6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Not What I expected…
Maeve
M y stomach lurches with every step he takes.
The swaying motion of hanging over his massive shoulder makes my head spin, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping it’ll stop.
Surprise, It doesn’t. The warmth of his body seeps through my thin nightdress, his muscled arm locked firmly around the backs of my thighs.
“P-please,” I beg him, barely able to lift my head. “Please put me down…I think I’m going to be sick.”
To my astonishment, he actually stops. Being careful of his horns, he lowers me from his shoulders and sets me onto the ground. I get to my knees on the ground, my body shaking as my stomach empties. My eyes water with humiliation.
A shadow falls across the grass, blocking the moonlight as he kneels down.
He reaches toward me, and I flinch, anticipating violence, but his fingers merely brush my hair back.
He holds the tangled strands away from my face as I retch.
I expect him to say something cruel or tease me, but he’s silent.
I dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable.
He stays quiet and holds my hair until the sickness passes.
Then, wordlessly, he begins braiding it.
I freeze. The scrape of calloused fingers against my scalp sends a traitorous shiver down my spine. When he is finished, he unloops a strip of leather from around his wrist and ties the end.
I don’t know what to say, but before I can speak, his arms slide under me again.
This time, instead of throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of grain, he cradles me against him.
His chest is warm against my cheek, and I can hear the steady, thunderous beat of his heart.
Against my will, my body curls into him.
I stare up at him as he carries me, his face partially lit by the moon. His jaw is square and covered in a light dusting of fur, his horns casting curved shadows across his brow. His amber eyes glow softly in the dark, and for a moment, I find him almost… handsome.
I must be feverish. Or frightened. Or both.
We eventually reach where he has decided to take me. It’s a small cave, tucked into a hillside and sheltered by heavy branches. The inside is warm, cozy, and a far cry from the monster’s lair I had imagined he’d bring me to. He sets me down gently on a pile of thick furs.
I sit frozen, my breath shallow, heart pounding.
He’s going to take me now. Right here, in this cave.
The thought should terrify me…and it does.
But that wrong part of me sends unwanted heat straight between my thighs.
I don’t move or speak. I just wait, shivering, for him to claim what he’s decided is his.
Instead of reaching for me, though, Dakar begins stacking dry wood in the fire pit at the center of the cave. His massive hands work quickly, efficiently arranging the logs and striking a flint until a spark catches. Flames rise, lighting up the room.
He then finds a battered metal pot and fills it with water from a leather skin. He sets it over the fire, adjusting the logs carefully to control the heat. I watch in silence, too stunned to speak. He doesn’t glance at me, just stays focused until steam begins to rise from the water.
He fills a wooden bowl and dips a clean linen cloth into the warmed basin. He sets both beside me, along with a tunic—his, I realize, freshly laundered and smelling faintly of cedar and clove. I stare at him in surprise.
“I’ll turn around,” he says gruffly and does exactly that. He sits facing the wall, legs crossed, broad back to me, his horns brushing the wall of the cave.
He could watch me if he wanted. He touched me before, out in the open field, without my consent. So why is he suddenly pretending to be respectful? He could do so much worse…so why isn’t he?
I stare at his back for a long time, my heart beating too fast. I slowly undress, cheeks burning, skin prickling in the cool air.
I wash quickly and awkwardly, but the warm cloth feels like heaven.
I watch him from the corner of my eye. He doesn’t peek.
Not once. Even as I slip on the oversized tunic that hangs past my knees.
When I’ve finished, I crawl onto the furs, still unsure what I’m supposed to do or feel.
“Aren’t you…going to have your way with me?”
Dakar goes still. Then, slowly, he glances over his shoulder, one dark brow arched. A smirk curls the edge of his mouth.
“Are you asking me to?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “N-no!”
He chuckles, and something in me reacts to the sound, even though I don’t want it to.
“Good. Because I won’t take you until you’re begging me to. I don't want to fuck you until you’re so desperate for my cock you forget your own name. Which reminds me, what is your name, little cow?”
My breath catches, my lips parting in shock at the vulgarity of his words, but what’s even worse is the traitorous clench between my thighs, a sudden tight ache that pulses in time with my racing heart. No, no, no —
“Maeve.” I swallow, trying to push away my impure thoughts. “My name is Maeve, and that is never going to happen.”
He grins, unbothered by my rejection. “I’m Dakar,” he says, touching a hand to his chest with mock formality. “Commander of the Blackhorn tribe. Remember it, for when you’re screaming it underneath me later.” I already knew his name. I’d heard it when I’d been passed off to him like livestock.
My nipples stiffen against my will, pebbling beneath the thin fabric of his tunic, and I cross my arms to hide them. Shame burns through me. He sees it. He has to. The way my body is betraying me, the heat that’s licking through my veins despite my fear.
I lift my chin, glaring at him. “Another thing that won’t be happening.”
“We’ll see, Maeve .” His arrogant smirk sends another wave of liquid warmth pooling low in my belly.
Gods help me. I hate how badly I want to prove him wrong…and how terrified I am that I won’t.