Chapter 10 #2
Summoning the deepest voice I could muster, I hissed, “You have no idea the things I’m going to do to you. I don’t even have to move.”
For a second, he lifted his weight from my hips. I seized the window, sliding a leg free and ramming my foot into his face. A sickening crunch told me I’d hit my target.
“You bitch!” he raged, blood pouring from between his fingers. “She’s a monster. A witch. Fucking kill her, Derren!”
I pulled against the man, Derren, who still held my arms to the floor. I rolled my hips up, digging my feet into his chest and pushing with all my strength.
“I…can’t,” he gritted out. Slowly, his grip began to loosen, and I clenched my jaw, grunting with the effort.
Hands grabbed my ankles and slammed them back into the ground. Hips manacled mine to the floor once more, and then I was staring at the sharp edge of a butcher’s knife, held overhead by the man with the broken nose.
It was going to cleave me in half. This had all been a terrible mistake. I never should have tried to leave.
“No!” I yelled, watching as the knife began to fall.
Light poured into the room. Hot liquid sprayed my face.
Panting hard, I stared up at the metal tip protruding from the center of his forehead. His eyes turned vacant.
Not a heartbeat later, the butcher’s knife was gone from his hands, and his body collapsed onto me, his head banging the ground next to mine. There was a dull thud, then a grunt, and my arms were free. I shoved at the body on top of me, unable to fill my lungs. His weight was ripped away.
And I was staring at Harthon’s livid face.
Instinct sent me scrambling back. My back hit a row of baskets as I watched him track me, jaw hard, dark eyes unreadable.
Commotion stirred in the background, and my eyes moved to the scene to see North spearing the other two men with a sword.
Then they flicked to Derren, who lay on his back, the butcher’s knife embedded in his neck.
The speed required for that…
When I refocused, Harthon was stalking forward.
The glow from the open door sliced shadows across the savage lines of his face.
Everything locked as my heart slammed against my ribs.
I’d just tried to escape despite knowing my importance to him.
Not only had he caught me, but four of his men died in the process.
Perhaps the butcher’s knife would have been the more merciful option.
For a breath, he loomed over me, and then he lowered into a crouch.
He was still so big.
Those shadowed eyes scanned my features, running over my cheeks, my arms, the blood splattered across my face. Anxiety tightened my chest as I waited for him to do something.
But just like after Koerlyn’s ambush, his hands simply found my face, lightly cupping my cheeks. Then my teeth began to chatter of their own accord, maybe a side effect from the fight, and the fury lining his face softened.
“Easy. You’re okay.” The low, reassuring tone was like a balm to the frantic reflexes controlling my body.
I nodded, but it was jerky. I was so completely not okay. Not at all.
I clenched my eyes shut, letting my head fall forward. My jaw wouldn’t stop shaking.
His hands moved to my hair, fingers lightly stroking. “I’m here. You’re safe,” he murmured, and the words became a mantra. I was safe. I wasn’t home, but with Harthon, I was safe. Why wasn’t he yelling at me? Why wasn’t he punishing me? Unless that was still to come.
“The four of them are from our regular ranks. None of them were on duty tonight,” I heard North say.
“They wanted to steal some ale or f-find a kitchen worker,” I stammered through my chattering teeth. The gentle caresses along my scalp continued, and I latched onto them as pain began to bloom.
“Save the bodies. They’ll be used as a message,” Harthon instructed.
“She did a good number on them.”
I was too overwhelmed to appreciate that North had just complimented me.
Those fingers on my scalp stopped. I felt Harthon shift, and then his arms carefully slid behind my back and under my knees.
I lifted my head. A piece of hair had fallen from his tie, framing his face.
“We’re going back to your room,” he explained. He stood then, cradling me to his chest as easily as every time before.
“I can walk,” I protested without any conviction.
“I know you can.” With efficient steps, he brought us into an empty flame-lit hallway. “You can also rappel, apparently.”
“It was more of a controlled fall,” I said numbly. My teeth no longer chattered, a sense of dullness pervading my body.
We climbed a spiral staircase, passed through another hallway, and then we were back at my room. There was no guard outside.
This one would probably get punished too, just like Stefano.
Harthon nudged the door shut behind us, carrying me to a chair where he set me down.
I tracked him with wary eyes as he closed the window, lit a wall torch, and retrieved a small washing basin, a cloth, and nail scissors that sat beside the tub.
He still wore the leathers and black tunic from earlier.
He’d never harmed me, and part of me was convinced it wasn’t in his plans. But while he no longer exuded the savage tension I’d sensed in the kitchen, I was well aware that he’d killed the two men with effortless efficiency, and he wasn’t above punishing his guards.
He set the basin down at my feet, dragged over another chair, and sat. “Are you only hurt where I can see right now?”
I nodded dully.
“There’s blood on your lips. Is it yours?” he asked, dipping the cloth into the water.
“I just bit my cheek,” I answered, exhaustion weighing heavy.
He brought the damp fabric toward my face, and I jerked away. His eyes flashed with something that looked like disappointment. “Etarla, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You’re angry, aren’t you?”
“Furious, actually,” he clarified in a calm voice. “But not at you.”
That made no sense. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. You’re not here of your own will. And I’m rather impressed that you scaled the wall.”
Something warm and unfamiliar unfurled at the praise. “Who are you angry at, then?”
“Myself, for not anticipating your move and keeping you safe. The guards outside, for not realizing what you’d done. And the wastes of life lying dead in the kitchen,” he listed, tone darkening at the end.
“Oh.”
“You can relax, Etarla. Rest your head back.”
It was tempting, but I shook my head. “I can clean myself.”
He quirked a doubtful brow. “Just like you cleaned your wrists back in Carmen?”
That was a valid point. I didn’t answer.
“Relax and rest your head,” he repeated.
Utterly drained, I did as told, leaning into the cushioned chair. “You don’t exactly inspire relaxation.”
He brought the cloth to my lips, dabbing at the skin. “Why is that?”
“You’re…you.”
“That was specific.”
I sighed, too tired to worry about unfiltered thoughts. “You’re too good with knives. And intimidating. And known for being ruthless. And you punish people who mess up. Nothing that tells me to relax.”
He was quiet as he moved to the bow of my lips. It was intimate, him stroking my lips as he did. No one had ever done that, and I’d been determined to never have intimate moments with any man. I’d never seen the point.
Harthon sighed. “Do I scare you?”