Chapter 58 - Danica #2
I watch in morbid fascination as he tears through them.
His fangs sink into flesh, tearing out throats with a savage efficiency that borders on artistry.
Blood splatters the walls and floor, painting the ship's bowels in a macabre canvas of crimson and gore.
The screams of the dying fill the air, a symphony of agony and despair that echoes through the confined space like a twisted lullaby.
I know I should be recoiling in horror, averting my eyes from the brutal spectacle unfolding before me.
But I'm transfixed, my gaze locked on Rhyland as he tears through our enemies like a hurricane of flesh and fang.
There's a savage beauty to his movements, a deadly grace that's as mesmerizing as terrifying.
Rhyland is a force of nature unleashed, a Viking god. His eyes blaze with an unholy fire, his muscles rippling beneath blood-spattered skin as he deals out death with terrifying efficiency. It's violence in its purest form, unadulterated and unrestrained.
Goddamn, I'm utterly captivated.
Watching Rhyland like this and seeing the full extent of his capabilities doesn't scare me. It thrills me to my very core.
I'm witnessing the unleashing of a primal force, a glimpse into the heart of the predator that lurks beneath Rhyland's civilized exterior. And God help me, but I've never been more turned on in my life.
In a matter of moments, it's over. The pirates lie crumpled at Rhyland's feet, their bodies broken and lifeless. Blood drips from his mouth, staining his beard and running down his chin. He looks like a god of war, a primal deity of blood and death.
I stare at him, my breathing still in ragged gasps, my heart pounding. Rhyland stares back at me, his eyes filled with a swirling maelstrom of emotions. There's fury there, a white-hot rage that could consume the world. But there's also love, a fierce, protective devotion that takes my breath away.
I know I've pissed him off, that he's furious with me for putting myself in danger. But looking at him now, seeing how he's torn through our enemies like they were nothing more than paper dolls, I can't bring myself to care.
"What the fuck were you thinking, Dani?" Rhyland growls. "You could have been killed."
I shrug, "But I wasn't," my tone sassy and unapologetic. "And besides, I had it under control."
Rhyland snorts. "Under control? Is that what you call nearly getting your throat slit by a bunch of filthy pirates?"
I grin, twirling my still-flaming daggers in my hands. "Hey, it's not my fault they underestimated the power of a pissed-off angel with a set of magic daggers."
Rhyland stalks towards me. His movements are predatory and deliberate, like a wolf closing in on its prey. His chest rises and falls with each breath, his emotions bleeding into me through our bond like a tidal wave crashing against the shore.
Oh yeah, he's fucking pissed.
The kind of anger that simmers beneath the surface, waiting to explode.
But there's more than just rage coursing through him.
I can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the relief that I'm still standing, still breathing.
But above all else, there's the fury, the searing wrath of an alpha male whose mate has defied him not once but twice.
I drop my flaming daggers to the floor. A surrender?
He reaches out, his hand wrapping around my throat like a vise, his fingers digging gently into my skin with slight pressure. I moan at the contact.
"Dani," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, sending heat straight to my core. "I will punish you for this. You've gone against me twice today in a matter of an hour."
I look at the blood on his mouth, the crimson stains painting his lips like a deadly work of art.
My eyes trace back up to his, those swirling storms of blue that seem to pierce straight through to my soul.
"What are you going do, babe?" I taunt, my breath ghosting across his skin, my lips so close to his that I can almost taste the coppery tang of blood.
The tension between us is electric, a palpable force that crackles and sizzles like a live wire.
I can feel the heat of his body pressed against mine, the hard planes of his muscles molding to the soft curves of my own.
His cock is rock-hard against my stomach.
It's intoxicating, the way he makes me feel and sets my blood on fire with just a touch, just a look.
Rhyland's grip on my throat tightens, his fingers flexing against my skin in a silent warning. "You're playing with fire, Little Angel," he rumbles, his voice a low, feral growl that makes my toes curl. "You know what happens when you push me too far."
Oh, I do.
And right now, I'm so goddamn turned on it's not even funny. When your man's out there looking like a Viking god of war and destruction, morals tend to take a backseat to pure, unadulterated lust.
I arch an eyebrow. "Maybe I like playing with fire," I purr. "Maybe I want to see how far I can push you before you snap."
Rhyland's eyes flash with an almost feral hunger, a primal need threatening to consume us both. "Be careful what you wish for, baby," he warns."You might just get it."
I lean in closer, my breath hot and heavy against his skin. "Promise?" I whisper a mix of sass and seduction, a challenge and an invitation all rolled into one.
I know I'm pushing him, pressing all his buttons like a kid in an elevator, but damn, I can't help myself.
There's just something about how Rhyland's punishments make me feel, the way they set every nerve ending in my body on fire and leave me craving more.
Call me twisted. I'm addicted to the rush, the thrill of knowing that I can drive him to the brink of madness just the same.
I know he'll never hurt me, not really. Oh, he might leave a few delicious bruises, might make me scream and beg and plead for mercy, but it's all part of the game we play.
Because beneath all that alpha male dominance, the growls, snarls, and fierce possessiveness, there's a love that's so deep, so pure, it makes my heart ache.
Rhyland would rather cut off his arm than cause me any actual harm, and that knowledge is like a safety net, a cocoon of warmth and security that allows me to push him to the limit, to dance on the edge of the knife without fear of falling.
Maybe I am a sick bitch, a glutton for punishment who gets off on riling up her man until he's ready to explode.
But you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.
Because in the end, when the pain fades and the pleasure takes over, when Rhyland holds me in his arms and whispers words of love and devotion against my skin, I know that every moment, every challenge, every push, and pull of our twisted little dance, is worth it.
And if that makes me a twisted bitch, well, so be it. I'll wear that label like a badge of fucking honor.
Rhyland growls, his grip just shy of cutting off my air supply. "You have no idea what you're in for, baby," he promises—a dark, sensual purr that weakens my knees. "But you're about to find out."