24. utioner Style #2
“Thou shall get nothing from me . . . Ravenal,” he said. “Thou art going to beg on your knees beneath me—”
The cycle resumed.
We were still the same two poles in ultimate opposition: Commonwealth versus Empire; poor versus rich; powerless against the powerful. We should have been Knight versus Royal, but only I knew the truth.
The script ended now. I’d already flipped it.
I should have been outmatched in every way, but his disdain could never hold a torch to mine. Poverty, hunger, hunting, survival, and constant terror for Mom hadn’t broken me. They had made me better than him.
I was the North, and I was superior to him in every way that mattered. Sometimes, to be good, you had to do . . . unseemly things.
Minutes trickled into hours, but Tarantula refused to answer a single one of my questions. He smirked up at me tauntingly as he convulsed. He called me every horrible name in the book, spewing obscenities and insults.
He didn’t fold, but neither did I.
At some hideous hour of dawn, I turned off the device because the blue Mist almost rendered it inert. His eyes promised me retribution. Backing up to my bed, emotions raw, I grabbed a dagger and pointed it down at him. “Move a muscle and I’ll gut you.”
Long seconds passed as his chest rose and fell. Muted light mixed with shadows, and the hushed golden rays of dawn filtered through the curtains.
His lips pressed into a straight line, polished platinum mask gleaming, unmarred by the voltage. The very reason why the Draconis Empire had once enslaved us. It all came back to a single element, stripped from the ground. None of the precious metal was left.
As he lay eerily still, his eyes were far too sharp; no delirium or befuddled agony clouded his gaze. A normal man would have long ago passed out from pain. He’s never been normal.
Dark red marks crossed his torso where his chains had scalded his skin, and bruises marred his knuckles where he’d hit the wall.
His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, then moved back again.
“Stop it, Ravenal,” he rasped, his eyes molten. “Thou art aggravating me.”
“Stop what?” I asked as I leaned closer, entranced by how his long golden lashes lowered.
Sweat streaked slowly down my face, dripping onto his torso. My braid was messy and sticky from exertion. The loosened tresses clung to my arms. I felt suddenly weak like I was the one who had been tortured.
Tarantula gnashed his teeth. “Cease this.”
Cease what?
“Ravenal—back . . . away . . . from . . . me.” He bit out each word as if suffering the greatest physical agony, which didn’t make any sense because the dial was turned off. “ ’Tis dangerous for thee.”
For me?
I scoffed as I held my dagger pointed at his heart. “You’re the one in peril.”
A breeze dragged down the back of my feverish neck and whispered across my spine. A blissful noise escaped as I shivered with delight.
“Thou art killing me. Back away—right now,” he said through gritted teeth, fists banging on the mattress, chains rattling.
“Why would I do that?” I asked with genuine confusion. “I hold all the power. Thou art at my mercy,” I mocked, my voice strangely husky.
Flames of magic smoldered in his eyes as he fixated on my lips. “Back away,” he repeated desperately.
I leaned closer and laughed in his face. “I’m not going to give you what you want, ever.”
“Ravenal.” The scorched ridges of his stomach tensed, the butterfly flapping above his groin. “Thou have no idea what I want right now.”
I twirled my knife between my fingers, spreading my legs wider as I prepared to fight. “I know exactly what you want—unchecked power.”
He exhaled roughly through his nose, moistening his full lower lip. “Over thee.”
“Wait . . . what did you say?” I asked, convinced I’d heard him wrong.
“I desire unchecked power. Over thee, Ravenal.”
“What?” I shivered as the breeze stroked across my collarbone. Long fingers shot out and grabbed my wrist like a vise, squeezing. The dial clattered as it fell from my fingers. He yanked me forward.
I sprawled across his sweaty chest.
I tried to yank my arm away. “What are you—”
“For many years, I have desired power over only one thing,” he said quietly. “One person.” His lashes lowered as he bit down on his lower lip, groaning like my proximity caused him unimaginable agony.
“Move a single muscle—” I pressed the tip of my dagger beneath the shock collar at the base of his throat “—and I’ll kill you.”
“Do not say things like that.” His eyes were pitch-black.
Both of us were breathing shallowly.
Adrenaline rush.
He arched up, pushing into my dagger; blood welled, tiny droplets streaking down his chest. “Please change.” He released my wrist and banged his palm loudly against the wall, chains clattering.
“I cannot right now. Thou art . . . The outfit . . . Please, don’t stand over me . . . Do not look at me—not like that.”
“Like what?” I asked as he writhed beneath my touch.
He stilled. “Change,” he ordered, his voice warping with the cold command.
I looked down at my tattered outfit. There wasn’t enough fabric present to offend someone’s fashion sense. “Why are you so prudish all of a sudden? You were fine earlier when we—”
He breathed roughly, eyes rolling back in his head. “I have never once been fine in your presence, Ravenal.”
“It’s just clothes—”
“No. ’Tis thou . . . Thou stand over me with a blissful expression, excited to torture me. There has never been a woman in all Antichthon as cruel and lovely.”
Our chests pressed together, heaving in tandem. I didn’t remember moving. My clenched knife dug into the pillow on one side of his head and my fist on the other. I caged him beneath me.
“I ordered thee to cover yourself.” His warm lips grazed across mine.
I chuckled into his mouth. “And . . . why do you think I would listen to anything you want?”
“Because,” he said with a new dangerous softness. “My mind is lost, imagining . . .” He trailed off like he couldn’t speak.
“Imagining . . . what?”
“Let it go.”
“What are you imagining—”
“I beg thee, sit on my face. Right. Now.”