Wounded
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Islumped on the hard wooden chair at the desk in the inn, pressing cloth to my nose.
I was in desperate need of a break. Every part of the second handkerchief had absorbed blood.
Not even the bath Lord Draven had delivered for me had aided the throbbing in my temples.
Enough time had passed that I had managed to translate a few pages. More talk of redbloods being a weakness and the cause of so much damage. It droned on incessantly.
Nothing but crumbs remained on the metal platter. As simple as the buttered bread was, it was delicious paired with the rice water. I lifted the metal lip to my lips and finished the last of it.
Simply delicious. And it caused a warmth in my belly. I peered back at the bed. If I slid into it and slept . . . One moment, it was a single bed. Would he force me to sleep on the ground or . . .
Perhaps he would allow me to rest beside him.
Flutters expanded in my belly rampantly.
I closed my eyes, thinking of the prior night we claimed each other. The glide of him inside me. How deliciously the pleasure bloomed.
Frustration gnawed at my belly. What was taking Lord Draven so long to return?
I huffed, stretching my arms from side to side. If he was not here, I would bring him here.
I would show him . . . What did I want to show him?
Heat flushed down my neck, and I pressed the back of my hand to my cheek. I was so warm. My feet moved before I made the decision. I was at the door and descending within moments. Each step elevated my pulse.
Finding the large bastard should be easy.
I laughed to myself.
One of the patrons eyed me with concern, scanning my servants’ gown, one specifically denoting redbloods. As if I had morphed into a Hollow before his eyes.
I snorted. That may as well be what redbloods were with how all looked down upon us. I crossed the entrance; a thick metal bar fitted to the hooks framed the door. Laughter echoed from the hall opposite the one I exited from. I followed the sound down a path that opened into a bustling saloon.
The scent of mead lingered in the air.
My gaze went to Lord Draven immediately.
He sat with legs splayed wide, a tankard engulfed by one hand. A woman approached his side, so loud that I heard her ‘Your Highness’ from where I stood.
I scoffed, anger welling with intensity.
This was what he did as I translated and bled out from my nose? Preposterously unfair.
How Elite of him.
No, how male of him.
Just as I had always explained to Miriam. A man could not be trusted. Rakes, the lot of them.
Having tasted pleasure, I certainly understand now . . .
That was beside the point! He stuffed me in the chamber, leaving me there to translate until blood-soaked cloth surrounded me while he remained down here enjoying his time. That bothered me.
Not that people fawned over him.
Not that he was not giving me the intensity of his brutal focus.
My legs were moving me closer to him. I wove through the crowd, narrowly avoiding a provocatively dressed serving wench as she held a platter with drinks on it. She jolted to avoid me, and yellow liquid spilled over the edge.
I hurried away from her as she shouted. The chaos brought Lord Draven’s attention to me. Tension lined his mouth, and he crooked a finger at me.
The woman at his side glared. Nothing new, but this time, I met her glare with my own.
I narrowly avoided a wide-set man with bulging muscles. Staggering to the side to avoid him, I would have fallen if not for Lord Draven capturing my arm and pulling me into his lap.
Liquid sloshed out from the side of the tankard.
It made me illogically angry.
I shoved at his chest, my palm meeting the leather strap of the spaulder over his tunic. “Release me, oaf,” I spat.
My elbow knocked into something hard. A loud crash stilled my frantic shoves against him. The woman nearby gasped, and I met her horror-filled gaze.
Lord Draven’s eyelids thinned, and he leaned close. I tensed. Would he kiss me? In front of everyone?
“You smell of rice wine,” he murmured.
I deflated. “Rice . . . wine?”
The haziness to my thoughts, the impulsivity. I was a damned fool.
“I see you did not know.” He chuckled.
No, I had not, but it certainly explained my light-headedness. I glared up at him and smacked his chest again.
“She struck His Highness,” a whispered hush from behind beat against the rational part of my mind.
Lord Draven stood, taking hold of my midsection and letting the rest of me dangle. Every single pair of eyes that I could see followed his stride out of the saloon.
“Release me this second. I demand it.” I smacked at his pant leg, my hand catching on the wool fabric.
A sound rumbled in his chest; a deep, reverberating sound that rocked through my senses and rendered me limp. It was as if he had reached inside my stomach and clenched it in hand. My head spun with how I dangled.
Imbibing rice wine had made me impulsive.
With Lord Draven’s long stride, he climbed the steps and had us in the chamber within moments. He tossed me with ease, sending me airborne. I yelped and landed on the bed with a few bounces.
“My lord!” I shouted, rolling to get to my feet. It took me a moment to gather my bearings. I shoved at the bottom of the stiff gown.
Lord Draven had grabbed the translations. His eerie gaze flashed over the words.
“This still does not explain anything I need,” he huffed, crumpling the parchment. The balled sheets landed on the ground while I gawked. He raked both hands through his hair.
“How—how—Oafish!” I shouted. “I labored over those translations.” I stormed to the desk and grabbed the two wadded up handkerchiefs. “And bled while doing it.”
I wound my arm back and tossed them at his chest with all my strength.
Lord Draven exploded into laughter, the deep sound causing that bloom in my belly to expand and send vines throughout my veins to warm me.
He approached the bed as he jerkily undid the leather strap at his midsection that was attached to the sheath of his sword.
He kept chortling as he removed the weapon and sheath to set them on the desk.
My gaze kept trailing over his chest as he exposed inch by delightful inch.
“Like what you see?” He raised an eyebrow.
“You are quite . . . well-built,” I mumbled. I widened my eyes, pressing my fingertips to my lips. What has gotten into me?
Drat it.
Apparently, the rice wine.
He snorted, removing his leather coat and laying it on the edge of the bed, then removed his tunic. My focus went directly to the oozing slice across his side, right below the final rib.
“Cassiel,” I breathed, moving forward, my hand hovering over it.
This should have already been knit together. The liquid, thick and black, reminded me of one of the vials I had seen on Al’s shelf, a lighter fluid consistency to what I had been injected with.
Was Al running experiments for him?
Even the scratches from last eve remained on his shoulder. Those should have been perfectly healed.
“Why are you not healed?”
He stayed silent.
Warlords were known to be violent, instinct-driven creatures, but besides that, their speed was unmatched, as was their strength and . . . they healed quickly.
My mind raced and I quickly made sense of it all.
“That is why you need information. Your gifts are failing you.”
Lord Draven stiffened, but in a sudden explosion of movement, he was suddenly in my face, teeth bared with the curl of his upper lip. A hand wrapped around my throat.
I choked on my spit.
“If you breathe a word of it, everything I have done to you until now will be child’s play.” His voice was as sharp as the blade on the desk. I bit down on my tongue to stop my flinch.
I cannot even breathe!
I clawed at his arm to push him away. His gaze sharpened.
My vision blurred.
Suddenly, he released me, and I slumped in half, dragging in a ragged breath. Meanwhile, he stormed to the other side of the chamber, beginning to pace.
“I will not speak of it,” I blurted raggedly without thought, and clamped my lips tightly together, bothered by my instinctive urge to protect him. He stepped back as if I’d landed a physical blow. “I will do my best to find anything that explains what is happening to you.”
He opened and closed his mouth, continuing to blink.
“What is it you want?” He narrowed his eyes, once again in front of me. He was so used to political dealings, he expected nothing better from mortals. “You will not have your freedom.”
A desperation entered his gaze, and his hand cupped the bottom of my elbow to drag me close. I had to bend my neck to keep my eyes on his.
“I only need answers. Who’s Volcan?” I had to pace myself with the rest of the questions racing through my thoughts.
He cocked his head, his eyebrows furrowing, lips pinched. He looked nowhere close to pleased as he released my arm and straightened, folding his arms in front of him.
“Volcan is—was as close to me as a brother.”
“Another Warlord?” I breathed.
He grunted.
“I did not meet the three other Warlords until we had grown into adults, but Volcan and I grew up in the same village. As I am sure you know, we did not know we were the Warlords. We grew just as any other mortal child until our abilities awakened.”
“Is he, is . . .?” I did not finish, waiting.
“He is nothing but dust by now.”
I sucked in a breath. There had been five Warlords, not four . . . That was what the Creation Scripture spoke of.
“How did he die?”
“A redblood betrayed him,” he sneered. “His goodwill was the worst mistake he could have made.”
His gaze had drifted. He was no longer in the present.
“But how?”
“He assisted a redblood whore, saved her village from Hollows. They slaughtered him while he was weakened.”
“That explains your loathing,” I mumbled.
His head snapped down.
“I know redbloods’ true nature. Betrayers, filthy liars.” He clasped my jaw. “Little did I know how delicious a redblood could taste.” He smirked, rubbing his thumb against my jaw. “Or how well you could take my cock.”
I inhaled sharply at the lewd words.
“Wh-when did your abilities begin to falter?”
His smirk widened, and he cornered me into the bed. I fell with a yelp.
“Nor could I have known how addicting it would be to fuck you.”
He grabbed my thighs and pulled. I landed on my back, staring down at him with wide eyes. He reached under my scratchy gown and tugged the bloomers down my legs in a slow glide.
“Enough questions, curious mortal.” His knees thudded on the wood floor. He splayed my legs wide. “I need your taste on my tongue.”
“My lord,” I breathed, scandalized . . . and aching.
He yanked up the bottom of the gown, baring me for his eyes. I pushed up onto my hands, holding my breath as he dropped to feast upon my aching flesh. At the touch of his soft mouth, I melted.
He dragged his tongue up the slit. Pleasure licked over his features and his eyebrows scrunched closed. Every move and soft moan spoke of a man enjoying what he tasted.
I would have found it odd if I were not as obsessed with his release. His earthy taste and silky shaft . . .
He plunged his tongue into my entrance and ran it up to the top where I jolted from the sparks of ecstasy. What he was doing with his mouth was unraveling me. He focused on the bundle, rolling his tongue around it.
“Oh,” I gasped, my arms giving out, and I lay flat.
His hands ran up my sides, baring more skin as he slowly traveled to cup my breasts.
Rice wine allowed me to relax into his touch. To acknowledge how desperately I hungered for him—Cassiel, His Highness, the Warlord.
I reached out to touch him, but my movement was restrained by the scratchy dress.
So I shoved it off the rest of the way until I was bare, tossing it to the side.
I ran my palms up his arms, over the golden hair and bulging veins.
I was so painfully close to the pinnacle, but he kept retracting his tongue each time I almost grabbed it.
“My lord,” I mumbled, frustrated.
Burrowing harder against my sex, his hands spread my legs even wider. His shoulders shuddered, and he thrust his tongue deeper into my channel. The explosion sent sparks across my vision, and I strained, writhing. Then he turned his head and sank his fangs into the inner side of my thigh.
My mind went blank. Slickness came from my sex, coating his jaw.
“Saints!” I choked on my breaths.
Lord Draven pulled his fangs from my thigh and climbed over me, jostling the bed. I struggled to comprehend through the searing pleasure.
“I am the only name you will be shouting,” he snarled, reaching down to press the tip to my entrance. My channel gave way to him, welcoming him to where he belonged.
I fluttered around him, then he seated himself until I met his base and he stopped again.
He settled into a slow, gliding rhythm, driving me mad with need.
He made a rumbling sound, deep and vibrating in my chest. My limbs clenched.
Unlike the angry sound he made from earlier, it made me needier for him.
“Cassiel.”
I ran my hands up his neck, buried my fingers into the base of his hair, and lifted my hips to take every single thrust. He lowered and sank his fangs into the side of my breast. I cried out, riding the wave of pleasure.