Chapter 9 #2
I drew a long, steadying breath, summoning every scrap of poise I’d spent a lifetime perfecting.
I feigned cold indifference, acting as if he weren’t even there as I began my work.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the Ruk’hai make his way to the massive armchair by the hearth.
The leather groaned under his weight as he sank into it.
He propped a thick, tattooed leg onto the coffee table, unsheathed a wicked-looking blade from his belt, and began to clean beneath his long claws nonchalantly.
I wrinkled my nose at the sight of his feet, caked in mud, and bit back the urge to snap at him to get his feet off the furniture, focusing instead on scrubbing the hovel he called home.
With every foul, unidentifiable stain I encountered, I hissed a curse at Merith, swearing I’d make her swallow every last one of her teeth the moment I got the chance. By the time I reached his spot, my temper had unraveled into anger. I couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Get up so I can clean," I snapped, my patience nowhere to be found.
He didn't obey me, of course. Instead, he stretched, arching his back and lifting those massive, ink-stained arms over his head like a lazy cat.
"I don't want to."
My entire body coiled, tension thrumming through my limbs like a bowstring pulled taut. "Excuse me?"
"You understand my language even less than I thought."
I wasn’t even worthy of a glance as he dismissed my request. He simply returned to his task, the tip of his blade scraping under his dirt-stained claws with infuriating calm.
My dwindling patience finally snapped. Fury bubbled in my gut, fueled by his annoying presence.
I wanted to heave the dirty water from the bucket right into his face, to seize the ash shovel and crack it against that thick skull of his, and kick him so hard between his legs that he’d forget his own name.
Male orcs and High Fae weren't so different in that regard; both bled, and both crumbled when struck in their precious little balls.
I began to lift the bucket, my muscles coiling to strike, when a voice in the back of my mind, one that sounded hauntingly like Kristan’s, hissed a warning: If you do this, he’ll snap you like a twig.
My fingers trembled against the iron handle, the metal biting into my palm, but I took a deep breath.
"Please, Ruk’hai," I gritted out, the words scraping like gravel against my throat. "Step aside so I may finish my work."
He looked up then. Those dark eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time, the mask of indifference slipped. A flicker of amusement danced in his gaze, only to be swallowed by a shadow of irritation.
“Krash’uk,” he hissed. I had no idea what it meant, but his tone left little doubt it wasn’t a compliment. “You’re far too loud.”
An indignant hiss slipped from my lips before I could stop it, startling even me.
My heart slammed against my ribs as Malek went utterly still, his movements halting as he blinked slowly.
He didn’t move a muscle, only stared, but it was enough.
Something deep within me, some primal instinct, recognized the apex predator in the room.
A staggering, overwhelming urge washed over me to bow, to yield to the Ruk’hai of the Okshai as if he were my master. Yet another part of me, the part that had always been far too defiant for its own good, refused to bend.
"I’m not loud," I countered, my gaze locked onto his. "I only wish to do my job."
Before I could even register the shift in the air, he stood and pushed me back until my spine collided with the rough wall.
A massive hand closed around my throat, strong, but not enough to bruise or hurt me.
Up close, Malek was a force of nature, far more terrifying than from a distance.
The scent of him, like the forest after the rain, swirled around me, thick and strangely intoxicating.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and my chest heaved as adrenaline scorched through my veins.
He lowered his head until his mouth was a hair’s breadth from my ear. His hot breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver racing down my spine.
“Shakrar,” he murmured, the word vibrating against my skin. "Disobedient. No means no. Krun!"
I swallowed hard, my throat working against the pressure of his palm as I scrambled for the right words, anything that wouldn't provoke him into snapping my neck as easily as he had the dùthragh’s.
Malek was a monster carved from years of battle and bloodshed. Against him, my training would be useless. I knew my way around a pair of daggers, I was good with a bow, and I could hold my own in a brawl, but I lacked his strength. At this distance, a single strike from him would be the end of me.
Helplessness boiled in my gut like venom.
I could still hear Leone’s mocking laughter from every time I’d insisted on learning to fight.
My duty had never been to war or blood, but for the silken sheets of some highborn lord.
Even my magic, the power to control everything the earth produced, was pitifully weak.
Malek would snap my vines with a casual flex of his muscles.
The High Fae inside me thrashed and hissed at the unfairness of it all. Yet, I knew better than to fight against the odds. So, with a crushing weight in my chest, I surrendered.
"Morak, Ruk’hai," I whispered, the apology tasting like cold iron on my tongue. "It won’t happen again."
Malek pulled back just enough to search my eyes, but this time, I tore my gaze away. It wasn't out of submission, never that. It was to hide the sudden burn that threatened to spill over.
I wouldn't let him witness my weakness. Not him.
He let out a low sigh and stepped back, reclaiming his chair as if the earth-shattering tension of a moment ago had never even existed. I wanted to bolt, to scrub the feel of his touch from my skin as quickly as possible, but his voice cut through the air, anchoring me in place.
"Good girl."
The praise struck like flint against steel, igniting white-hot rage and something else I couldn’t name.
But it wasn’t welcome. I shoved the feeling down into the dark recesses of my mind, refusing to examine it too closely, and clung instead to the fury.
Anger had been my guide through the wreckage of my life before, and it would not fail me now.
I turned to leave, but not before vowing silently that I would live to see the day Malek knelt at my feet.