Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The icy fingers of fear clutch me in its grasp, and I freeze in place. I hear slow steps as they swagger their way around to stand in front of me.
The raspy voice belongs to a thin, wiry man who looks like he’s seen better days.
His clothes are threadbare and stained with holes in various places, some of which look like they’ve been patched with mismatched pieces of fabric.
Movement of his hands draw my attention, and I see him spinning a small knife in his hand, the silver of the blade reflecting the minuscule amount of light in this alley.
His fingernails are broken down to the quick and caked with dirt.
“P-please. I d-don’t want any t-trouble,” I stutter out, but my fear and nervousness only spur him on, a vicious smile overtaking his features.
“But you’re such a precious little thing. Don’t you care to have a bit of fun?” He flashes his yellowing teeth in a feral smile, the way he stresses the word fun making it sound the complete opposite of that.
Another wave of terror washes over me, this one more intense than the last, my instincts clearly picking up on the threat this man poses.
Fight Liv, a voice whispers in the back of my mind, and it sounds suspiciously like Bastian’s. Maybe his training is sinking in after all.
The man takes another step closer, putting him within grabbing distance and it takes everything in me to hold my body stock-still and not try to flee.
I know he’d catch up to me right now if I tried to run, but if I could stall him somehow…
then maybe I’d have a chance. To at least try to reach the inn. I’m sure I haven’t wandered that far.
When the man takes another step forward, I take my chance. My hand instantly forms a fist in the way that Bastian taught me, thrusting it out into a punch directly at the man’s nose. I can feel the crunch of the contact and pain blooms through my knuckles.
“Fuck, that hurt,” I hiss shaking out of my hand as I take off running, leaving the man crouched over holding his nose currently gushing blood.
“Fucking bitch!” He shouts at my back.
I barely make it to the end of the alleyway before another set of arms loop around my shoulders from behind, pulling me back until I crash into their front.
“Don’t fucking move,” another insidious voice whispers in my ear. My body stiffens in his arms.
The first man rounds in front of me, pinching at his nose with one hand, his eyes filled with a fiery rage. “Feisty little bitch,” he spits out. “I’d like to see you try to run now.” The arms around my upper body band tighter to the point where I can barely breath.
The coolness of a blade brushes against my temple as he drags the tip down my cheek, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to strike fear.
“Let’s see what kind of fun we can come up with since it seems you want to play a game.”
I squirm in the arms holding me back, trying to break loose of his hold but nothing works. I kick my legs out behind me in hope I can hit a weak spot but the way the man is braced against me and holding me tight doesn’t allow me to get enough leverage.
“Let me go!” I shout, hoping that yelling loud enough will draw the attention of someone nearby. Although I haven’t heard any sounds drifting down from the main road. I’m not so sure anyone is even around.
“Not a chance in the hells,” the man holding me hisses in my ear. I try to throw my head back into his face, but he moves quickly enough that he can dodge the hit.
Emotions flood into me. Anger. Fear. Worry.
I’m mad at these men for attacking me. I’m mad at myself for not paying enough attention to my surroundings and failing my first test at using the fighting skills that Bastian taught me.
I’m terrified that something will happen to me. That I won’t get to meet my parents. That I’ll never see Tom or Fleur again. That Bastian won’t know that I’m even gone until it’s too late.
I’m worried that he’s going to have to find me dead in some dark and dingy alley.
But by far the most overpowering of those is anger. It’s like a wave of heat moving through me.
I struggle against the man holding me, while the other continues playing whatever game of chicken this is with the knife.
“Think you’ll be still as pretty with a scar,” the knife drags from the corner of my mouth and up my cheek towards my eye, “here?” The blade doesn’t break the skin, but the feeling of the blade sends tremors through my body.
“What about here?” he asks as he drags it down along my throat, pressing a bit harder on this drag that I can feel the prick of the blade and the warm trickle of blood.
“Oops,” he says sarcastically and a wicked gleam in his eyes.
I catch the whiff of liquor on his breath, making me want to gag.
He brings the blade back up to my face and I squeeze my eyes closed in anticipation of whatever he’s going to do to maim me.
I go completely still, not even daring to breathe.
But then the blade is lifted from my skin.
I don’t even get the chance to open my eyes when the arms around me loosen enough to twist myself free.
My eyes fly open as I punch out blindly, in hopes of hitting one of them somewhere hard enough to buy me time to flee.
A hand halts my fist mid-motion.
“I didn’t think I was that bad a kisser,” a strained voice says.
“Bastian?” I choke out. Blinking, my vision clears enough for his face to come into focus.
The expression on his face looks downright murderous but softens a fraction at the crack in my voice, before he resettles into vicious Bastian. “Stay here,” he commands before dropping my hand and turning on my assailants.
I find my feet backing towards the wall behind me on their own. I close my eyes as I brace myself on the bricks. The pained grunts, shuffling of feet, and crunching bones are all I can hear. I squeeze my eyes tighter.
Suddenly there’s a touch under my chin, making me flinch back further into the wall.
“Staellara, open your eyes,” Bastian whispers.
When I blink them open, he’s standing in front of me, only slightly mussed from the fight, but otherwise perfectly intact. His finger rests underneath my chin, keeping my face tilted up towards him. My eyes slide off to the side, trying to catch a glimpse behind him.
“Don’t,” he snaps, voice sharp. My eyes instantly jump back to his. They’re filled with an icy rage that I can see in his features so clearly, it’s as if I can feel it deep in my chest.
He’s angry—no, pissed actually.
“Let’s go,” he says before grabbing my wrist in a firm but loose grip and tugging me along with him, moving so quickly that I don’t even get a chance to look behind us at my attackers.
He doesn’t say another word as he marches through the city streets back to the inn.
He drops his grip on my wrist the second we reach the canal path, and he knows I’ll follow.
I keep sneaking glances at him out of the corner of my eye and he maintains a hard expression.
Lips thin, jaw clenching and unclenching, brows furrowed.
Fuck. First, I kiss him, when I really shouldn’t have. Now I’ve gone and nearly gotten myself killed and he had to rescue my ass. He hates me. I’m sure of it. There’s definitely no way we’re even close to being friends after this. I’ve absolutely fucked this whole thing up.
I bite my lip to fight back the rising emotions in me. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but also the adrenaline of the attack has worn off and I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I’ve been through the wringer tonight.
He’s quick to usher me up the stairs and into the inn.
Before I know it, we’re in our room. The second the door shuts, he leans his forehead up against the wood and simply takes deep breaths.
His hands are balled into fists, resting above his head.
They’re squeezed so tight, his knuckles are white.
I don’t even know what to do or say at this point.
I can feel the fuming anger radiating off his body.
I shift on my feet where I stand in the middle of the room. “Bastian?” I whisper, the words barely making a sound while also sounding entirely too loud in the silence of the room.
He whips his body around to face me, his eyes wild, crazed. This is no longer anger, but I can’t quite decipher what exactly it is.
In a blink, he’s across the room and I’m being scooped into his arms, pulled tight into his chest. “Are you okay?” he mumbles into my hair.
I nod into his chest, refusing to speak because I can almost guarantee my voice will crack or I’ll cry. Doesn’t he know you can’t ask someone if they’re okay like that? It’s like he’s asking me to fall apart and I’m doing everything I can at the moment to hold my shit together.
“I don’t believe you,” he says. And I’m not even surprised that he can pick up on how I’m feeling without me even saying a thing or seeing my face. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, softly.
“It is, though.” He pulls back to stare down at my face and I can see how wrecked he is.
It’s written all over his face. It’s incredible to see him wear his emotions on the surface like this when only a week ago, he would hide everything behind a mask.
“If I didn’t leave you earlier, you wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.
And even then, I didn’t get to you in time before they could hurt you.
” He lifts a hand to trail a finger along the small nick at the base of my throat.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking on the last word.
“No, I’m sorry.”
His head jerks back. “Why are you sorry?”
I give his shoulder a gentle nudge and he reluctantly releases his hold on me.
“I shouldn’t have wandered off,” I explain as I begin to pace the room.
“I needed time to cool off and think and didn’t want to be cooped up in the room for that, so I went for a walk.
I should’ve been paying more attention. Now you’re mad at me—”
“I’m not mad at you,” he cuts in, brows furrowed in confusion.
I halt my pacing and plant my hands on my hips, staring at him. “You sure seem pretty mad at me. And I get it. I put myself in danger, again.”
“I’m not mad at you, Liv. I was terrified,” he steps in front of me, cupping my cheek with his hand. “When I realized you were in trouble, I was worried for you. If anything, I’m mad at those guys. And myself. But I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, unsure if he really means that.
He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not mad that I kissed you like that while you’re mated to someone else? It was totally wrong of me and I’m so sorry. I hope things won’t be weird between us now, because I think I’d quite like it if we were friends.” I give him a watery smile and lean further into his hand.
His jaw clenches. “Friends?”
“Yeah, friends.”
“And if I told you I didn’t want to be friends?” he asks, brow raised.
My heart drops. Of course he doesn’t want to be friends. I mauled his face and then nearly got myself killed again. And he had to save me. Again.
I nod stiffly and step back out of his hold. “Right, okay. We don’t have to be friends. Friendly acquaintance is fine.” I ramble off, not sure how else to handle this situation.
“Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t want to be your friend, Liv.
” My chin drops down so I’m staring into his chest, hopefully hiding my emotions from him.
He tucks his finger under my chin and lifts it, forcing my eyes to meet his.
“I don’t want to be your friend, because I want to kiss you again.
And friends don’t kiss like that. Do they? ” His eyebrows rise in a challenge.
My heart soars back up from where it sunk and withered away at the thought of him not wanting to be my friend. And then all that goes through my mind is that I also very much want to kiss him again.
“Do they?” he asks again, a smirk kicking up on his lips.
I shake my head.
“Use your words, staellara.”
“No, friends don’t kiss like that,” I answer, voice rough.
“Good,” he says before using the finger under my chin to tilt my face up to meet his lips where they drop over mine.
If our first kiss was a raging inferno, this one is soothing like the ocean. Earlier we were rabid, feral. Grasping at each other and fighting for dominance. But this one? It ebbs and flows like a wave along the shore. It’s a gentle exploration.
He moves the hand from beneath my chin, brushing softly along my cheek as it finds its way to the back of my head.
His other hand lands on the curve of my waist where it holds tight as if I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold me close.
I sink further into his hold, drawing a low rumble of affirmation from his chest. My hands begin tracing a path up his chest and this time I don’t allow myself the chance to black out.
I’m hyper focused on every ridge and hard plane of his muscled chest as they work their way up to loop around his neck.
My fingers twine their way into the dark curls at the nape of his neck, holding him just as close to me.
I pull myself further into his hold. His hand releases my waist, arm snaking fully around the small of my back, tightening his grip.
Teeth nip gently at my bottom lip eliciting a soft moan.
With one final tug on my lip, Bastian slowly drags his away from mine, pulling back to look me in the eye.
His pupils are blown wide, turning the normally bright blue eyes a shade of navy instead.
His lips are kiss-swollen and kicked up into a smirk.
“Still wish to be friends?”
“Oh, shut up,” I say with a shove at his shoulder that pushes him nowhere.