44
“Here you go, Assyria,”
Rapp said, sliding a bowl of steaming food toward me. The war camp’s gruel had a pungent odor to it, one that made me scrunch up my nose. I hadn’t had much of an appetite since my injuries, which the lead healer said was normal with the anti-venom they had to give me after the cobra sank its fangs into me.
I glanced sidelong at Rokath, the male who had, in fact, saved my life. I didn’t dare think it was because he held any affection toward me, but merely a result of his selfish desire to remain alive and healthy to defeat the Angels.
Except without him every one of us would be dead.
That explanation Xannirin had given me still didn’t remove the hurt from the wound of being trapped against my will again and unwanted.
My right arm was still strapped to my side, which meant I also had to eat the food with my non-dominant hand. Four days wasn’t nearly enough time to rid myself of the clumsiness that came along with it. As I lifted the spoonful of slop to my mouth, I leaned forward and opened my mouth. But I misjudged the distance, and the spoon skidded off the side of my face, plastering it with the sticky substance before flipping out of my hand and landing on the ground.
Grem and Zeec leaped on the food before I could bend down and pick it up. “At least I don’t have to clean up my mess,”
I shrugged when Rokath shot me a side-eyed glare and shooed them back to their cushions. Rapp giggled like a youngling at the whole interaction.
That Rokath had taken to eating with Rapp and me was a surprise. That he’d slept with me at night ever since my attempted escape was another. Though I didn’t think it was because he thought I’d try to sneak away again. No, there was something else to it, something I didn’t know how to—or want—to name.
Over the past few days, I’d sensed a shift in his emotions. Brushing down the bond, I had tried to sift through the sands of his feelings in an attempt to reveal what lay underneath them, hidden by his enigmatic exterior. What I found only compounded the disorienting twister of my own. The yearning for freedom hadn’t disappeared, and yet I found myself considering if Rokath could offer me more autonomy, albeit in his own way.
“Here, you can have mine,”
Rokath said, offering me his utensil.
“Don’t you need to–”
I cut myself off when I saw his bowl was empty. “It’s already been in your mouth.”
A snort escaped him, and he raised a single brow. “We’ve shared bodily fluids before.”
Another chuckle drew my attention to Rapp, whose tongue flicked over the ring in his lip as his burgundy eyes bounced between Rokath and me. My cheeks flamed as I tried and failed to come up with an excuse to get out of accepting his spoon. There was something…oddly intimate about it.
I squirmed in my seat, then adjusted my injured arm. “I’m not that hungry.”
What I wouldn’t give for an apple I could eat one handed.
A juicy, crisp one at that.
He tsked, like he was disappointed in me, then thrust the smooth metal into my hand. “Eat. You need to regain your strength.”
“Rokath is right, unfortunately. If you want to run away again, you’ll need more energy. Especially out in the desert,”
Rapp added, grinning maliciously. After spending a few weeks with the male and watching how he interacted with Rokath, I understood why they were friends.
Where Rokath’s fiery temper and unyielding seriousness could scorch a room, Rapp’s irreverent jokes and sardonic humor cooled the flames. Though both had a touch of madness about them, which was what I assumed brought them together in the first place. Like calling to like, and all that.
Over the course of our time together, Rapp had revealed that he came from an abusive household and that joining the army was his means of snatching freedom for himself. As one of the few burgundy-eyed soldiers, he’d stood out and been endlessly tormented by those with lesser power until Rokath had intervened. That Rokath was capable of such kindness had shocked me, but Rapp swore he had layers he rarely showed to the outside world.
He’d never admit it, but the pressure placed upon him gets to him sometimes, Rapp had told me the day after I awoke from my injuries. A moment later, Rokath strode into the tent and he quickly changed the subject.
The thought had given me pause then. Sometimes I felt like the Weaver was acting through Rapp, trying to force Rokath and I together. Out of the three of us, he seemed to be the only one who wanted us to let our animosity bleed away.
And he often did that through teasing Rokath. Which my mate did not always take to kindly.
This was no exception.
A growl grumbled from Rokath, and Rapp didn’t even flinch under the ferocity of Rokath’s stare. He just kept grinning, like he enjoyed forcing this side of his friend to the surface.
Which he absolutely did.
I pressed my lips together and busied myself with attempting to eat once again. Instead of using my wrist to maneuver the utensil to my mouth this time, I opted to use my shoulder. Once the food was stabilized high enough, I moved my face to it, managing to get a mouthful off of it.
I gagged, dropping the spoon and reaching for the water Rapp had also fetched for me. The bland gruel stuck in my throat, too thick to go down on its own, and the water was not helping nearly enough. A forceful swallow, then another cough, dislodged it and allowed it to pass further into my digestive system. “That is the worst it’s ever been,”
I somehow got out, swiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Rapp and Rokath watched me with varying degrees of amusement. “This is why we don’t have females in the war camp,”
my mate stated, propping an elbow on the side of his chair and leaning into it.
Rapp snorted. “Or maybe if we did, we’d have some better food.”
“Because the females cook better than the males?”
I quipped, pushing the bowl away from me. I’d rather go hungry than attempt to force more into my belly.
“Well, yes,”
Rapp said, threading his fingers behind his head. The chair creaked as he rocked back in it, poised on two legs.
I rolled my eyes. “Males have equal cooking ability to females.”
“You sure about that?”
Rapp shot back, looking pointedly at my discarded food.
Sighing, I braced my heavy head on my fist. “It’s about the effort you put in. When they’re trying to feed tens of thousands, it’s a little difficult.”
“You said before you could cook. Maybe I’ll allow you to help after all,”
Rokath offered, something like cunning glittering in his eyes. There was the freedom I thought he might be capable of allowing.
A scoff slipped out of me as I offered him a glare. “Like you would allow me to be unguarded around all those males.”
He shrugged, acting like he wasn’t a hawk who kept sharp eyes on me at all times. Especially now.
“Besides, I can’t,”
I grumbled, gesturing to my bound arm. It ached, and after riding all day, my calf did too. More than anything, I wanted to go to bed. Sleep had not come easy, though the poppy the lead healer had offered did help a little. I’d worry about food again in the morning.
“We can go to bed now if you’d like.”
“Don’t you have to go to your nightly officer’s meeting?”
“I’d love to be included in your conversation,”
Rapp chuckled, the legs of his chair hitting the ground with a thump.
“Assyria is tired and would like to retire now,”
Rokath said aloud, never removing his heavy regard from me. A shiver licked down my spine, and I raked my teeth across my bottom lip. Rokath tracked the movement.
Rapp fiddled with the studs above his eyebrow. “We don’t have much to discuss since we haven’t heard from Trol. Might be good to give the Parancsok a night off.”
“Aye,”
Rokath agreed, still fixated on me. I held my ground, offering him the same intensity, but tried to hide the pebbling skin and the hint of sweat that broke out on the back of my neck.
Rapp gathered our bowls and spoons and rose from the table. “Shall I plug my ears while I sleep tonight?”
Simultaneously, Rokath and I slashed our attention to the grinning Hadvezér. “That won’t be necessary,”
Rokath growled, and I smothered a laugh.
We hadn’t coupled since he forced me to take his cock and swallow his seed. My core heated at the memory, and I cursed myself for not only thinking of it, but also for the thrill it sent through me.
Rokath had, in fact, shown me exactly what it was to be alive.
Still, he’d left me so desperate and wanting, coiled tighter than that cobra, and I hadn’t found relief for it yet.
Rapp winked at me before disappearing through the half-open flap. With a grumble, Rokath left the table and closed it, fastening the ties so we wouldn’t be disturbed. What sounds had filled the background vanished as he turned toward me again. On shaky legs, I rose, meeting him in the middle of the tent. A threadbare rug graced the center of it, and it wiggled my toes against the scratchy fabric in an attempt to ground myself.
“Shall we begin?”
Rokath murmured, and I nodded.
As with every night since the bite, Rokath unwound the bind from my arm, supporting it while he worked my tunic off. I could scarcely breathe as his fingers trailed ever so lightly over my skin, leaving a trail of embers in their wake. Then, he secured it again and worked his way lower.
The ties to my pants I unfastened myself, at least. But the caress he offered my bare thighs, the solid muscle he lent me for balance as he stripped them off my legs, was something else entirely. His riotous burgundy eyes ghosted across my skin, from my knees to my face. “Do you want to change undergarments tonight or in the morning?”
I swallowed, trying to keep the tremble from my voice. “In the morning is fine.”
He rose, seeming to grow even more massive than before as he towered over me. My plaited hair spilled down my back as our eyes remained locked, tickling my bare skin. Spice and fire filled my nostrils, so masculine and so him.
When Rokath stepped away, toward the bedside table where a small vial of milky white liquid waited, air whooshed from my lungs. He flicked off the stopper, then offered it to me. Tipping my head back, I drank it to the dregs.
Meanwhile, he stripped out of his own clothing, crinkled from sweating in it beneath his armor. The days in the desert were unbearably hot, so when I emptied the glass of water still left on the table, I appreciated every drop. From a tattered, nearly falling to pieces, leather bag, he pulled out fresh clothing and arranged it on one of the table’s chairs. I’d learned it was so he knew exactly where all his clothes were in case of a middle of the night attack. The dirty ones, including mine, he stuck into another bag to be delivered to one of the washing stations the following day.
At least there was one perk of being with the Halálhívó—clean clothing. The rest of the army had to suffer through the same sets until we reached an oasis where we could wash everything again.
“Why do you have that worn bag? Surely another would suit you better,”
I commented, climbing onto the bed.
Rokath bristled, our bond flaring with a tumult of emotion. “Because I am accustomed to it.”
Anguish threaded through his tone despite how he tried to hide it. I wondered if it had anything to do with the snippets Rapp had shared with me about Rokath’s past. He refused to give specifics, stating that Rokath should be the one to tell me.
Curiosity piqued, I couldn’t smother my desire to press for more information. “You could become accustomed to another,”
I pointed out. With one arm, I fluffed the pillow on my side of the bed, peeking at him from under my lashes while I did so.
Rokath rubbed his temples, tension radiating off his frame. Tapping into our bond, I nearly gasped with what I felt from him. Anger, yes, but also grief, so thick and heavy I wondered how he wasn’t crushed beneath it. It was so similar to my own, and for a moment I wanted to reach out and hold him.
My fingers twitched, and then I forced them into my lap.
“What I had to do to become the Halálhívó,”
he started, then paused as if he was struggling with allowing the words past his lips. “What I had to do, to endure, was something no one should. You are too young to have known Xannirin’s father, the last Kral, and his two brothers.”
Dropping his hands, he hung his head, looking at the stained leather and not meeting my eyes. “I keep this as a reminder of what my father made me do. So on the days doubt creeps in, I can at least comfort myself with the fact that I am who I am in spite of him.”
His words reached between my ribs and gouged another wound into my heart. The vulnerability he offered me was something I never thought I’d see in him. If he was saying anything at all, it must have meant he was starting to trust me. First Kiira, then Rapp…
Could Rokath really be capable of emotional intimacy?
I was at a loss for what to say.
So, I ruined the moment because I didn’t know what else to do. “The mighty Halálhívó doubts himself? How scandalous.”
Then, he slashed his attention to me. “Overconfidence is just as dangerous as underconfidence, little imposter. Look what happened to you.”
An audible click sounded as I snapped my teeth shut. I couldn’t find an argument to throw back at him, so I huffed and flopped onto my back. The mattress was hard, and it should have sent a twinge of pain through my shoulder with how I landed. But the poppy had begun to take effect, and all I felt was bliss as I wiggled to make myself comfortable.
Silence stretched between us as Rokath climbed into the bed. Both of us rested on our backs with hands folded on our stomachs, hugging the edges so we weren’t forced to touch.
“I wear my mother’s ring as a reminder of the good times of my life,”
I murmured, a heaviness settling over me and making it hard to properly form words. “I wonder if I’ll ever have them again.”
Darkness closed in on me, and my lids thudded closed. If Rokath replied, I did not hear, for a heartbeat later, I drifted off into the land of dreams, where I could at least pretend I was happy.