22. One Bed #2
“Do not do this, Ravenal. I have no control after the events of tonight.” He aimed a blood-covered finger at my face, and I swatted it away, but he brought it back up.
“You should have thought of that,” I said with frustration, “before you threw a lamp at me.”
“Thou did it first!”
I’d officially had enough of him. I threw myself at him, fists flying.
He caught me mid-leap and easily tossed me back onto the bed.
Tempestuous bastard. I sat up, sputtering, expecting to feel burning heat, but the area around my body glittered with silver.
Just like Squire, he shielded me. How dare he use his powers on me.
Standing tall on the bed, canopy flaming all around, I jumped up high and threw myself straight at him. He rolled his eyes, like my falling body was a minor inconvenience. I slammed down atop him.
We crashed onto the hard floor, rolling. My fists landed glancing blows. He wrapped his powerful legs around me, twisting as we grappled. I bucked and punched with everything I had, but he ended up on top.
I was immobilized.
“Careful. There is broken glass,” he said, grunting as I dug my heel into his kidney. Fire danced around, growing higher but still not touching either of us.
I grabbed one of the glass shards and lifted it high above his back. “I’ll kill you right now,” I promised.
His gaze sharpened, and magic shot off him, wind wrapping around my wrist so tightly that my forearm cramped with pain.
“Drop it,” he ordered.
I clutched the jagged shard tighter, warm blood dripping across my palm, down my forearm, and splattering onto him.
He made a debased sound. The icy pressure on my wrist increased. Bone creaked as I struggled to hold on to my prize. “Thou art hurting yourself!”
“Your presence,” I said quietly, “is hurting me more.” Fighting through his magic, I pulled my hand down, closer to his skin.
Something shifted in his gaze. Suddenly he stopped fighting me. No pressure held my wrist, and nothing prevented me from stabbing him through the spine.
He brought his face close. “Do it, Ravenal—kill me.” He inhaled loudly. “Or do thou . . . not have the conviction?”
I brought the glass down so the point pressed gently into the exposed skin at the base of his neck.
The room vanished.
Not again.
Humidity disappeared, replaced by biting cold, the gentle swaying of pines, and the soft hiss of falling snow. Tarantula lay atop me on the snowy ground of the Barren Forest, trees surrounding us. Flurries drifted thickly, sparkling in the copper light of a full blood moon.
I turned my head.
A rose peeked above the snow, a single icicle hanging off its petals.
It must mean something.
I swiveled back to him, breath lingering in an icy puff between us. Snowflakes gathered on his golden lashes.
“Are you seeing this?” I asked.
“Seeing what?” They displaced as he blinked, drifting down onto my face.
My fingers were numb in the sudden cold. The glass burned where I held it to his neck. Icicles, hanging jagged overhead, reflected the two of us.
Tarantula shuddered, his thighs wrapping tighter. He rolled his powerful hips, pressing himself against me. Heat streaked straight to my core, and we both groaned in unison.
A dire fox screamed in the night.
My back arched up, seeking more pressure.
“Don’t move, Ravenal,” Tarantula ordered. He flexed his hips again, pinning me to the ground, rubbing the ridges of his chest against mine. “Or I shall ruin us both.”
My brain went blank, streaks of pleasure firing. I’d had sex a few times, but never had anyone fully overwhelmed me like this, and we weren’t doing anything.
Icy branches clattered together.
“I am fighting—” his stubble scraped against the sensitive skin on my neck “—wicked inclinations to possess thee in a carnal manner.”
Sweat streaked down his face, dripping onto my now freezing skin as the trees watched me. “Go to hell,” I whispered, my bloody fingers slipping against the glass.
“Already there.” His harsh, gravelly voice mixed with the hush of the forest.
Shouting with frustration, I chucked the shard away, unable to sever his spine.
The Barren Forest winked out of existence.
We were lying on the floor of the inn. The glass shattered into pieces against the stone wall.
Pain burned across my frozen flesh, Tarantula’s body excruciatingly warm against mine. I tried not to, but I bucked against him, needing the friction desperately. He tightened his hold, pinning me so completely that I couldn’t move.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“Zora, the innkeeper got a noise complaint!” Ella shouted through the door, voice slurring. The door creaked, and her voice got louder. “Apparently someone thought there was a murder going—Ohmyoldgod. Uh . . . Zora?”
We both turned toward the open door. I flushed with embarrassment. Axel’s eyebrows rose as he stood beside his sister, staring down at us, blinking rapidly.
Flowers fell flaming from the ceiling, where the fire had spread. The bed was ablaze, the curtains hanging around it burning bright. Squire still chittered peacefully in his sleep. Glass covered the floor. Distracted by Tarantula, I’d somehow forgotten that the room had turned into a bonfire.
“It was his fault,” I said, uncomfortably aware of how hard his heart pounded, the beats vibrating against me. Instead of letting me go like I expected, he tightened his hold, shielding me with his body.
“Leave us,” he ordered as magic coiled in dark tendrils around him.
I scoffed. They’re not just going to leave me with—
Axel slammed the door shut, voices echoed, and there was a thumping like he was pulling his fighting sister away. I closed my eyes, wishing the old god was here to save me.
“Get off me,” I said as I pushed at him, head throbbing with a contusion, a tension headache, existential dread, and a concussion.
I had no energy left.
Tarantula gathered me into his arms and stood up, cradling me tenderly against his naked, sweaty chest like I was something precious that needed saving and not the person who had stabbed him repeatedly.
The last thing I remembered was a gust of freezing magical wind filling the room. The flames winked out, and the room fell dark. In the scorched quiet, my archnemesis laid me gently on the ruined bed.
“Sleep,” he whispered against my forehead with far more tenderness than a monster should have.