Page 96

Pain is Pleasure

N o fucking way was I sleeping in Ivar’s room.

Instead, I find myself outside of the east tower.

The west one was destroyed a long time ago, but the east tower still stands strong, the spire reaching into the sky.

It’s blocked off, the door locked and unused.

I snuck up here once and found a forgotten bedroom.

Ivar didn’t want his men to be that far away from him, and no way was a slave getting a room.

One of his men found me and dragged me to Ivar, then he locked the tower after punishing me, but I still remember the glimpse of the room and freedom I found up there.

I can’t find the key so I turn to leave, but I blink in shock when Dray rams his shoulder into the door and it breaks open, the old lock clattering to the ground. “You wanted in?” He grins.

“You are a man of many talents, you crazy bastard,” I tease. I push the door farther open and head inside, with Dray on my heels. I look over my shoulder to see him moving the door back in place before he turns to follow me.

Stone steps, at least fifty of them, spiral upwards, leading to the tower room. I start to head up the stairs before I hear a grunt and I receive a slap on my arse. “Hurry up, soulmate, before I throw you over my shoulder,” Dray growls.

Men .

I roll my eyes but speed up, my legs cramping after being stuck in a cell without much exercise.

When we make it to the top, the brown wooden door is standing open so I slip inside and my shoulders relax.

Finally. I’m finally away from people and their prying eyes, and I can just take a minute to relax.

It’s exactly like I remember it, a forgotten gem in the midst of a medieval castle.

A large, four-poster canopy bed sits opposite the doorway, pressed against the stone wall with steps leading up to it.

The bed is covered in a dusty white sheet, protecting the bedding underneath.

This has to be the only room in the whole fucking castle that doesn’t have some type of bloodstain somewhere. It also holds no ghosts for me.

Two large, arched windows sit on either side of the bed, looking out across the Wastes.

A balcony lies to the left, with wooden shutters covering it, darkening the room.

To the right of where I am standing is another doorway, presumably to a bathroom.

I glance to the left, spotting an old-fashioned dressing table and mirror, which is the only furniture in the room apart from the low-hanging, useless chandelier.

“I’ll go get some torches,” Dray murmurs, and before I know it, he’s gone.

Stepping farther into the room, I kick off my boots and lay them gently at the bottom of the bed, before heading straight for the balcony shutters.

They are a bit stiff from years of disuse, but I manage to pry them open enough so I can step out onto the terrace.

A crumbling wall surrounds it, with dead brown vines wrapped around the grey stone.

It looks like a piece of the world long forgotten, a place away from the bloodshed and pain.

It’s just here, existing in the center of it.

Being careful not to rest too heavily on the crumbling wall, I lean out and look upon the wasteland spread out below us.

I can see far past the courtyard and ramp into the castle, and the huts for the other warriors, and out into the dust-covered land we call home.

It has a dangerous beauty about it, the sun beating down on a world that just won’t die.

Our people are strong. You have to be to survive here.

What are my men looking at right now ? I wonder. Do they see the Waste and think of me like I do them? Or are they prisoners looking at nothing but four walls?

I hear footsteps and without moving too much to give it away, I palm a knife and wait for them to draw closer. When they’re near, I spin, pressing my blade against their crotch, and when I see who it is, a smirk crosses my face. Dray grins down at me, moving closer and digging the blade in more.

“We have been in this position before, soulmate. Do you remember what I told you?” he growls.

“That my knife turned you on,” I reply with a laugh.

He grins then presses closer. “Still does.”

“Crazy bastard. ”

He licks his lips then. “So fucking beautiful.”

“The view?” I ask, confused.

“No, you in a crown. I told you, you’re a fucking queen. I knew it the first moment I saw you. I told Archel you would be mine. But, Taz? I was wrong—I am yours.”

“You won a queen,” I remind him. “But I’m no queen.” I may have played that role earlier, but I am and always will be a warrior, the Champion.

He steps closer, obviously sensing that the title makes me uneasy. “I don’t give a fuck what you go by—Taz, Queen, Champion, Slave... To me you are just my soulmate.”

My heart softens, but a strong mix of desire, urgency, and pain overwhelms me, needing to be let out. A wild lust he can take. I know he can.

“That’s sweet, but right now I don’t need sweet.

I need the man who rips out people’s throats with his bare hands.

I need you feral. I need to feel alive, to feel pain and your touch.

I need to be reminded that everything that happened here is in the past. Please, Dray, remind me,” I beg almost urgently.

Every time we are together it seems to get violent, but maybe that’s exactly what I need from him.

I don’t turn to Dray for sweet words and love, I turn to him for claiming, ownership, and pain mixed with pleasure.

“Every day, for the rest of our lives,” he growls.

He grabs the blade then, wrapping his hands around it, and I stare deep into his eyes.

His cold gaze burns through me, and he doesn’t even wince as he throws the blade behind him, but I know it had to have cut his palm.

He brings his hand up and I sigh, seeing I was right.

His palm is slashed and bleeding, dripping down his arm.

He laughs then, the sound moving through me, stirring my fight.

“This won’t be the last drop of blood spilled tonight, soulmate. ”

We both snap then, bored with words. I want to feel his actions. I want his mouth, cock, and blood like he said. I want him to feel the pain ripping me in half, I want to carve it into his body, I want it all…

I push him back, smashing into his chest until we land heavily on the stone floor.

I drop my mouth onto his, biting at his lips, and he growls.

He grabs my hips and throws me over his head, and I roll at the last minute, ending up crouched as he flips and stands, prowling towards me.

I jump to my feet and back away, farther into the room.

He follows after me, looking like a feral animal, his ice-blue eyes locked on my every move.

Blood trails behind him from his hand and he still has his blades strapped over his chest.

“Are you running from me, soulmate?” he growls.

“Never. Just getting you exactly where I want you,” I taunt, as I spin slightly to the side and he follows, until his back is to the dressing table.

I run at him then and he catches me mid-leap, falling back against the old, wooden table.

It creaks under our weight and he smashes back into the mirror with a grunt.

The glass shatters and drops around us, no doubt cutting into his back, but it only makes him wilder.

He grips my hips and spins us, throwing me into the mirror.

The air is knocked from my lungs and he’s on me in an instant. His hand grips my throat, pinning me there as he kicks open my legs and steps between them. “I love it when you fight me,” he whispers seductively, licking his lip as he squeezes harder, cutting off my air supply.

I scramble my hands on either side of the dressing table and a shard of glass cuts my finger.

I feel along the rough edge and grip it in my palm, cutting it slightly as I bring it up and press the jagged edge to Dray’s neck, drawing a drop of blood.

He smirks and presses closer, causing a line of blood to drip down his chest. “You want to fight, soulmate? You want to feel that knife’s edge of pain and pleasure? ”

If I could pant, I would be. Instead, dots dance in my vision and my arm starts to weaken, but I hold the glass there. He is waiting for me to fight. To prove to myself that I’m alive. To fight for it. To fight him. “Do it, soulmate, you are stronger than this. I can take it all, fucking fight.”

I start to struggle then as anger burns through me, but it’s not enough to get free. He growls, slamming me back harder, my lungs screaming for air. “Fight! Fight like a fucking Berserker. Let me see why you are still alive, why you are a Champion.”

With all the effort I have left in my air-starved body, I slice the glass downwards on his chest, and when blood wells instantly, I realise I cut harder than I intended to, but he just laughs.

“Yes, like that!” he growls.

My fingers spasm and I drop the glass to the floor, reaching out to grip his arm and dig my nails in as I wrap my legs around his waist. I drop forward, dislodging us from the dressing table, and he stumbles back, having to let go of my neck to stop us from falling to the floor.

I suck in air, coughing from the sudden inhale of oxygen, and spin away from him.

He turns with me, watching me as I steady my breathing.

He tilts his head, his eyes wild and his chest heaving as blood pools in his belly button.

He’s wild right now, I know it, and I’m going to fucking tame him.

He wanted the Champion, he wanted a fight, so he’s going to get one.