Chapter 35
I nudge at the scale pressed between my bound wrists until it flops onto my lap, then pinch it between my knees and get to work. Gaze homed on the door, I rub my rope across the tapered edge, severing the twirls of twine in fraying increments.
It cuts through much faster than I was anticipating, my hand slipping as the rope gives way—
The scale slices into my arm, and I suck a sharp breath, clamping my jaw against the slit of pain.
Shit—fuck—dragon balls!
Dammit, Raeve …
I use my teeth to unravel my binds before pressing a hand on the cut, blood leaching through the gaps between my fingers and dribbling onto the pallet.
I sigh.
Guess I broke the no more bloodshed this slumber rule.
Definitely time to kick myself out.
I rush into the washroom and crank the copper faucet barely visible in the dull light, dragging my arm beneath the gushing flow and doing what I can to clean off the blood. Tearing a strip from my shirt, I bind the wound, using my teeth to tie off the knot before smiling at my handiwork—victory popping beneath my ribs in giddy bursts.
I might’ve wounded myself, but I’m free.
Free!
Fuck yes. Now I just have to get away.
I use the privy, lavishing in the freedom of being able to wipe my ass comfortably. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I move back into the sleep space, nipping another glance at the still-closed door.
Drawn to the drawers at the end of the pallet, I pry the first open and rummage for something more comfortable than the scratchy garments I thought I’d die in, finding a black shirt that’s butter-soft. I pull out some equally soft pants that are short enough they likely cut off at Kaan’s knees.
They’ll probably still swallow me.
Shrugging, I tug them on anyway, discovering they have a drawstring that allows me to cinch them at my waist.
I keep my hair tucked beneath the oversized shirt now hanging off my shoulder as I creep back onto the pallet. Pulling the blankets up around myself despite the humid heat, I stash the scale and severed binds beneath the covers while I watch the door.
Giving Kaan time to fall asleep , I wait—entombed in the smell of cream and molten stone.
The storm howls, dumping rain upon the roof, pelting against the little window. The space dark and gloomy as I bide my time, picking at the skin down the side of my nails, picturing all the gory things I’m going to do to the male who killed Essi and slashed my back to shreds.
I’m coming for you, Rekk Zharos …
You fuck.
But first, I have to escape a king.
I edge the door open, my breaths soft and steady. Mind calm—sunken into that quiet place I go when I have a job to do.
With the scale clutched in my right hand, I make for the stairs, timing my movements to the ferocious beat of the storm lashing against the dwelling, dragging my left hand down the wall to steady myself. I descend toward the ground floor, movements soft and slow, four steps from the bottom when a bolt of lightning ignites the room.
Ignites him .
My cheeks heat, thunder rumbling as I consume the vision of Kaan Vaegor stretched across the long seater.
Naked.
More lightning, and I see the fluffy throw draped across his groin, covering that part of his body but leaving his scars and his fierce, formidable stature on bold display.
Creators.
He’s so big his legs hang off the end, feet flat on the ground, legs partially spread.
Another thump of thunder, and I swallow thickly, gaze dragging up to where he has a pillow beneath his head that’s tipped to the side, both arms tucked beneath it …
I shake my head, admiring.
I had a lot of time to think while I was sitting in his sleep space, bound in his scent, biding moments until I was certain he’d be asleep. Realized he’s shown me kindness when I’ve shown him none. Certainly done nothing to deserve his .
And the way he looked at me while I laughed …
I release a slow, silent breath, taking in the relaxed slant of his face. Peaceful.
Serene.
My fingers itch, but not with the need to kill. Not the feeling I get when I think about the male I’m about to hunt.
They itch with the need to touch . To trace the sturdy lines of his eyebrows, then his nose—ever so slightly crooked. As though somebody punched him one time and he didn’t bother to set it completely straight.
The urge to tangle with his thick beard and tug at the strands, then drag across the broad expanse of his shoulders, smoothing across his bouldered chest. To trace the dips between his abdominals, down the slick black trail of hair that leads beneath that blanket—
My cheeks flush with another spread of heat.
Of all the things I’ve seen in my life, he’s one of the most magnificent. I can admit that to myself now that we’re parting.
Another reason why I need to go.
Perhaps he’s a good male. A good, honorable king. I don’t have the heart to peel back the layers and find out. I’m broken in ways he’ll never understand, condemned to a lonely existence I’ve found peace with.
So no, I don’t want to kill him. Not anymore.
I simply want to be free of him.
I spear my gaze at the door and ease off the final few steps, tiptoeing past the seater. My hand is just settling around the doorknob when my mind tills up the haunting echo of his previous words. Ones I’d barely absorbed when he’d said them, because I was so caught up on other things.
The only exit is down the stairs and out the back door. That’s if you can creep past me quietly enough, since I’ll be sleeping on the seater. If you succeed, I’ll enjoy hunting you down, so be my fucking guest .
A shiver rakes through me as I digest the conviction in his tone, crippled by the distinct impression that not even a moonfall would prevent him from finding me …
Gaze cast over my shoulder, my heart misses a beat.
Another.
Shit. I have to kill him. If I don’t, I’ll never be rid of him. He’ll haunt me. Truly haunt me—just as he promised.
This weird feeling gouges at my throat. Like a claw reaching up through layers of flesh, muscle, and sinew, fisting my trachea, tightening its grip.
Choking me.
I realize with a start that it’s hesitation .
Again.
I don’t know what to do with this. I’ve never dealt with it before this male came along. I kill. That’s what I do. Somebody needs taking out, I fucking do it.
This decision should be easy. He’s in the way. Get him out of the way.
Why is it not easy?
I squeeze my eyes shut, pitching myself back to the moment I discovered he’s one of the three Vaegor kings. To the rage I felt, bolstered by the knowledge of all the terrible things he’s rumored to have done.
Monstrous things. Heinous things that are unforgivable.
The world will be a better place with one less tyrannical Vaegor brother.
Yes. That’s it.
That’s the hook.
I snap my mouth around the thought’s sharp point as I slip inside myself, stripping back the sprouting emotions I feel for Kaan until I’m left with a bare skeleton I leave lying on my internal shore—bundling all my budding curiosity and tentative appreciation and tying it to a stone. With stout determination, I creep across my lake, shards of silver light spearing up from beneath the ice like something bright and bold is soaring through the water.
Following me.
I shiver, plonk the stone down a carved hole and into the dark expanse, then brush off my hands.
There.
Good riddance.
The huge, luminous presence darts forward in a whip of motion, appearing to chase the stone like a predator hunting its prey, its glow fading into the depths with a billowing swish that sends icy water gushing up the hole and sloshing around my feet.
Breath caught in my lungs, I blink back to the now, heart pounding hard and fast …
It’s never chased something I’ve discarded before. At least not that I’ve noticed .
A shiver scurries up my spine, and I shake my head, centering myself, ignoring whatever just happened.
Do the job.
Get out.
Hunt Rekk Zharos.
Cradling a stark indifference toward my sleeping target, I creep closer to the seater, Rygun’s scale clutched in my steady hand. In one swift motion, I straddle the King, scoring the sharp weapon to his throat—
Kaan’s eyes pop open, glowing like pots of crackling embers as my internal lake erupts —the complex bundle of discarded emotions spat back at me, splatting against my heart where it sinks between the gaps, leaching toward my fleshy core.
I gasp, speared through by the fire in Kaan’s eyes. By the pierce of feeling that just infected me like a disease—ten times more potent than it was when I threw it away.
A whimper wrangles free as I repress the urge to delve my hand between my ribs, goring a hole in my chest cavity. To scratch the thumping organ like it’s an insect bite, or maybe wedge my fingers deep and scoop out this … sensation .
Heavy. Swollen.
Alive.
His nostrils flare, gaze flicking to my injured arm, back to my eyes while breaths saw in and out of me. While I poke at my crippled resolve, trying to work out why my desire to kill him just melted into a puddle of desperation to be closer.
Not just closer …
As close as we can be.
This strangest need to kiss him surges through my veins. For us to clash against each other until we fuse in intangible ways. To taste him and feel him move inside me …
A luscious, hungry shudder crawls up my spine.
Another flash of lightning ignites the fierceness in his stare, and his chest deflates, like all the breath just shoved from his lungs.
Slower than a rising aurora, he pulls his arms from beneath the pillow, one strong hand settling on my hip. Gripping hard. The other settles around the side of my face, cupping it in a way that feels so jarringly familiar. So right it makes me want to crack my aching heart into shards because it’s obviously confused.
“I see you, Raeve …”
My breath hitches, the scale still indenting Kaan’s throat. “I don’t … I don’t know what—”
“ You ,” he growls, tightening his hand around the side of my face with a tender jerk, eyes lit with a soul-crushing blaze. “I fucking see you.”
His voice is a jagged wound—raw and grisly. Painful in a way that makes that sensation in my chest ache with a deeper, more destructive throb I’m so desperate to dislodge. Or at the very least, distract myself from.
It’s too real. Too piercing.
And this …
Why does this feel so right?
The room ignites again, illuminating him in devastating detail. Strong, proud body slashed in too many scars to count, hair mussed, lips a perfect pillowy shape I imagine pressed against mine, moving with mine, claiming mine—
Fuck.
“What do you need, Moonbeam?”
To scratch this primal itch in the hopes it’ll assuage the emotional blade now lodged in my chest.
With fumbled motions, I reach for my waistband, untethering the bind and loosening the cinched material before grabbing his hand that’s sitting on my hip and urging it down the front of me.
A rumbling sound spawns in his chest, vibrating up my spread legs where it meets my tender core now pulsing with a hungry beat. A sensation I intend to fall into—headfirst with a blindfold on.
“You want me to touch you?”
The words are a flint scored down my spine.
Lower.
My muscles loosen, making my flesh heat as I nod—the motion fast and desperate. “Yes,” I plead, grinding my hips, trying to rock myself against his fingers that aren’t quite where I want them. “ Please .”
He growls, his thick manhood swelling beneath my ass, growing impossibly hard. Another grind of my hips ignites every nerve in that sensitive spot between my legs, and I groan, this deep, heady sound that’s like a wanton fracture in the room.
Kaan pushes his hand closer toward my aching center, making my flesh pebble, my nipples pinching into hard, sensitive peaks from the coarse feel of his skin against my needy softness.
I throb with anticipation, knowing he’s close.
So close.
Another hitch of my breath as his finger sweeps across my wet flesh, the tender tease zapping me with a ravenous bolt of pleasure.
“Cut me if you want me to stop,” he rasps, his thumb sliding across my cheekbone. “I’ll gladly bleed beneath you, so don’t be shy.”
“ Touch me ,” I groan, my voice shrill with a neediness I don’t recognize.
Not in myself.
His fingers skim my stretched expanse, feathering around my flushed, swollen slit.
My mind muddies— empties —another deep, heady groan pouring up my throat.
He makes a gravelly sound as he traces a path around me, slow, steady circles that wind me up and unravel me in the same luscious motion. His other hand drops from my face and weaves beneath my stolen shirt, palming my aching breast, tweaking my nipple, sending zings of electric pleasure through all my fine ligaments.
Fuck.
I let my head tip back, bottom lip tucked between my teeth.
Surrender to his ministrations.
“ More ,” I groan, and he pinches the sensitive peak. I gasp, my attention tuned to my breasts, then struck with a bolt of shock when he sinks two fingers into me.
I moan to the slashing sky as he pumps them deep, then stills.
Holds them there.
Another flick of my nipple, another zing of pleasure that pours into my throbbing core. “Take what you want, Moonbeam.”
The words till something inside me, my mind drifting somewhere bright and breezy.
A dream, maybe.
Somewhere that smells like salt, spices, and sweet, succulent flowers. A place where the only thing that matters is … this .
Us.
I snap from the luminous tendril of thought woven up from beneath my icy lake.
Desperate to scrub that beautiful, impossible feeling of rightness from my chest, I chase the pulse of rapture between my spread thighs. A heady, primal distraction that I can make sense of.
“I need you,” I groan, tossing the scale aside, hearing it clatter across the ground. “Now.”
“You fucking have me.”
“No, I need you ,” I growl, trying to tip us sideways.
Seeming to catch on, he makes this throaty sound, and in one swift, powerful motion, he flips us, making my breath catch.
He shoves my pants down and tosses them aside, my legs now splayed beneath him. Flushed core bared, aching and ready to take his thick, hard length now resting against the inside of my naked thigh.
I’m just about to reach down and grab him—to guide him toward my throbbing entrance—when I catch him looking at me with the intensity of a chapped wasteland desperate for even a drop of rain. The sort of look that consumes . That clutches heartstrings and braids them together for eternity … forever bonded.
Can’t he see that my heartstrings are stubby and frayed?
He grips my leg with one of his calloused hands, right up by my knee. Widening me. The other comes up and cups the side of my face with captivating tenderness, his thumb dragging back and forth across my parted lips.
My pulse slows …
Stills.
He’s so beautiful, poured over me like molten lava. So, so fucking beautiful that it’s tempting to let him fall into the illusion I think he’s woven over me.
Over us .
To take him into my body and give him a little bit of what he’s so obviously seeking in my eyes.
“Are you sure you want this, Moonbeam?”
The deep, gravelly words are coarse and sharp … yet somehow not. Somehow, they’re the softest words I’ve ever heard.
Cut me if you want me to stop …
Take what you want …
Are you sure you want this, Moonbeam?
Creators.
He’s definitely not the monster I thought he was.
“Certain,” I rasp, tilting my hips to offer him better access. “I want you in me, Kaan Vaegor.”
He groans, lids lowering as he looks at me with another tender crush of intensity that overrides that ache between my legs. Makes the one in my chest flare with renewed vigor, and I’m suddenly sure a hand just plunged down my throat, punched through the side of my esophagus, and gripped my stony heart.
He fists himself, lining up with me as I say, “But first you have to stop looking at me like it means something.”
He flinches, as if struck with the metal tip of a barbed whip. “You want a meaningless release?”
I nod, jerking my hips.
“Right.” Another flash of lightning, and I see his eyes have shuttered black. “Well … you won’t find that here, Prisoner Seventy-Three.”
His voice is monotone.
Detached.
Severed from … whatever this is.
He eases back onto his knees, dropping my leg, leaving me open and exposed—his thick manhood standing strong and proud and ready, webbed in veins, a pearly bead of precum leaking from the tip.
He pushes his hair back from his face, lips pinched into a tight line while confusion wrestles beneath my ribs.
Is he … joking ?
He’s ready, wanting. I’m here, asking for it. Why not just get it out of our systems so we can move on?
I blink, gaze lifting to his eyes, mine wide. “What are you—”
“Get up and go back to your sleep space. Get some rest. We have a long, nonstop ride when the storm clears.”
There’s such a chill in his tone that for a moment, I don’t breathe. Don’t move.
I open my mouth—
“ Get. The. Fuck. Up .”
His words rumble through the room with such violence I’m certain I’m going to be crushed beneath them if I don’t move.
Fast.
I scramble off the seater and snatch my discarded pants, clutching them close to my chest as I edge back toward the stairs, maintaining our eye contact while my cheeks flame with a shame I don’t understand.
Don’t want to understand.
With a shake of my head, I spin and sprint up the staircase to the drum of the thunderous storm.