16. D（anger） #2
“No. Thou let him kiss thee.” We both glanced down at Ryse, who was lying beneath us, unconscious. His face was covered in blood and swelling with bruises.
“And I’d do it again,” I said.
Chains rattled.
A hand shot out.
“Take it back.” Tarantula squeezed my cheeks, yanking my head forward, pulling us close. With me hanging off his back, the angle was awkward. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t move my jaw in his tight grip.
Clambering off him, I ripped my face out of his grasp, stumbling sideways across the sand, needing to get away.
“Zora fight the spider,” Squire hooted from the empty window frame. “Me help?”
Tarantula rolled off Ryse.
I waved at Squire. “No, dear, look away. I’ve got him handled.” Squire swiveled his head, staring back into the bedroom.
Tarantula crawled toward me like a venomous arachnid.
“So, thou desire . . . to be kissed?” His arm snaked out lightning quick, and he wrapped it around my ankles. I fell back, landing on my butt. He crawled closer, up and over my legs.
I felt drugged.
Maintaining blistering eye contact, Tarantula slowly lowered his head to the top of my right shin where the edge of my boot ended. “Thou want . . . to be touched?” His warm lips brushed against my skin. I jolted as if electrocuted. “By any man?”
His lips parted, hot breath fanning up my leg as his tongue flicked out. He slowly dragged it up and over my skin, from my shin to the bottom of my shorts. Entranced, I fisted his curls—silk between my fingers. I bowed, back arched, pleasure exploding from my legs straight to my core.
Slowly he dragged his tongue up my other leg. Tendrils of cool magic leaped off his shoulders and wrapped around my calves.
“Thou taste promiscuous.”
Is that an insult?
I tugged harder on his hair. “More,” I begged, mindlessly burning up with need.
He groaned, hips jerking into the sand as he continued to climb up my legs, licking them like I was water and he was parched. Face unbearably hot, I collapsed back, staring up at the darkening violet sky. The flush traveled down my neck, over my tender breasts, straight to my core.
“Zora?” Ryse groaned in pain a few feet away.
I looked over.
Green eyes were wide with betrayal, the color stark against his blood-covered face.
Shame pierced my lungs.
“Get off me.” I pushed at Tarantula’s shoulders. His smug expression melted away as he glanced between me and Ryse. He slowly tilted his head to the side, holding eye contact, and opened his jaw wide.
He bit my thigh.
Hard.
Sensations exploded.
I swung at the back of his head, and he groaned as if he liked it, licking my skin. “Hit me again,” he demanded against my leg.
I grabbed his curls and yanked his head away from my thigh.
“Get off—now.”
Rolling his eyes, looking offended like he was the one being attacked, he pushed up onto his hands. Instead of backing away, he crawled forward, caging me with his body. Inadvertently my hips lifted as we brushed together.
“Thou didn’t even taste good,” he said with vitriol as he rose up to his feet and stood above me.
“Thou art a liar,” I mocked, bite mark throbbing with pleasure on my thigh as I lay limp in the sand.
Ryse groaned again.
Tarantula’s eye twitched.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” The Admiral appeared from around the side of the base, stalking toward us. His voice was like a face full of ice water, startling me out of my stupor.
Tarantula cracked his bloody knuckles and walked backward to the open window, his gaze never leaving mine. He jumped inside.
I closed my eyes as the Admiral ordered soldiers to aid Ryse.
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
That evening in training, Tarantula and I parried with wooden practice swords. He’d refused to let me rest after the kissing incident with Ryse.
A loud crack vibrated up my tired arm as he swung in a blur, pushing me back through the cavernous space. The Marshal had granted us use of the room because of the heat wave. It was spartan in its bareness, just a gray stone floor and three white walls.
Tarantula was an evil silhouette in front of the fourth wall: a floor-to-ceiling glass window that looked out on the violet sky and endless desert. Orange dunes stretched in waves, the setting sun a ball of red on the silver-streaked horizon. It cast long, dangerous shadows.
Sweat poured off my flushed face.
In one quick step, Tarantula wrenched me down by my braid to the hard floor. For some damned reason, it was his favorite move.
He stood over me and tapped his sword against my forehead. “Thou art dead. Again.”
His scowl was fierce.
He was punishing me for Ryse.
I grunted and swiped my sore leg out, but he easily jumped over it. Rolling to my feet, I feinted left, then thrust right, digging deep for every ounce of strength.
“Thou need . . . my direction.” His lower lip glistened as he wet it, glancing down pointedly at the fresh bite mark on my thigh. Thankfully it wasn’t too deep and it would heal. How dare he.
“Go kill yourself.” I spit blood onto the floor.
“I could not . . . even if I tried.” He pressed the point into the side of my neck and dragged it forcefully across the front of my throat. “And just like that, Ravenal,” he said coldly, “another loss.”
“You got this, Zora,” Ella shouted from where she sat in the corner, watching us.
Axel whittled a shank on the floor beside her. “She probably doesn’t,” he drawled lazily.
“Go, Zora, go!” Squire chirped encouragingly (helpful). He sat safely next to the twins, pecking greedily at the seeds someone on base had acquired for him.
I rolled over and gave them all a shaky thumbs-up.
Tarantula moved, blocking my view.
He was dressed in a scarlet training uniform.
Despite his misconduct with Ryse, the Marshal had just granted him new clothes for “ease of training” because of the sweltering heat.
She should have made him wear more clothes, not less.
She was trying to cage us together, half naked.
The only consolation was at least they’d reshackled his wrist chains.
The setting sun cast a devilish crimson glow across Tarantula’s skin as he strutted around me in a circle.
A dire vulture salivating over a carcass.
For some depraved reason, he’d tucked the side corners of his loose shorts up into his waistband, revealing a lewd amount of chiseled thigh.
To add insult to injury, the sleeveless material of the barely there top revealed his leanly muscled upper arms; cobalt superficial veins covered his forearms in a deadly network, and silver boots laced up his striated calves.
He looked . . . slutty.
I pushed his sword away and got back to my feet, gripping my own practice weapon. He tossed his casually back and forth between his hands, twirling it in an expert display of ambidexterity. Not attractive at all.
I raised mine and charged, pouring all my rage into the attack.
He countered easily, knocking me aside.
Spinning, I aimed for his knees.
He parried.
I thrust.
He raised his hand. A gust of air threw me halfway across the room. I rolled just in time to avoid hitting my head. I’d be covered in bruises tomorrow.
I screamed with annoyance as I gritted my teeth and got back to my feet.
“Use your magic!” he shouted with frustration. His eyes were molten.
Axel’s water jug exploded in his face as he tried to drink from it. Curse it all. More accidental magic. Ella rolled her eyes, muttering about her twin’s dramatics. Thankfully none of them seemed to notice the glow on my fingers. I tucked them behind the sword hilt’s guard.
I charged at Tarantula, trying to keep everyone distracted.
A wall of silver pushed me back.
I tipped my shoulder down and fought against it, stuck in the middle of the room, bellowing.
“You can do it. You’ve almost got him,” Ella yelled, clapping her hands.
“DESTROY HIM!” Squire squawked with all his might (very helpful).
Boots scraped against stone as storm magic shoved me back helplessly.
“Be better, Ravenal,” Tarantula taunted.
I’ll show you better.
The magic stopped. I thrust my sword forward. Our wooden blades locked together. I shoved with all my force. He stumbled backward with surprise, slipping on my sweat. I leaped after him, landing a blow on his arm.
“Ha!” I yelled with excitement. “I got you.”
Ella jumped up, clapping.
“Finally,” Axel said, oozing boredom.
Tarantula stared down at where my sword had left a red mark on the pale ridge of his bicep. He attacked in a blur of speed. It took all my concentration not to drop my weapon as I just barely parried each time. He was relentless, shoving me backward across the room.
My spine slammed against the hot glass wall. He leaned forward. His blade hovered inches from my throat. A rivulet of sweat dripped down his face, off his chin, and onto my cheek.
“Thou shall never dominate me, Ravenal,” he said quietly. “I will always end up on top.”
“False,” I spat.
His nostrils flared as he inhaled roughly. His pupils blew wide as they focused on me. “Art thou . . . menstruating?” he asked slowly.
I froze with primal terror and looked down between my legs.
No blood stained my shorts. He shouldn’t have been able to tell.
When I’d asked for cotton supplies, Ella had given me a Midlander period cup—a life-changing invention—that I hadn’t needed until now because my periods had always been extremely infrequent and irregular.
One of the many gifts from a lifetime of starvation.
When I looked up, he’d leaned so close that our noses touched.
“That’s none of your business,” I whispered. “Ankle-obsessed degenerate.” I shoved against him with all my strength, but he barely twitched.
He was an immovable force.
“Thou art my business.”