Chapter 46
I make it about two dozen steps toward the ocean before I’m swept up and tossed over Rhordyn’s shoulder, landing a blow to my stomach that knocks the air right out of me.
Recovery proves difficult when every powerful stride he takes lands another assault to my gut, preventing me from drawing a sufficient breath.
We’re inside the castle by the time I manage to haul my lungs full. I let out a furious scream, pummeling his back with my fists and swearing like I’ve heard the guards do when they think they’re out of earshot.
He doesn’t slow, doesn’t even grunt ... as if he were cut from the very walls of this very castle. So I prepare to sink my teeth into a slab of solid back muscle.
“No biting,” he murmurs, flipping me off his shoulder and catching me in a cradled position. “Those teeth can do far more damage than you realize.”
“ Put me down, ” I bellow, shucking against his grip. I free an arm and tear my fingers down his shirt, popping buttons and clawing his skin.
All I get in response is a throaty rumble before my arm is pinned down the side of my body. “You keep at this,” he says with a deep, gravelly cadence, “and that pathetic excuse for a garment is going to fall right off you.”
I stop moving. Instantly.
The glint in his otherwise stoic stare tells me he finds a sadistic sense of amusement in my sudden compliance, which only serves to rile me more.
Choosing to look at anything other than his intolerable face, I glance around, realizing exactly where we are ...
Headed down the corridor I’ve walked a thousand times with hungry, scent-starved lungs and empty hope in my chest. A corridor that leads to only one place.
The Den.
My throat clogs, nerves on fire, gaze shifting to the line of Rhordyn’s jaw that looks sharp enough to split wood on.
To the caged look in his eyes.
A week ago, being carried down this corridor would have pitted me with a seed of anxious excitement, but that was before I learned about the lies. That was before he put a sword through Mishka’s heart and smothered us both in blood.
“Rhordyn ... I need you to put me down.”
His grip tightens, and my heart finds a berth in my throat.
We reach the door to his personal chambers, and I’m tossed over his shoulder again while he undoes the handle, storms inside, then slams it shut behind him.
I’m flung to my feet, and it takes four stumbling steps to gain balance, a task made far more difficult by the fact that I’m suddenly choking on the potent perfume of his scent. Layers upon layers upon layers of it diving down my throat and shoving my lungs full.
It snares me. Unhinges me.
Flicking my tangled hair back with an angry toss of my hand, I spin to face Rhordyn and freeze.
There’s something about the way he’s looking at me—a wildness that’s hunting every breath. Every blink. The flutter of pulse in my throat.
But it’s not just that.
It’s the way he’s standing over me, smothering my view so all I can see is him . So every breath I draw has come from his chest, and each release is consumed by the same.
I quickly realize I’m entirely out of my depth, and I have one of two choices: swim ... or drown .
“Cover yourself,” he grates out, and I only have a second to shield all my important bits before his hand whips out and strikes through several strips of Cainon’s gown, the movement so swift I barely feel a thing.
Scraps flutter to the ground while others cling to my wet skin, though Rhordyn’s too busy digging through his draw to pay attention to my half-naked state. A shirt is tossed at me before he begins to pace the room, back and forth in front of the massive bed.
His strides are long and violent, hands ripping through sodden, silver-kissed curls.
Figuring he wants me to put the damn top on, I peel the remaining few scraps of blue from my body before tugging his shirt over my head, but I’m snagged the moment I do, pausing with my head halfway through the hole.
Digging my nose into the soft, luxurious fabric, I draw a quiet breath through the fibers, letting my lids flutter shut ...
All I can smell is him .
He’s worn this recently, perhaps even slept in it.
This material has been wrapped around his body. Touched him in ways I’ve never been able to.
The realization spikes heat through my veins that spears right between my legs. My skin tingles, and I have to clamp my lips shut to stopper a moan while forcing the rest of my head free, features smoothing in an effort to mask the utter ecstasy twisting me up.
But Rhordyn’s not looking at me—at the hem that falls to mid-thigh or the sleeves hanging around my elbows. He’s too busy pacing like some tortured beast.
He glances down to his own ruined top as if he just remembered I gouged his chest, and he tips his head, muttering words to the roof that make no sense at all. Gripping the hem, he tugs it over his head in a single motion, revealing powerful bricks of muscle I can’t peel my eyes from.
But it’s not his fierce, statuesque beauty that has me staring. It’s the blood dribbling down his torso, drawing from four deep scratches that cut straight through segments of his silver-scrawled tattoo.
My tongue sweeps across my lower lip as I slide forward one staggered step—
“ No ,” he barks, and my gaze snaps up.
He’s still, pointing at me, the muscles along his jaw popped and prominent.
My head kicks back. “Stop talking to me like I’m some disobedient puppy!”
“If you were simply disobedient, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” he states, launching into another barrage of back and forth.
I sigh. “What mess , Rhordyn?”
“How many days did he give you?” he asks, avoiding my question altogether.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He nails me with a glower that makes me feel naked despite the sheath of his top and the full-time mask I’m cursed to wear. “ Days , Orlaith. How many?”
Ah, right.
I should have figured he’d be talking about Cainon. The only splashes of color in this entire room are the shreds of material lumped at my feet and the dark blue cupla shackling my wrist.
That, and the blood we both wear.
“He didn’t give me a time frame, you incredulous bastard.”
He stalks toward me, chewing up the space between us in four powerful strides. “ Two things,” he growls, ticking off his fingers. “Baze isn’t deaf, and unless you can learn to do it convincingly, stop fucking lying to me.”
A test ...
I should have known.
I don’t waste time pretending to be remorseful. “Well, stop asking questions you already know the answer to!” I yell, cold, pissed, barely holding myself together, and so very ready to be done with this conversation. “And Cainon was just being dramatic, so let’s not jump to conclusions.”
His eyes widen, that violent aura sizzles with an entirely new level of chill, and I find myself glancing around his den for anything I can use as a weapon—something to prod him with to let him know I’m not here to be pushed around.
“No, he was being diplomatic . He’s had his eyes on Ocruth for years, and evidence suggests he’s simply been waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.”
The statement has me tripping internally. Outwardly, I try to show nothing but stark confidence.
“You’re wrong.” I shake my head. “That’s not what this is about. He made a deal with you: use of his ships in exchange for me . He won’t back out of the trade and risk the cost of war with his two neighboring territories all for a couple days without his promised.”
Rhordyn’s eyes seem to solidify, and I swear the temperature drops. “First rule of politics, Milaje. Never show your hand unless you know exactly what you’re up against.”
I open my mouth to reply, realizing my mistake, but he’s already charging toward the far wall where a window resides. The glass is swung open, and he leans out, peering left and right ...
My brow pinches. “What are you looking for?”
He pulls back in, the dense coils of his hair now dripping fresh rivulets of water down his bare back, chest, and shoulders. “Support beams,” he mutters, storming down the line of the wall.
My frown deepens. “You said that in a very accusatory tone ...”
“Did I?”
He opens another window and shoves his head outside, pulling back in a second later and lumbering toward the door wearing an expression hard as slate.
“Woah, woah, woah ... where are you going?”
“To slay a Vruk.”
My stomach drops.
“And ... and what about me? ”
He stops and gestures around the room with a sweep of his hand. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to suggest a nap. I could be awhile.”
He continues toward the door, and I don’t think.
I just act.
I launch after him, grabbing his arm in a feeble attempt to keep him here. But he whirls in a riot of muscle and might, snatching my wrists and pinning them behind me before he slams me against the door like I’m just as sturdy as he is.
All the breath pushes out of my lungs as his other hand wraps around my throat, tipping my head until I’m staring into wielded eyes that hold no mercy.
One squeeze could end me. I can feel it in the strong muscles shielding my front—in his aura and his confidence and the breath so brazenly assaulting me.
He tugs at my wrists, shoving my breasts forward, arching me against his form. My body responds to his nearness like I’m a shadow hinging off his motion. The puppet on a string he accused me of being.
I hiss in his face, trying to jerk free. But he pushes closer, harder; making my heat rage and throb as if to battle his frosty strike.
He clicks his tongue. “Don’t come at me with that fire, Milaje.
Not unless you’re ready to be torn to shreds.
And I don’t mean your body—I mean your fucking soul ,” he says through clenched teeth, squeezing just enough that I feel his fatal strength wrapped around my throat.
He nuzzles his nose into the side of my neck and whispers, “I mean that pretty heart you think is so bruised.”
“You know nothing .”