Page 78 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Bare, Glistening

Warrick

I rip a knife from its sheathe at my calf and cut the ropes at her ankles—not surprised to find them already loose. She always finds a way out. Always leaves.

Always .

Denies me. Punishes me. Worships me.

I leave the ropes at her wrists in place. “Fight me,” I demand, because I can’t fight myself. I won’t. I needed her before I lost my mind, and I need her without it. Nothing has changed except for the pain we’ve caused each other, and I’m not letting go this time.

Her legs spread wider. Her green eyes sparkle. “I am.”

A frustrated growl rattles through me. I slash open her leather pants from the waistband to her core, and despite the slack of her restraints and the delicious lust in her eyes—

She remains still. Poised and willing.

My fucking nightmare.

My fantasy.

“And I’ll win,” she breathes, a slow grin unfurling.

My head bows, and I beat the hilt of my knife between my brows a few times. Part of me loves being used by her. I thirst for her Godsdamn command.

“Resist,” she teases darkly.

My eyes snap open and narrow on her smirk. I tighten my grip around the knife.

“Careful.” I grit my teeth and my shoulders shake with need. “You forget my appetite,” and my eyes dip to her exposed center.

Wet. Inevitable.

“I forget nothing, my snake,” she says in a hushed tone, the crackle from the fire drowned by the heady throb of my pulse. “I remember it all,” she says. “Everything.”

I snarl, and her eyes harden. “Are guilt and remorse even a concept to you?” I hiss.

“Yes,” she returns with matched anger.

Gazes locked, I swivel the knife between my fingers until I grip the blade. It’s sharp iron bites into my palm, and her eyes dip with a trembling breath as crimson trickles down my wrist.

“Did you mean what you said in the basement?” I ask. “About love?”

Her pupils dilate. Her chest heaves. A blush snakes over her breasts, the rapid drum of her pulse visible in her neck. “Yes,” she rasps.

My eyes devour her. The short mess of her wet hair. The dark streaks of makeup around her eyes, smeared from the rain and yet irresistible.

Irritation battles my lust. I trail my glare back to hers, but her gaze isn’t angry. It’s softer.

Pity.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snap and haul the knife’s hilt between the valley of her breasts. I trace her sternum, the curve of her neck, and when I level it with her mouth—“Spit.”

Her pity slices into wrath. There’s my girl.

I slap the hilt against the small hollow of her cheek twice before I tap it to her lips, the pain in my hand from gripping the blade enough to keep me from the edge.

There’s death in those pretty green eyes.

But fuck me I’ll die a happy man.

I pinch her chin and her teeth grit. Then delicately, tenderly—“Spit on my knife, angel.” I press the hilt harder against her lips and kiss it.

My forehead knocks against hers. “I want you to come on its hilt,” I whisper, “so when I kill you with it later, all you’ll smell is the scent of your body’s betrayal. ”

She wets her lips. A small tremor wracks through her body. “You’ve gotten better at lying to yourself, my snake. I know you won’t kill me.”

My room fades. The storm outside becomes a distant, gentle thrash against my windows.

“Look me in the eye,” I murmur. “Tell me you don’t want to be punished.”

Her forehead falls against mine this time.

“Tell me you’re not mine. That if you’re to die, you don’t want it to be by my blade,” I beg her, my voice shaking. “Tell. Me. No.”

Silence.

I run a thumb down her bicep. “Then tell me yes. Tell me always. Tell me you’ll never take my mind again.”

Her eyes dart over my bare chest, the blood running from my palm, down my elbow, and spilling across my abdomen. “You want me?” she whispers, her voice cracking.

Gods, how can she think that I don’t?

“Devil.” My hand shakes as I run the hilt down her body until I’m between her thighs. Heat pours over my knuckles, and my lips crook with a knowing smile. “Of course I want you.”

Her cheeks darken. Her lips part.

Carefully, I run the hilt through the pink gleam of her pussy, and we both shudder.

“You’re soaked,” I groan.

She bites down on a whimper. Her breaths deepen. Then small and faint but everything . “Again,” she pleads.

I press the hilt at her slick entrance. Tip it inside her.

Her head kicks back. “Hate me.” Her lashes flutter. “Hate me until I hate you. I need to hate you. Now. Forever—”

I thrust, her words cut off with a hard moan, and it’s as if the realm bows to this moment. Muscles spasm along my shoulders and arms, my rhythm greedy and relentless.

“I hate you,” I bite her thigh until she screams and a low groan drags out of me. Her legs shake. “I hate you,” I repeat. Again and again.

The chair creaks beneath her as she lifts her hips in anticipation, my breath and words hitting her in the sweetest spot. “Show me how much you hate me,” she begs.

My breath falters, my dick throbbing.

“Hate me hard,” she whispers. “Hate me fast and slow.”

Those infuriating green eyes flicker with pain, and my resolve to punish her snaps, my thrusts softening to something sweeter. Something I don’t dare put a name to.

“Untie my hands,” she moans. “Let me touch you.”

But I’m devoted. Possessed. The fucking way her tight inner walls suck the hilt in with greed—I grip the blade harder, my blood smearing across her thighs.

“This isn’t about your needs. Not this time, Rayze,” I growl, but she only pants with another thrust.

My focus pulls to the tight buds of her nipples poking through her torn tank. The tensed vein at her throat that throbs with her heartbeat. Then to the Serpent brand I gifted her and the glisten of her lips—mouth and beautiful cunt.

I’m hard. Harder than I’ve ever been. Depraved instinct awakens from a long, terrible slumber.

I sit back on my heels and shake my head. “The fucking sight of you spread for me. How dare you ever take this away?”

I lift and tug my thumb over her makeup smeared lips. “This mouth.” My cock stretches painfully against my pants. “Those eyes,” I mutter and leave my knife tucked inside her so I can reach with both hands. Touch and trace every naked expanse.

Then I trail my hands to her neck, and my wounded palm smears her in the warmth of my blood. “The air you breathe.” I squeeze her throat gently. “Mine.”

“I’ve never truly been yours,” she counters, but her voice is rough with the emotion I’ve fought for.

Guilt riddles her features.

Good. She should feel guilty.

I hum in approval and flick my thumb against her clit. She jolts and I bring my slick finger to my mouth. A worshiping suck, and my eyes roll back with a groan.

“Then why do you still taste like mine?” I ask, and I’m losing control. I try to reign myself in, but sweat tickles my temples as my eyes scrape over perfection. They settle on the silver shine of my blade between her thighs.

So perfect.

“Tell me, my vicious angel,” I say, my voice gravel. “How hard do you need to come to shout your surrender?”

Her eyes narrow into dark slits. Then a sinful hand slips beneath my waistband in quick, practiced movements, and my breath hitches in shock.

I yank back, freeing the knife from her pretty pussy and letting it fall. My gaze flies to the discarded rope on the floor that held her wrists, but her calloused, scarred fingers wrap around my hard length, and I—

She strokes me into compliance.

“Rayze,” I warn.

“What? You can have your fun, but I can’t have mine?” She tugs me closer, and I step to her before she can rip my Godsdamn dick off.

She runs her thumb along its head like she plans to tease, to take her time.

Fuck that.

I wrench an arm around her in defiance and lift her out of the chair with a growl. She gasps, her legs wrapping around my waist, and my heart falters.

I throw her to the bed and haul her thighs into my hands. “It was a mistake, angel.”

“What was?” She stretches her arms across the duvet, her back arched.

“Letting me lose my mind.” I rip the knife from the ground, steadying the blur of thoughts in my head, and climb atop the duvet, sliding her weapons and coat out of the way.

I nudge her open with my knees. Wider. Wider . Until her bare, glistening pussy is mine to claim. I align the hilt with her heat, my hand a bloody mess.

I’ll need stitches.

“You’ve given me a chance to have several firsts more than once,” I promise her and pump the hilt. Fast. Hard. Slow. Just how she asked. “To fuck you like I’ve never done so before.”

Her hips jut with a cry.

“Gods.” I slip the hilt free and bring it to my mouth. My tongue savors her taste, my eyes glued to her flushed cheeks. I suck down, and my free hand grasps her waist to steady myself.

“Such a good snake,” she moans, and my cock throbs.

I need to set myself loose. I need to feel her. All of her.

Not yet .

I jam the hilt back inside her. The blade rips further into my flesh, but I don’t give a fuck. “You took yourself away,” I repeat, and her chin quivers with a restrained shout of pleasure. I pump harder, every nerve in my cock lighting up with thrill.

She cries out, and I squeeze her face in my free hand. “The next sound from your lips better be my name, devil.”

But she claws through her lust and fixes me with a stern glare.

Fine.

I rip the knife from her and sink two fingers inside.

Three.

Four.

I work her. Stretch her. Count every bead of sweat that sparkles along her hairline and drips between her breasts.

Her hands move to her chest, and I make my next move fast, deep. “I need—” She grabs at her chest. Pulls and squeezes. Pinches. Gasps. Writhes.

I drink it all in.

This. This is my religion.

I’ve no Gods to beg for mercy, only her, and I pray she doesn’t give it.

She jerks. Her thighs squeeze around my hips. “Fate save me,” she begs.

“Warrick,” I growl and slam my knuckles forward. “W-A-R-R-I-C-K. Me. My name. My fingers in your cunt.” I press my thumb down on her center, but at her silence, I still my hand.

She lifts her head and nails me with a look that could level cities. “Don’t stop,” she demands and grinds against my palm.

“I’m owed penance,” I snap. “A truth or my name. Your choice, angel.”

“Warrick,” she bites out.

I smile and move my thumb first. I rub her clit in a small, careful circle. “Again.”

She lies her head back, her eyes closed.

I still my thumb.

“ Warrick .”

“Good girl.” I move my fingers inside her until the only sound that fills the room is her soft, delicious pants and the rain outside. “Another.”

“Warrick,” she breathes. Not an ounce of hesitation.

I hum in satisfaction when her thighs shake. “One more.”

Her hands rake through her hair. “Warrick,” she shouts, and that’s it. That’s the one I’ll never fucking forget.

“Rain-soaked alleyways and dim-lit tunnels,” I murmur, closing my eyes.

Her silhouette framed by neon. The snap of her bowstring. The curve of her smirk. The crunch of gravel beneath her boots as she circled me in the dark.

Her laughter—low, dangerous, achingly familiar.

A whisper behind my ear. A blade at my throat.

Every time I chased her.

Every time she let me.

Every time we lied to ourselves.

The memories knit together in a sudden, painful clarity. A tapestry of obsession, lust, war, and want.

With my other hand, the knife in my grasp, I make a small cut across the top of her left breast. A little pain to tip her toward my favor.

Rayze bucks and screams. Her body convulses.

“Fuck, baby,” I moan as she squeezes around my fingers.

Then I rupture in my pants with a choked shout of my own. Surprise jolts through me as I come, unable to hold back, no matter how hard I try.

My shoulders heave, my hand falling limp between us. “Motherfucking masterpiece,” I breathe, enamored with the way she unravels. “I want to call you devil. Always,” I murmur. “But there’s nothing but heaven between those thighs.”

I’m not done. Not even close. It would be a fucking crime to not do that again. A lifetime of making her come wouldn’t be enough.

But a siren blares through Fang’s Edge.

We stiffen, those green eyes piercing mine. Neither of us move or speak, knowing what that fucking sound means.

“Warrick, I—” she starts, but I take her mouth with mine.

Rayze melts against me, her hands tangling in my hair.

Slowly, I draw back. “Go,” I mutter. “I won’t stop you.”

Her eyes glisten, and she tugs her thumb over my mouth. “Find me?”

I nod. “Yeah, angel. You know I will.”

Her chest dips as she releases an exhale, her eyes fluttering shut for a second in relief. Then she jerks out of my grip and crawls toward her trench coat, moving to my dresser and rifling through until she pulls out her own fucking clothes from deep within.

When did she put those there? “You’ve been in my apartment?” I ask. “Of course you have.”

A blush crawls over her cheeks. She clears her throat. “You’re pretty when you sleep,” she answers. Her eyes dart to me at my dumbstruck silence, and she chuckles.

I cross to her, and she nods to my window. “There’s a fight out there.”

Between sheets of rain, orange smoke blooms through the night thick as fog. Every Kraken warship is positioned from The Dredge pointing toward Fang’s Edge, the entire city cast in Brass as explosions pop between buildings in the distance.

A smile carves across my mouth. “You promise?”

“I wouldn’t lie,” Rayze says and slides my window open, jutting her chin toward The Dredge and slipping her coat on.

Her hair flies out around her, the wind sweeping inside.

Then she smiles brightly, and my heart damn near stops at the sight.

“I’m desperate to see you violent, my snake,” she whispers. “Will you help me get my city?”

I grasp her hips. “Already back to playing games, are we? This is my fucking city, angel.”

That devilish smile widens. “Not if I kill The Kraken first.”

“Oh?” I tuck her hair out of her face, and she tugs her goggles from her pocket. “Is this a race, then?”

Her eyes dance. Then she pinches my arm.

“Tag,” she says and rips out of my grasp, shoving her goggles on, white sparks bleeding from her knuckles. “You’re it,” she breathes and leaps out the window.

I’ve been slain. Absolutely fucking slain.