8. Stage of Grief （Seductive） Bargaining #3
“Wonderful, she can read.” The Marshal clapped. “The Commonwealth is so lucky to have such a brilliant asset.” She glared at me. “Yes—that’s exactly what I want you to do. This is about you showing us that you’re mature enough to work alongside him.”
“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “No, I’m not doing it. I refuse. That’s taking this too far. You can’t make me.”
“You can make me,” Squire offered (not helpful).
The Marshal held my gaze, a warning in the blue depths of her eyes. “Don’t let me down. We’re all counting on you, Knight Ravenal.” She walked away.
A few minutes later, I sat in the open doorway of a helicopter with my legs dangling over the side. We were flying straight up as high into the air as possible, per the Marshal’s directive.
It was a cloudless, sunny day. The desert stretched endlessly below.
Chop—Chop—Chop.
Squire trembled with fear on my shoulder, and I ignored the unsettling sensation of Tarantula’s stare.
“I’m not pulling your chute,” I said for the zillionth time.
Tarantula relaxed casually against the wall in my peripheral vision. “Thou shall, vassal.” He spoke with the utmost certainty, like he knew for a fact that I would save him. “The Marshal wants a declaration of cooperation. Thou will gift it to her.”
Delusion is a common character trait on this military base.
“T-MINUS FIFTEEN SECONDS TO ABORT,” crackled disjointedly over the failing intercom.
The Mist approached.
We jerked.
Giddiness mounted like it always did before a free fall; my heart raced with anticipation.
“THREE SECONDS.”
Propellers stalled. Lights and alarms flashed inside the machinery, and then everything went dark.
The helicopter tipped violently to the side.
I laughed as my stomach whooped.
Tarantula grabbed my shoulder. I glanced back. His covered face hovered inches from mine.
I asked him, “What are you doing—”
He shoved.
We were free-falling.
I twisted, but he kept a punishing hold on my arm as we spun through the air.
He yanked off my balaclava, and it floated away.
“What the damned!” I kicked at him with all my might. Squire squawked, his talons digging deep into my shoulder as he plummeted with me.
I kicked Tarantula harder, but his hand was an unbreakable vise. “Let me go, you stupid—”
“Calm yourself. Complete the objective!” Tarantula yelled into my ear over the rushing wind as we tussled, his grip so painful there would be bruises. Wow, he’s really committing to this.
Sand approached fast.
He ripped off his balaclava and threw it aside.
“Pull my chute,” he mouthed, grabbing my hips and yanking me closer to him. We were spinning through the air, upside down, chest to chest. I could feel his heart beating through the fabric pressed against my sternum. Magic crackled between us, metallic and glittering in the sunlight.
“NOW,” he mouthed.
Squire screeched with terror as he released my shoulder and then caught wind, casually flying away.
Tarantula’s masked nose pressed against mine as we spun faster through the air. His legs tangled with mine, his arms wrapping around me, his pupils dilating.
We plummeted.
Breaking his grip, I grabbed his messy curls with my free hand and wrenched his head back with all my might. “Be gone, enemy,” I shouted into his ear, trying not to notice how his locks were impossibly soft—silk between my fingers.
He inhaled roughly, shuddering against me as I yanked his head back farther.
Sand neared, and ridiculous laughter escaped my throat. Adrenaline made me weightless. Invincible. I can do anything in the world.
Tarantula’s eyes widened.
He yanked his head from my hold, grabbed my jaw with a cuffed hand, and slammed his mouth against mine, swallowing my laughter. His lips burned, radiating a level of heat that shouldn’t have been humanly possible.
I tugged on his silky hair, fever streaking down my open mouth, neck, and lower. His tongue battled mine, plunging deep. Dominating. His rough fingers cupped my face with reverence. Euphoria sizzled across my senses as he kissed me like we were both about to die.
“I despise you,” I said into his open mouth.
He pulled away, releasing me.
I spun in a free fall, gasping for air. My head rushed with an overload of endorphins, and there was no doubt in my heart or weakness in my limbs.
Dear old god, please give me strength. My intentions were pure. Curse the quest. I’d had enough.
“Thou would kill us?” he mouthed, plummeting beside me a foot away, staring at me like he’d never seen me before.
“No. I would just kill you.”
I pulled my release, and my spine yanked painfully as the straps wrenched me upward at the last possible second.
BAM.
Tarantula slammed into the sand, his chute untouched.
I gasped shallowly, mouth on fire, as seconds later I collided with a dune with a little less force. The chute collapsed behind me in a tangle of strings, and the sand burned warm against my throbbing, too-sensitive flesh.
Hand to my mouth, I slumped back against the desert sand. The tingling across my lips wouldn’t stop, and I tried to lick it away. It was the taste of dark cherry and . . . subjugation; seductive evil. I felt my face flush. Existential dread scorched across my flesh, hotter than the bright sun.
No man had ever tasted so tempting.
Shivers of unease attacked my spine, streaks of awareness on overheated skin. Kissing him felt like kissing a deployed missile. We’d both exploded. Me metaphorically and him literally, because he was now dead.
I was free.
Murder has never felt so good.
Vines loosened around my heart, the thorns retracting. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe without wanting to cry. The pressure dissipated off my chest. The quest was over.
“How . . . dare . . . thou,” Tarantula’s deep voice boomed from the dune across from me. He brushed sand off himself, rising elegantly up to his feet, mostly uninjured, except for bloody scrapes, as if he hadn’t just fallen from the clouds.
Oh.
No.
His shadow blocked the sun as he stalked over and stood above me with disheveled hair.
The theater of the absurd. It was all too much to fathom.
How is this possible? Royal Mages were more powerful than I had ever imagined.
I should have decapitated him while I had the chance. That might have worked. Maybe.
Instead, I’d failed, again.
We were still stuck together.
“You should be dead,” I whispered with crushing dread as I licked his taste off my dry lips, desperately parched.
Tarantula crouched down next to me. “Thou art going to pay—Ravenal.” He reached out, grabbed the end of my braid, and slowly wrapped it around his fist until my scalp stung.
With a yank, he tugged my head back.
Once again, we were face to mask. His lips were so close to mine that I could taste his rough exhale as it left his mouth. Heat radiated off his skin. Pleasure mixed with pain.
“Thou art a plague upon me, Ravenal,” he whispered with quiet menace. “ ’Tis unseemly what thou do to me.”
I leaned closer, and his eyes widened, breath sputtering.
“You will feel far worse,” I promised, desperately trying not to inhale his corrupt scent. “Before I’m done with you.”
Tarantula grunted, and his gaze dropped to my mouth, then went back to my eyes, then lingered on my scars. His chest heaved. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He ground his teeth together. Silver turned pure black as it steamed off his skull. Magic and man seethed together.
His mouth hovered wickedly close, and I could taste his hatred. His lips brushed slightly against mine, and sensations exploded down my nerve endings. Scorching heat.
I froze, eyes wide, stars dancing.
“Thou cannot make me feel worse,” he said hoarsely, brushing against my open mouth, the smallest, most tantalizing of touches, “than this, Ravenal.”
He pulled away and dropped my braid, releasing me. He barely exerted any pressure, but I collapsed onto my back, boneless. Head spinning, I lay spread-eagle on the sand while he loomed over me.
“Why did you . . . kiss me?” I whispered.
“What art thou blabbering about, Ravenal?” He tilted his head to the side slowly, eyes narrowing with icy menace. “I have never . . . touched thee.” He ripped his hands through his hair and stalked away, muttering in his strange, consonant-heavy language.
What in the damned just happened?
“KNIGHT MAGE, YOU FAILED TO COMPLETE THE—” the Marshal shouted across the dunes, stomping toward me. A dozen Shadow Swords marched with her in perfect formation. The sky was black behind her, a dust storm gathering on the horizon.
Squire landed on my forehead. “Me fail?” He pecked at my nose with concern.
“It appears so.”
He squawked with indignation.
I rolled over onto my knees, chucked sand, and screamed at the top of my lungs until I tasted blood.
Memories welled up, haunting me.