Chapter Fifteen #2
“Alright, ye’ve called my bluff, ya got out yer little act of rebellion. Enough’s enough, Avelina. We’re goin’ back home.”
“No!” she spat, her arms knocking against the tree as she tried to get any leverage she could.
“Enough!” he roared. Her eyes flashed open and he tightened his grasp.
The pulse beneath his fingers spiked and he knew she was finally listening.
“Ye gonna walk all the way back to the capital city with yer face on a poster? Yer not even wearing underclothes, darlin’.
Think for one second. Wanna know how I got here?
How I’ve stayed here for so long? I think.
I plan. I don’t leave nothin’ up to chance. And now, we’re goin’ back home.”
“I knew it,” she wheezed, shivering as the cold rain finally sank in. Her arms were covered in gooseflesh. “You need me.”
“What is all this about?” he growled.
“Admit that you need me. Stop treating me like a pawn.”
“Ya are my pawn,” he snapped, trying to halt her squirming. “You work for—”
Hands. Cold, gray like death, they crept out from her hair, out from behind her head.
He yowled, throwing himself backward as a hundred dead palms reached past her.
They clawed at the air where he used to be, their fingernails coated in dirt and slime.
He’d recognize some of those jagged scars and protruding bones anywhere.
The bodies of his victims lurched after him.
Avelina fled, racing through the storm, leaving him buried under the weight of all his dirty, rotten deeds.
The soil of his grave began to topple over him and his vision swam.
That.
Little.
Shit.
Callum clawed through her fear spell, grabbing his own dagger and pricking his palm.
The fastest way he found to clear delirium from one’s mind was sharp, grounding pain.
It cleansed his senses. He was back in the swamp, not six feet under.
And certainly not being buried by the dead horde.
Callum clenched his stinging palm, using it to ensure any lingering fear escaped him.
“Now ya gone an’ done it!” he barked, stabbing his blade back into its sheath. “When I get my hands on ya, ooooooo, ya had better run!”
His tail flicked through the water. The trees whizzed by him as he blew through the swamp.
Her frantic splashing was only muffled for a moment by the storm.
Whipping winds bit into his face and he was too cold for comfort but the fire in his belly urged him on.
Not only did his prey owe him after that stunt, but she was also going to feel his wrath.
He was too angry to even think up what he would do when he wrapped his hands around her pretty neck.
Callum saw her seconds before he collided with her.
She scrambled up the dock, only a yard away from the boat rocking in the turbulent water.
It sloshed up against the wood, knocking higher as the rain fed the lake.
Sea level was quickly rising and when he bulldozed into the side of his petulant warlock, it started to lap overtop the dock.
Avelina went screaming into the lake. Callum followed quickly after.
Darkness surrounded them as she dropped into the depths.
Her legs and arms splashed about, unable to free herself from his hands wrapped around her.
The fabric of his shirt came clean off her.
A wet tissue that practically melted off her skin.
He’d not intended to strip her, but in the struggle of trying to keep his hands on the slick woman, his claws found purchase wherever.
Avelina slapped her palms onto the dock, her back to his chest. She tried to slip out of his embrace, but he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back down into the murky depths.
Callum sank purposely, knowing she couldn’t swim with him weighing her down.
She thrashed. Panicked prey, she slapped and kicked and filled the darkness with bubbles.
Just before he knew she’d make herself pass out, he brought them back up to the top.
Avelina gasped for air the second they breached the foamy surface.
Her arms stopped trying to fight him, instead clawing to hold onto him.
Avelina ended up twisted in his arms, her back to one of the dock posts, panting for air.
He’d been so focused on her, on catching her, on submerging her, on getting her back, he’d ignored everything else.
The rain pummeled over the top of their heads.
Angry clouds swirled above only to be split by splintered bolts of lightning.
It made his prey glance up, still gulping down air.
There was something hauntingly beautiful about her staring up at the turbulent sky, blinking through the rain.
When her gaze fell back to his face, he was enthralled.
And it wasn’t a spell.
It wasn’t more of her warlock parlor tricks. No fear nor charm, it was her. It was her eyes with pupils blown open wide. It was her puffy lips that were ajar, a hint of blue from the cold. It was her hands moving to cup the back of his head.
Callum was surprised when she kissed him.
If he’d been in her position, he wouldn’t have, he’d have choked his attacker.
He would have found a way to dig his fingers into their eyes or tried to drown them back.
It threw him so far off balance that her lips crashed onto his that his eyebrows shot up into his hair.
He was frozen in place, his lips betraying him as they chased her mouth.
See, Cottonmouth was who chased her out of that house. Ready to bury his blades in her belly for rebelling, Cottonmouth was the one angry at her.
Callum was who kissed her back. Callum was the hungry one pressing her into that slimy, rotten dock post. And it was Callum’s cocks that surged forward, desperate to be buried in her.
He slapped one of the hands he had around her around his waist, desperate to be free of his belts so that he could be against her.
She raked her fingers up the back of his shirt.
Avelina drew that damp, worn cotton off him much the same way he did hers, leaving them floating in its remains.
His belts clattered across the top of the dock with heavy, metallic thumps.
Their bellies pressed together and the thighs at his waist squeezed him tight.
Callum groaned into her mouth as her lips spread open.
Her tongue tempted him out to play. He grabbed her by both sides of the head, the loose tendrils of her hair falling between his fingers.
She broke the kiss first, only able to pull back an inch to gulp down more air.
“Is this what you wanted to do when you got your hands on me?”
His eyes narrowed on her cheeky grin. “If ya wanted to get laid the fuck out, little viper, all ya had to do was ask.”
“I didn’t want to get laid out. I wanted to be your equal,” she breathed heavy, reaching a hand between them. His mouth fell open as she grabbed ahold of his top cock, guiding it to her submerged curls. “You know, there’s this one scene…”
“In one of yer novels?” He growled hungrily, curling his tail around the bottom half of the post as an anchor.
“Where the pirate makes the lady he kidnapped walk the plank. He’s bluffing, thinking she’ll beg to be brought back in and regret mouthing off. She jumped off the plank, diving for the water, knowing if he lets her die that he won’t get the money he’s ransomed for her.”