Chapter 33 #2
Ksenia finally looked up at her, holding a blood-soiled rag to her nose. “Blade’s done, isn’t it?”
Danika rolled her eyes, throwing down her gloves.
The competing metals were now a single, fused billet, glowing a dull blue and purple next to darkened steel, which she plunged into the quenching vat.
Danika muttered, pacing around the anvil a bit before tossing her a waterskin.
She drained it without lifting her head, then held out her hand for another.
Her linen tunic was matted to her skin, and welts had formed on her shoulders from where the protective chainmail had dug in.
Danika lowered herself onto a stool, back against the forge wall. She strode over and fixed Ksenia’s braid, peeling it off her sweltering neck. The sensation was instantly cooling.
“You don’t have to bleed for everything, you know,” she grumbled, pulling a lock a little harder than necessary.
Ksenia chuckled. “How else do I deal with things?”
Danika huffed a breath, tying the end of the braid.
“Thanks,” said Ksenia as she hauled herself to her feet.
She ambled over to the scrap bin and sorted through it, turning over pieces with her boot and picking up a few large chunks of steel.
“…What are you doing?”
“Personal project.” Ksenia set the pieces on the work table.
The next night, Ksenia retreated deep into the library, where stacks of papers and ledgers were strewn across the polished desk before her. She propped her feet up, scuffs from her dirty boots marring the surface.
She leaned her wooden chair precariously on its two back legs while she twirled a pen between loose fingers.
She had to throw Bohdan off her scent, but who she would pin it on—let alone how—was the question that evaded her.
She tugged at the laces of her corset, lost in thought as she reviewed dossiers of court members.
“What a waste of time,” she mumbled at the parchment in front of her.
“What’s a waste of time?”
She nearly tumbled from her chair, her pen skittering from her fingers.
Bohdan emerged from the dark line of shelves behind her and sauntered over to lean against the edge of the desk. In his hand, he examined her pen. “Status report on potential murder suspects.”
“You can’t bear to spend a single moment away from me.” A devilish smile slipped to her lips.
Addict.
“Status. Report.” His words curdled her blood.
She produced a silvered flask from her hip and took a long drink before responding.
“Ask me, don’t tell me.”
He arched a brow at her challenge. “Are you telling me what to do?”
There.
The unique scent of his irritation was like a pheromone to Ksenia.
She held up a slender finger, flask back at her lips as she took another drink, her half-lidded eyes cast upon him.
His expression was deadpan, the line of his body stiff. His eyes locked onto the smooth column of her neck bobbing with every gulp.
“No, I’m teaching you manners.” A drop of liquor slipped from the corner of her mouth.
His eyes tracked the movement. She wiped it with her cuffed sleeve.
“You will regret making me repeat myself a third time.”
“Finally.” A crooked smile twisted her lips.
Something snapped in him then, because he closed a hand around her ankle, dragging her feet off the lacquered desk and pulling her body closer until she nearly slipped from her seat.
The chair legs slammed to the ground and skidded forward.
“Use your words, Captain…” She chuckled as she slumped back in her chair, the heavy soles of her boots colliding with the flagstone floor.
“You exhausted that option.” His towering form settled between her splayed legs.
“Mmm. You’re prettier when you’re furious.” She peered up through her dark lashes as she raised the flask again.
He whisked it from her hand and tossed it across the floor with a sharp clatter.
“You’re making a mess…” She breathed. “And you said I was impatient?”
He drank in her relaxed, nonchalant pose. Trousered legs spread, one arm resting over the back of her chair as if she were having a pint at her favorite tavern.
His fingers reached forward slowly, tips tracing the embossed design on her underbust leather corset, fingering the front laces. “I don’t tolerate insubordination.”
He gave the laces a furtive pull. Ksenia’s smile widened, daring him.
“I think you more than tolerate mine.” You get off on it.
His fingertips tunneled between the crisscrossed gaps, meeting against her tunic-covered sternum where he could feel her racing pulse.
“Interesting.”
His head tilted with curiosity, making her sit in silence with evidence of her arousal.
Cheeks flushed, Ksenia’s hand darted to the dagger at his hip, unsheathing it.
He spun before she could pull it free.
He won the dagger, and it skimmed her head as she slid under the desk and came up on the other side.
A crazed smile broke out on her face. She spread her fingers wide against the tabletop.
He was upon her in an instant, his hand reaching across and catching her waist before she could vault back over.
She leaned and bent with his grip, dropping low into his arms and shifting her weight backward—using his momentum against him.
His body shifted, and his boots skidded across the floor.
She pushed him further, her elbow digging hard into his ribs in an attempt to throw him over her shoulder.
His smile faltered for a split second.
Her momentum was short-lived. He planted his weight, solid and immovable, and twisted into her force instead of fighting it, flipping the leverage back.
Her balance was out from under her before she could recover, slamming her down and dragging her roughly against the desk until it skidded.
The screech echoed through the library.
The documents and journals blossomed with black ink from an overturned well.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she admonished, her left palm drenched in ink.
Her palm-heel strike missed his well-defined jaw as he trapped her wrist against the desk.
Pinned.
His breath was warm at her temple, making every hair stand on end.
He crushed his hips to hers, rendering her lower body useless as her legs dangled over the table edge.
“You’ll clean it up after I’m done with you,” he promised.
A laugh racked her body at the idea that she’d follow any orders.
“You can put an end to this anytime you like, Senka.”
Defiance flashed in her eyes as she twisted against him, and he captured her remaining free hand.
His fingers twined and locked with hers, a blackened handprint staining her skin.
He looked at her pityingly, like a hunter performing a mercy kill. “Last chance.”
She readied to spit in his face, but he released her hand and clamped his over her mouth instead.