17. Choosing #2
“That’s convenient. Ex O Drenz said I’ll never leave the Reach now.” My voice is steady. “Because I cured you.”
His focus snaps into something lethal, eyes narrowing. “You still do not understand the danger of leaving?”
“I want to see Sophia,” I continue. “Especially if she’s in the custody of a male who releases serpent-panthers. I want to see every woman from New Terra. Today.”
“No lord would bring his Starfallen into another’s biome.” His mouth sets. “And you cannot communicate with them again.”
“Why—” I stop. Twenty women from another planet. Of course we’re kept where these control freaks can’t compare notes.
Rythar folds his arms and regards me like he’s waiting for me to challenge him further. His eyes sweep over my face. He’s still unapologetically naked.
“You will not leave the Green Reach.” He’s calm, collected. Like this is inevitable.
“You say that like it’s law.”
“It is my law,” he says, looking away.
There it is, of course. My main problem. I fold my arms.
“And the antivenom?” I ask.
His attention snaps back to me.
“Does your law keep that secret, too? Or do you plan to let them die so no one learns you were envenomed?” I give him my fiercest stare.
“I plan,” he says, voice level as stone, “to let them die before I give my enemies another reason to hunt you.” His gaze doesn’t waver.
“You’d sacrifice them?” The words scrape on the way out.
“I would sacrifice anything that threatens you.”
He doesn’t raise his voice, but the words are deadly serious.
Anything. Not just enemies. Not just rivals. Civilians. Soldiers. Men who never asked for war. My cure. My freedom.
The meaning moves through me slowly. I search his face for hesitation and find none. Only that relentless focus.
“You’re not protecting me,” I say, my voice thinner than I intend. “You’re protecting your claim.”
His expression stills. He’s resolute.
“If you wanted an obedient captive,” I tell him, holding his gaze even as my pulse pounds in my throat, “I’m not the one. You should have let me run.”
He studies me as if I’ve said something far more dangerous than I realize.
Finally, he says, “I did. You would never have gotten out without my help.”
The words land softly, but my heartbeat stumbles. The space between us feels exposed. Like I’ve stepped too close to the edge of a building and only just realized there’s no railing.
He continues. “I cleared the corridor.”
The world tilts a fraction. The doorway behind him. The corridor beyond it. The memory of empty halls. How easily I fled the fortress.
“Why?” I demand. I thought I had at least gotten out of the fortress on my own.
“I wanted to see what you would choose,” he says.
My throat tightens. “You staged my escape,” I say.
“You ran,” he says evenly. “I did not stop you.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Look anywhere but into his burning eyes.
“Where would you have gone,” he asks.
“To the Stone,” I answer.
His eyes hold mine. Red and gold. Unblinking.
“Why?” he demands.
“To help Sophia.” My voice is hoarse.
“No one can take her from Vorak. And Vorak will not harm her. I told you this already.”
“You were wrong. I felt her in my mind. She was terrified.”
He frowns. “And now?”
“Now I can’t feel her at all. It’s gone. It went dark when the ring went dark.”
“I warned you that the Stone gives all or nothing. It expects obedience,” he grunts.
“What about Sophia?”
He waves a hand. “Terror is expected in a captive female. Vorak would harm any of my men, but he would not harm his mate. The High Lord would order him killed for it.”
“What the High Lord doesn’t know can’t hurt Vorak,” I say.
“The High Lord would know,” Rythar says darkly. “Vorak is not strong enough to hide such a thing from him. Or from me.”
“But she hates him,” I say weakly. Whatever’s happening to Sophia is happening without me, and nothing I do in this room will change that.
He rubs the back of his neck, thinking. “Do you hate me?” he says softly.
My stomach tightens. “I hate being trapped.”
“That is not what I asked,” Rythar says patiently.
I huff in frustration.
His mouth curves, just barely. “Do you find me unsuitable as a mate?”
That’s gotten complicated lately, but I can’t tell him that. “I have orders. I was supposed to continue the human race. Not your race.”
“I asked your opinion.” He steps closer. “We are not arguing about what orders say.”
“It’s an extremely relevant answer.”
“It is a shield,” Rythar says.
My mouth opens. Nothing useful comes out.
Rythar studies my face, then drops his voice. “Do you find me ugly?”
This is ridiculous. Even his frown is unfairly handsome. I inhale. Exhale. I should tell him yes. It would be easy. Useful. Clean.
“No,” I admit reluctantly.
His eyes flare.
“No?” he says.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I warn him.
His skin tightens as he flexes muscle. It’s subtle, but I think for him, it’s as close to preening as he gets. “You think I am pleasing to look at.”
My eyes drop down, then quickly up again to his face. “I think you’re still naked in the middle of an argument.”
“That also pleases you,” he says calmly.
My cheeks go hot. “That is a wildly arrogant interpretation. You don’t have any idea what pleases me.”
His gaze lowers, slow enough to feel like a touch. “Your breathing changed when you looked at me.”
My mouth drops open. “My breathing changed because you’re invading my personal space.”
He takes another step closer. “And now?”
My heart flutters. “Now you’re proving my point.”
“I can see your heartbeat in your neck. What is it that makes your pulse quicken?”
“Maybe I’m preparing to stab you,” I say with exasperation.
“With what?” he asks, still calm.
I look around the room. There are sharp weapons mounted all over the walls. Fat lot of good any of them would do against Rythar. “With my sharp wit,” I sigh.
His mouth twitches.
I fold my arms, which only makes him look at them. “Stop. You know you’re attractive. Don’t make me say it. You know what’s ugly? Making someone your captive. Putting your mate in a cage.”
“You think I cage you,” he says. “But you returned to me.”
“I did, but—” I break off.
“And now,” he adds, voice lower still, “my warriors know you did. They see that you chose me.”
In other words, my public rejection of him is cured, right along with the serpent-panther bite. “So what?” I retort. “You know the truth. You know being mated to you wasn’t my choice.”
Rythar cups my face in his hands and waits until I look into his eyes. “No. It wasn’t. But I think with time, you will choose me.” He says it like my returning to him wasn't the beginning of a negotiation but the end of one.
His thumbs rest beneath my cheekbones. His large fingers cup my head. His naked body is far too close. I should jerk away. Instead, my eyes drop to his mouth.
A slow, satisfied heat enters Rythar’s gaze, and I shove his hands away before I can do something unforgivable. Like lean in.
“You can think whatever you want,” I snap. “I’m not falling for you just because you’re good-looking.” I say it forcefully. If I’m forceful enough, I might convince both of us.
His mouth curves. “Then let us eat. Choosing me can wait until after breakfast.”