18. Grash
18
GRASH
T he firewood in my arms falls to the ground, forgotten, as I stand frozen in the entrance of the ruins. The scene before me burns into my mind like a brand. Eira's pale fingers thread through Murok's dark braids as she kisses him, her body leaning into his like she belongs there. The firelight plays across their skin, making shadows dance, turning the moment into something intimate that claws at my chest.
My hands clench into fists, my muscles coiling tight beneath my tattoos. Each heartbeat pounds in my ears like a war drum. The beast inside me, the one I've kept caged since claiming her in the pits, roars to life.
Murok's hand slides up her back, and something primal snaps inside of me. The blood in my veins turns to liquid fire. I've felt jealousy before - watching other warriors claim glory in battle, seeing others earn our chief's favor - but this? This is different. This is rage and possession and need all twisted together into something dangerous.
The stone wall beneath my fingers cracks. I don't remember reaching for it, but I feel the rough edges bite into my palm. The pain grounds me, keeps me from charging forward like the beast I am. But only barely.
She was mine first. I claimed her, protected her, carried her when she couldn't walk. And now Murok, with his clever words and calculating mind, claims her like he has the right.
The firelight catches her face as she pulls back slightly from the kiss. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, and seeing her looking so vulnerable makes my chest constrict. She looks... peaceful. It should please me to see her finally trusting, finally letting her guard down.
Instead, it makes me want to tear these ruins apart stone by stone.
My boots thunder against the stone floor as I charge toward them, each step fueled by primal rage. The scattered firewood crunches beneath my feet. Thunder crashes outside, matching the storm in my blood.
"What. Is. This?" The words tear from my throat, guttural and raw.
They break apart, startled. Eira's lips are still parted, flushed from Murok's kiss. Her green eyes meet mine, wide with surprise, then something else – regret? Fear? The sight of her looking at me like that tears at something deep within me.
My hands shake as I tower over them both. Rain pounds against the ruins outside, but all I hear is my own ragged breathing. The tribal tattoos across my chest seem to burn as my muscles coil tight with barely contained fury.
Eira's blonde hair falls across her face as she looks down, her fingers twisting in her lap. The firelight catches the curve of her neck where Murok's hand had been moments ago. Mine. The word pounds through my head with each heartbeat.
I drop to my knees before her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. My hand moves of its own accord, my fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face up to mine. Her pulse flutters beneath my touch like a trapped bird.
"Look at me," I growl, softer now, desperate. The anger melts into something else, something that makes my chest ache. Her eyes finally meet mine, and I see confusion there, vulnerability, and something that makes my breath catch.
The rain continues its steady drumming against stone outside, but here, in this moment, time seems to stop. My thumb traces her bottom lip, still warm from another's kiss. The beast in me roars, demanding I claim what's mine.
I grasp her waist and pull her up against me, my large hands spanning her ribs. The firelight dances across her face, catching the gold in her pale hair, making her green eyes shimmer like precious stones. My blood thunders through my veins as I crush my mouth to hers.
Her lips part beneath mine, soft and yielding, and something primal inside me roars in triumph. This is what I've wanted since I first saw her in those cursed pits – not just to protect her, but to claim her, to make her mine.
My fingers tangle in her hair, tilting her head back as I deepen the kiss. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat that sets my blood on fire. Her hands slide up my chest, tracing the tribal tattoos there, and I growl against her mouth. Every touch brands me, marks me as hers just as surely as I'm marking her as mine.
To my surprise and fierce pleasure, she presses closer, her body molding against mine like she was meant to fit there. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she matches my intensity, claiming me right back. The beast in me purrs with satisfaction.
I break the kiss only to trail my lips down her throat, tasting the thunder of her pulse beneath her skin. My hands tighten on her waist, probably leaving a mark, but I can't seem to let go. Won't let go. Not ever again.
The rain beats against stone outside, but all I hear is her rapid breathing. All I feel is the way she trembles against me. Not with fear – no, this is something else entirely. Something that makes my chest tighten with an emotion I'm not ready to name.
I capture her mouth again, pouring everything I can't say right now into the kiss. Every protective instinct, every possessive urge, every moment I've wanted to touch her like this. She responds with equal fervor, her fingers sliding into my hair, pulling me closer.
Murok's low chuckle breaks through the haze of my desire. The sound should infuriate me, but there's something in it – understanding, acceptance, even approval – that makes my grip on Eira's waist loosen slightly. The firelight catches the knowing glint in his blue eyes as he watches us, and for once, his calculated gaze doesn't make me want to break things.
Eira's breath comes in short gasps against my mouth, her fingers still tangled in my hair, when a low, dangerous growl cuts through the air. The sound raises the hair on the back of my neck – primal, possessive, threatening. Dren.
I break the kiss but keep Eira pressed against me, my large hands spanning her ribcage. She trembles slightly as I turn my head toward the entrance.
Dren stands in the shadows, his silver eyes gleaming like deadly stars in the darkness. Rain drips from his long dark hair, running down his brown-green skin in rivulets that catch the firelight. His muscles are coiled tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The way he looks at Eira makes something primitive stir in me – recognition of another predator eyeing what's mine.
But there's more than just want in his gaze. There's pain there, raw and deep, that makes my possessive grip on Eira falter. The beast within me wars with itself – wanting to protect what's mine but understanding the hunger in his eyes all too well.
Thunder crashes outside, matching the tension crackling through the air between us. None of us move. None of us speak. The only sounds are the rain, the crackling fire, and Eira's quickened breathing against my chest.