51. Lina
Lina
I can barely believe that I have the courage to throw myself at a Drak’yn warrior— talk about desperate. But his body feels incredibly good against mine.
I am straddling his lap as he sits up on the bed. His hands grasp my thighs so tightly it hurts.
He said there was no rightness here, no justice. But right now, I cannot help but think he’s wrong.
This is right.
Somehow, against every ounce of logic I can muster, I am soaring above the clouds in heaven with a monster.
He can be my escape. Not by stealing a key, not by ending his life.
He is not what the others claim. He wants me deeply. He has saved me over and over again. He chose me.
Now, let’s see how far he will take me.
His lips part, and he pulls me deeper, falling back into the bed. I moan at the soft touch of his tongue against mine. His hands are rough as they slide up my legs?—
He freezes as his fingers find the handle of the blade on my thigh.
I brace myself for his reaction. He tugs at the blade and then flips it casually over his fingers, all while keeping his soft lips against my collarbone.
“Does my dove have claws after all?” he asks.
My breath trembles. “Is that a problem?”
He chuckles. “You seem so sweet and innocent. Tell me, what did you plan to do with the blade?”
“Slit your throat.” I don’t know why the words come out so harshly. It’s what she told me to do—the girl in the dungeon. My soul rattles at just the thought of completing that wild plan. I’d never fully considered it, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered.
Could I have killed the man who stole me? Could I kill the man who never touched me against my will but instead protected me at every opportunity?
When he laughs, full and hearty, his arm tightens around my waist, tugging me tighter against him. I rock my hips involuntarily, as if my body were begging to be closer. Begging to slide against him. More tension. More friction. More everything.
But then, the blade is in my hand, moving toward him.
I suck in a breath, as he presses the handle against my palm and pushes it into his chest.
The blade puckers against the thick fabric of his uniform. Slowly, it frays, giving way. I stare in horror.
His eyes are so focused on mine it’s like he has a spell over me. “Kill me. Slice me open. Lay my soul bare. My life is yours.”
My lips part as I stare down at the blade. He is giving me the opportunity to kill him. Here and now.
My attention flashes up to him, but his expression is calm curiosity. He waits, watching me while I weigh his life in my hands. Does he not think I’m capable?
The aching peace in his face tells me, no, he believes it’s a possibility that I would complete the deed. It wouldn’t take that much.
The blade is sharper than I’d realized, even just the continued pressure is slowly splitting his skin. Blood pools down his tore uniform. I would have to commit and force all of my weight into it, but I could kill him. I could kill him right now, and he would let me.
He doesn’t try to convince me not to.
He just waits for me to decide.
I could kill him, take the key, free the girl in the dungeon and run. Maybe I would make it. Maybe I wouldn’t. But my fate would be sealed. One way or another, this game, this push and pull, would end.
There would be no more uncertainty, only fate choosing if it’s finished with me or not.
My muscles relax. My body tells me before my mind does that I am not willing to kill him.
Killing him would be giving up on my own goodness.
I still have hope, foolish perhaps, that this monster could be good too.
I’ve seen his fangs. I’ve seen blood on his hands.
And yet, when his hand again slides up my thigh, my mind is lost again. When did I begin to want him like this? My skin is searing in the best possible way.
My back arches, pushing myself against him, when his hands slide up under my dress, over my waist, and to my stomach. I kiss him again, this time deep and searching.
I don’t understand these feelings. It’s so much more than I’d ever thought possible. I’ve never felt this with any man, let alone a captor.
My blood pulses with heat I never thought possible, and my thoughts again fly out the window.
“Lina,” he whispers against my lips. “Fuck, what are you doing?”
“I thought you didn’t want me,” I tease him and then roll my hips against him. His head falls back with a groan.
“You have no idea what I want.”
“Tell me.”
He bites my bottom lip. “I want to taste every inch of you,” he tells me. “I want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”
I whimper. My heart beats between my legs—a sensation I’ve never felt before.
What the hell am I doing?
“I want you to say my name,” he says softly.
“Your name?”
He nods. “You’ve never said it.”
I run my tongue along my bottom lip, savoring his taste and consider. I have, haven’t I? My brow pinches. I remember saying his name when he was burned. He must not remember that night. Instead of clarifying, I humor him. “Haze,” I whisper against his lips.
The flash in his eyes is almost sad. “Again.”
“Haze,” I say, rolling my hips again, and feeling his hard length against my core. “Fuck.”
“Is that what you want?” he asks, pushing his hands higher up my body, dragging my dress along with it. “Tell me what you want, Lina.”
I let my head fall back. “Yes.”
That is definitely what my body wants.
I pray my intuition isn’t wrong this time.
There is something more about this monster than meets the eye. Maybe he will set me free.