and something shattering.

But I don’t care. All I care about at this moment is him.

And how badly I want him.